#Tales from mount Othrys

[jflashandclash]

Tales From Mount Othrys

Axel: Into the Lion’s Maw VIII

          Axel was glad he’d given the speech. The ladder led them directly behind Kronos’ army. He could see the light from a forest ahead. Camp Half-Blood’s forest? Outside the Labyrinth at last.

Tremors still shook the cavern from where, he guessed, the Laistrygonian giants had torn through the Labyrinth entrance, forcing it wider. There was still debris settling around the fidgeting dracaenae soldiers. Kampe growled, “Wait—” as the wave of them almost started forward.

          His troops cheered to reunite with the monsters, seeming unaware the battle had already commenced. They began to fan out.

          “Axel?!” someone called.

          He could see the lithe form of Lucille pushing through the dracaenae towards them. “You’re—”

           Ailiseu and Ethan dragged her into their ranks just in time.

          A boulder dinged off one of the Laistrygonian giant’s shields. It ricocheted off the expanded labyrinth entrance and obliterated a dracaena and demigod on their outer phalanx. The demigod lay twitching, their helmet partially crushed into their skull, one leg completely flattened, their spine contorted.

          “TIGHTEN RANK!” Lucille cried.

          Axel would in a moment. The charmspeak wrestled with his willpower. He knelt beside the demigod, furious he couldn’t remember their name. Despite the chaos around them, the way that the dracaenae charge forward at Kampe’s order, Axel thought he could hear their guttural, pained rasps. Utter incoherence.

          The Leonis Caput put words to the sentiment he feared, They cannot be saved. And you are needed in battle.

          “May your soul fly quickly to the Elysian Fields,” Axel whispered, unsure if he hoped they could hear. Their hand was spasming, fumbling to grip something. He held it.

With his other hand, he slit the jugulars.

He didn’t know if there was a faster way. Some quiet voice whispered that he’d need to ask Alabaster or Jack about the most efficient mercy kill.

          He stayed with the demigod until they stopped struggling. It didn’t take long. Axel fumbled out two coins, not checking what kinds, to place them over the helmet’s eyes.  

          Arrows rattled around him. Someone shouted his name.

          Lieutenant, this time, the helm’s cacophony came out gentle, knowing.

          Before it spoke, Axel knew what was necessary. He took off the standard issue helmet. He set it on the fallen demigod’s still chest.

          A chorus of dracaenae screamed.

          Axel lifted the Leonis Caput helm from the tether around his neck. The interior felt soft, welcoming, right. The plumes covered oval outcroppings that protected his ears without squashing them. He could hear perfectly—the must have been openings in the back.

          An eerie calm settled as he slid on the Leonis Caput. This was part of war. And we can’t lose momentum.

          The world expanded all at once: Lucille standing over him with her shield raised, Ethan Nakamura calling him an idiot and snarling to leave him, dracaenae caught in traps in the distance, giants falling, Kampe calling on their demigod ranks to join, using threats of Kronos, instead of inspiration. One of Pax’s favorite hellhounds bound into the fray.

          When Axel stood, Ethan took a step back. Fear? Yes, something had changed about how Ethan regarded him. For now, all that mattered is he looked ready for orders.

          Silena Beauregard had given them the layout of the premise. What they should do to break moral was obvious. “Send a dozen to set the Big House and Cabins on fire. Mythologicals that can regenerate quickly in Tartarus. It’ll likely be a suicide mission.”

          Lucille stared for only a moment. Then she was calling orders.

          Axel had overestimated Kampe. Her opening strategy was sound, but there was chaos on the battlefield. Little to prevent trampling or to keep formation. Mythologicals might have been accustomed to fighting on their own, but the demigods needed more direction and leadership.

          Be their example.

          “TO ME!” Axel roared, lifting his sword. He charged forward, in an area the demigods were less likely to be trampled by giants or caught in Kampe’s acid haze. They could gain courage in the forward march before clashing with the enemy.

          Traps had been set to funnel their ranks into slaughter columns, but Camp Half-Blood hadn’t been expecting the giants to tear through so many or for dracaeana to topple them over in their advance. Ahead, a contingent of sword-and-shield campers were killing Amalthea, a dracaena who often led their Friday art classes.

          Behind them were the Apollo archers. All of which had seen their movement and were taking aim.

          “SHIELDS UP!” Axel commanded.

          They rose just as the swarm came down, thudding noisily. The vibrations didn’t fully register to Axel as he roared, “PHALANX FORMATION!” The demigods in the front, Axel among them, linked shields facing forward. The ones behind kept them raised to the sky, tilted to cover the first row. They formed a tight rectangle. Those with pole arms pointed them through the gaps.

          On autopilot, they split, Ethan leading one regiment, Lucille another, and Axel the last. His troops progressed towards the Apollo archers, who, by now, realized they were targeted.      

          Off to Axel’s side, he could see Ailiseu shooting flaming arrows into the forest. He didn’t hear if Lucille or Ethan had given the order.

          Their advance was how it should be: steady and methodical. Something to demoralize. No chinks in the shield line.

          Which is why the demigods around him shouldn’t have cried in alarm.

          Then, Axel felt it—vines. He didn’t glance down. There were already strawberries sprouting on the shield beside his, so he didn’t need to. Strawberry vines. The Wine God. The one that could drive people insane.

          Ahead of them, he could see the source: two demigod defenders, about equal in height, their eyes gleaming a blazing violet. They stood ahead of the archers, having finished off Amalthea, her monster dust feeding the strawberry plants sprawling at their feet.

          “Castor—” one called.

          “I see them,” said the other. Even from here, Axel thought he could see the second’s gaze narrow.

          Axel didn’t feel anything alter. But, something had. Warriors around him began to scream and curse. “Fuck—fuck—fire ants!” one dropped their shield, slapping at something invisible on their skin.

          An arrow thudded into their exposed chest plate. It pierced. They were too close to the archers for armor to save them.

          Axel had one of the few weapons good for slicing the vines: his sword. One easy cut. He sidestepped into the way of his fallen comrade to both cover (what he prayed was) their retreat and to dodge away from a new sprout of vines.

          He kept light on his feet to avoid getting anchored. Hopefully, it looked more menacing than foxtrotting into battle. If he could make people swoon while juggling rubber chickens in the circus, he could dance to avoiding traps and arrows.

          While leading.

          “KEEP YOUR SHIELDS UP!” Axel roared, feeling the Leonis Caput’s words reverberate at the same time as his own. He went to check on their progress, to see how many had fallen, to assure they kept rank.

          But the helm snapped his head forward.

          Kill, the helm gave a soft purr, that one.

          The leader of the two violet-eyed demigods. The unnamed one. Subtle hints dictated it: the deference from Castor, the way the children of Apollo waited for his signal to launch another volley of arrows, the subtle twitch of his fingers in rhythm to the vines entangling Kronos’ men.

          The way he put a comforting hand on Castor’s shoulder. Like he was his older broth—

          Now.

          The Leonis Caput shattered the thought. Timing was perfect. Those irregular dance steps saved Axel from vine and blade. None of the campers were ready for how fast he was: most people didn’t expect an acrobatic lunge in combat. The archers had just fired, arrows en route around him, smattering into body and armor. One skid past Axel’s feet as he sprang forward. His opponent was quarter-turned to one of the Apollo children to give orders.

          It was easy. Too easy and too quick.

          Through the slits in their helm, Axel could see his opponent’s jaw drop.  

          His target pushed Castor back, towards the archers. As the half-blood raised his sword, Axel dipped past his guard. The stab was simple, clean, above the bracer, likely severing the camper’s bicep.

          With it, the camper’s hand shot open, releasing his sword.

It tumbled.

          The boy couldn’t do anything when Axel crushed his helmet with his hilt. [1]

Their leader’s body crumpled.

          “Pollux!” Through the screams, clangs of metal, and the encroaching roar of Ailiseu’s fire, Axel heard Castor’s sob.

          Without either boys’ focus, the vines went limp, releasing Axel’s advancing troops.

          None of the enemy archers fired at Axel as he examined Castor and their frozen bows. There was stillness to their horror.

Faintly, he wondered if this is how Santiago, his father, looked before ordering a slaughter.

This wasn’t an honor-bound fight against Praetor Julian. The praetor’s blood didn’t gush between his lips—just an impersonal splash of red at the tip of his sword. He wasn’t defending his little brother. He wasn’t fighting a mythological beast that would regenerate.  This wasn’t even like the cage matches in the labyrinth.

          This was destroying someone else’s home for a titan that Axel was going to betray. This was ripping someone’s family from them “for a greater cause.”

          Some snippet of Alabaster’s mythology lessons echoed in his head: Castor and Pollux had been twins.

          Axel knew he needed to move, knew he needed to give an order to the troops regrouping behind him. A conundrum of nausea and numbness silenced him. Then, almost imperceptible, came a wave of calculated calm as the Leonis Caput’s purred, When you have no words, I may speak.

          Axel opened his mouth, allowing it to speak the words he knew he should say as the lieutenant, but couldn’t as a murderer, “Run, little campers.”

          With the encroaching blaze in the trees and approach of his troops, the archers, at the very least, complied. Some dropped their bows. They scattered in terror.

          And Axel could feel the Leonis Caput use his mouth to laugh.

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Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed! One day, I hope to have a regular update schedule, but I don’t think I know when that is going to be yet. >.< Things keep going haywire in my personal life. Thank all of you for your support, comments, and artwork! It means so much to me!

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Footnotes:

[1] Jack, throwing a hissy fit because this move makes NO SENSE. Why would you ever have your hilt facing the enemy instead of your sword-- H, “Jack, not everyone has sword fought—Listen, he’s a juvenile and YA auth—Jack, you can just change the scene—“

Jack, “NO THE AUTHENTICITY! AXEL IS GOING TO USE THE GD HILT OF HIS SWORD AND HE’S GOING TO LIKE IT!”

[jack-and-pax]

Tales From Mount Othrys

Axel: Into the Lion’s Maw VI

The trap was a simple one. There was a chain across the floor at shin level. That, alone, didn’t reveal if the chain triggered a secondary trap, maybe Mathias’ dream: a shower of Happy Meal toys.

However, the scattered skeletal and not-so-skeletal limbs and dismembered bodies decorating the area in a half-circle? That and the massive axe blades poking out of the walls? Axel had a guess it wasn’t McDonald’s related.[1]

Axel caught up with them as Mary and Ethan triggered Part II of the Fancy Death Machine.

He tackled them from behind. Blades swooped above them as they hit the floor. Ethan’s sword and the lighter clattered to the stone ahead.

“Get off of me!” Ethan snapped.

Axel altered his weight to pin Ethan down, praying that Mary didn’t try to fight him too.[2] He knew how strong she was and didn’t want her to lift all three of them into the still-swinging blades.

“‘Swish Swoosh,’ says the pendulum! ‘Did you know that I’m but a clock unwound? Tic-Tok!’” she shrieked in glee. She rested her hands over the back of her head, like this was a game of hide-and-go seek. “‘Slooth, slosh, I’m too tired to go on.’”

Only two swooshes of death above them. Ethan, fortunately, had gotten the message and stopped struggling. Axel hoped the blades didn’t swing in a descending pattern.

Several mechanical clicks later, the axe blades settled back into place.

Axel puffed up his cheeks and popped them. His lighter’s flame hadn’t gone out. The turquoise blaze spiraled lazily ahead of them, lighting up several dismembered limbs. Axel could see one wore a Happy Meal crown like a bracelet. Maybe he shouldn’t tell Matthias about that one.

Carefully, Axel sat up. He glanced to see how close the chain was. Several feet back. He didn’t readily see another trap.

“You could have gotten us killed,” Ethan snarled at Mary.

She didn’t respond. Her gaze had gone unfocused on Axel’s lighter.

Axel picked it up, watching her reaction as he did. She didn’t blink or follow the flame. She stared into the darkness. He didn’t know if that was more or less comforting than her earlier attention.

Ethan snatched up his sword. “We should leave her and get out of here,” he hissed.

Axel hesitated. She seemed completely nonresponsive. “I don’t want her to pick us off, one by one.” Axel could imagine her popping out of various doors in the labyrinth, Scooby Doo style, hoisting off demigods.

“What do you propose, genius?” Ethan Nakamura snapped.

We could unleash her onto Camp Half-Blood, the helm rumbled.

Axel liked that idea even less. She wasn’t a weapon. Unlike most gods, Axel didn’t get the vibe she was intentionally hurting people. He wondered if Prometheus could help her remember herself. He doubted “Mary” was her godly moniker. And, if it was, Catholicism had quite a few delusions that needed untangling.

“She could come with us,” Axel said.

Ethan glared, pointedly, at Axel’s bent shoulder pauldron then at the finger prints she’d left on Ethan’s arm bracer.

Point taken. They couldn’t exactly stroll merrily arm-in-arm.

Axel glanced at the pile of corpses. “If we have her hold a severed limb as we walked, she’d crush that instead of our hands.”

Ethan’s glare deepened. “I don’t like being mocked, Mayan,” he spat the last word like an insult.

Axel clenched his jaw. Anger boiled in his stomach. It eased when his helm spoke, Sacrifice him to this goddess to assure safe passage.

It was strangely calming. Maybe it shouldn’t have been comforting to be the reasonable one between you and your enchanted armor, but Axel would take the wins he could.

“I wasn’t mocking you or joking about the limb,” Axel said once he could keep his voice even. Alabaster or Pax would have brainstormed with him. He desperately wanted that right now. Maybe Ethan hadn’t carried enough limbless Titans around to know about the mythological options. “I was trying to figure out how to bring a lost minor goddess back to camp.”

Ethan lowered his gaze. He adjusted his shoulder straps.

At least he wasn’t arguing.

Axel crouched down near Mary, but not within touching distance. “Mary, what do you want to do?”

She blinked, still staring absently into the dark. “I don’t want to do anything.” Her voice was a soft drone compared to the previous fluttery tone.

Axel hesitated again. “Are you dangerous?”

Tears streamed down her cheeks. She dug her nails deeper into her scabs. “No.”

If she hadn’t proved how easily she could snap his arm, he might have touched her shoulder.

“You heard her. She wants to be left here,” Ethan said, “We need to get back to the others.”

The sacrifice is correct. We must rally your troops for battle.

Axel swallowed and rose. He would be sure to tell the other minor gods  and titans about her. She shouldn’t be left to wander like this in the labyrinth. “I’ll make sure others know you’re here.”

She continued to silently weep as Axel and Ethan cautiously retreated. When they stepped over the trip chain, Axel lost sight of her amidst the dismembered corpses.

“This feels wrong,” he murmured. Which titans would be able to help her—? “Oh—this way.”

Ethan had turned down an unlit corridor. He paused and glared back. “How can you tell?”

Axel gestured towards the dim glow of the corridor beyond his turquoise firelight. “Can you not see it?”

“I can still see,” Ethan snapped, a little too quickly.

Axel paused, considering Camp Othrys’ newest recruit, examining his weathered eye patch in the flickering light. Ethan was very quick to assume others intended insult. “Where were you? Before here.”

Ethan looked away. He fidgeted with his shoulder straps again. “Cabin Eleven.”

“The children of Hermes weren’t particularly kind about your eye?”

He sneered. “Children of the trickster god. What do you think?”

Axel nodded in understanding. Maybe Ethan wouldn’t be shedding any tears for the missing Chris Rodriguez. “I didn’t mean anything about your vision. The floor has a glow to it in the direction we need to travel.” He would need to ask Alabaster why no one else could see it. Navigating the labyrinth didn’t seem that daunting. Axel took a step forward, then paused one more time. “Which side do you prefer I walk on?”

If Ethan had previous cabin mates that teased him about his vision, Axel imagined he would have a preference that was frequently denied.

Ethan gave him a suspicious look. He pointed to his blindside. “Make sure nothing attacks us from your direction.”

Strategic, Axel mused, trusting Ethan to guard their other side.

They began walking.

The corridor seemed to have elongated. Axel hoped the other demigods were still there. He hoped Mary hadn’t sprinted them away in a sack like a evil Santa Claus, handing demigods out to hungry mythological creatures like presents.

“I’m sorry about the Mayan thing,” Ethan said.

Axel grunted.

“I thought only mortals could have clear sight that strong,” Ethan said, “Why didn’t you tell Lord Kronos that sooner? You could have saved us a lot of trouble navigating the labyrinth.” It sounded accusatory.

In answer to both, Axel asked, “What is clear sight?” He thought about it. “You mean that I can see through the Mist? I don’t hide that. I didn’t know that would affect how we travel the labyrinth.”

Ethan snorted. Axel was getting the vibe this kid didn’t like him. “That seems convenient. Alongside the fact that you haven’t pledged your soul to Lord Kronos.”

Axel stopped walking and pivoted to face Ethan, only to realize Ethan couldn’t see the movement. Convenient? The lion’s helm felt heavy on his back. Did—did Ethan somehow know about—there was no way he could know about Alabaster’s meeting. That happened in Hecate’s realm—probably somewhere in Erebos. “I can’t. I’m not a half-blood.” He gritted his teeth. “And who told you that?”

Not many people knew. Except Pax, Alabaster, and—

“Lord Kronos.”

He couldn’t help it. “You mean Luke?” Axel resumed walking.

“Show him respect,” Ethan snapped.

Axel didn’t know how to break it to Ethan: he’d seen Luke so drunk he could barely sit on his barstool as he babbled about how beautiful Thalia was. There would be no “lord” when talking about his friend.

Ethan seemed to straighten his posture. “Lord Kronos will be sending me on a secret mission.”

Maybe Axel should point out the definition of “secret” in a dictionary to Ethan. Instead, Axel grunted, “Good for you.”

“And I plan to assure no one gets in the way of it.” Ethan turned his head sharply, so he could see Axel. This time, his expression was one of wary curiosity. “You’re really not the spy, are you? You’re not going to ask me any question about it?”

“What are you talking about?” Axel made sure not to make eye contact. He missed the standard issue helmet that covered his ears. They could be a dead giveaway when he was uncomfortable. He wasn’t a spy though. He was just making back-up plans to kill Luke if his friend totally lost his mind. Axel refrained from rolling his eyes, wondering which “Lord Kronos” would find more treacherous.

“The Romans knew about the Hecate child’s lab,” Ethan pushed, like Axel hadn’t been there, “I’ve heard what some of the monsters are saying. There have been other times the Romans knew too much.”

“I almost died in that raid,” Axel growled. He’d just been happy that he and Alabaster managed to keep Pax somewhat safe.

“And you got elevated to a hero with your brother and friend. I think you three have been very… lucky,” Ethan said the word like it was vulgar.

Lucky?! Axel barely refrained from pivoting to hit Ethan.

No one will find his body in the labyrinth.

This helm kept making excellent points.

Clutching the helm’s cold metal over his shoulder, Axel managed to control his temper. “What does that have to do with me not being or being a spy?”

“Sometimes you need to take things into your own hands. Make your own destiny.” Ethan tapped his eye patch. “Before someone steals it away. I’m going to find this spy, and I’m going to kill them.”

Axel didn’t like that Ethan was investigating this behind Mercedes’ back. He knew Mercedes had been working tirelessly. He wondered if he could—no, if Pax could—ask her about her best guesses. Axel and Alabaster still wanted Camp Jupiter to fall, but maybe this Roman spy would be useful to their cause. Maybe they could work together.

In the meantime, Axel didn’t like that Ethan’s investigation had come near him or his friends. “Nakamura, don’t go around accusing others without evidence.”

That’s what he meant to say. But lion’s helm chose then to speak, “Child of Nemesis, if you hurt anyone under my protection, I will break every bone in your body, starting with your left hand. And when I’m done with you, you will have neither an eye with which to see nor a tongue with which to slander.”

Axel was beginning to really enjoy this helm’s input.

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Thank you for reading! And thank you for your patience! Life should be hopefully settling down in the next month or so. (I feel like I’ve been saying this for awhile, but let me live in my delusions, damn it! XD)

I hope you enjoyed! This chapter felt janky to edit since it has been awhile. Hoping, as always, to get back onto a regular writing/upload schedule, but we might have another skip while life gets settled.

Thank all of you for your continued support! You guys rock and all your asks, comments, and likes have been very encouraging! (Which, I promise, I will one day get to! XD)

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Footnotes:

[1] Pax wanted to point out that it is: just Ronald McDonald FNAF edition.

[2] I don’t think you’d be in my fan base, but for those of you who were looking for Axamura—

Pax, singing from somewhere, “When the cat hits your back in a Paxboy attack, Axamura!“ (Name that song--!)

[happyk44]

Imagining the New Rome army storming Mount Othrys. They defeat all the monsters before they advance to the throne room where Krios awaits. Some of them have been left behind due to injuries that the medics are fixing so the advancing team is smaller than they want.

Up until this point Jason has always seemed so normal. They think it's funny given how long he spent with the wolves compared to the rest of them - that he's no different, no stranger than they are. He's so prim and proper and rigid. He's ultimately kind, he rarely denies helping people if asked, but he always has tension in his shoulders. It's been there since he arrived, and has never disappeared once.

Thinking about the team sending out a couple people to check. When they come back, they inform the rest of the army about Krios waiting for them. They have to strategize fast. Reyna and other leaders bite out quick orders, sectioning the people they have left into various attack units so they can eliminate Krios fast. But one group doesn't know their orders. Jason hasn't delivered them yet.

They look around. Jason hasn't gone anywhere. He stands before them, stripping himself of his armour, of his weapons. And he's gone before they can stop him, charging forward and into the throne room.

Orders are delivered swiftly and then they're off after him. But they fall short at the scene before them.

Jason is aburst with blue-white lightning. The tendrils glitch and snap off him. Krios is pouring blood from a dozen wounds. He stands twenty-feet tall, maybe larger, but is stumbling around. His helmet has been blown open. One half of his face has been burned and hacked to bloody mangled pieces. His horns have been shattered, pieces scattered across the floor that he trips and fumbles over.

His twin swords slash desperately through rhe air as Jason is an unstoppable force of energy. He's using techniques the army has never seen from him before - even Reyna. He's snarling, growling, like a dog. He bites and claws and wraps Krios' throat tight with lightning whips that has the Titan roaring in pain.

He uses his leverage on the Titan's neck to knock him down, flat to his stomach. He catches himself on the top of an obsidian throne.

Then leaps through the air.

A lightning bolt shatters the roof as it lands in Jason's hand. He grips it tight and lands on Krios with a thunderous shout, driving the bolt deep into the Titan's battered form. The scream Krios gives still haunts some soldiers.

The laugh that snarls from Jason's throat still haunts all of them.

He hacks and slashes like a man determined, giving up on his lightning to instead rip apart the Titan with his bare hands, like a wolf. Blood has so thoroughly drenched him, he's unrecognizable by the time he calms. He stands languidly and loose.

The tension that has held him tight all these years has vanished.

He turns and blasts the throne into pieces. There is no maniacal victory in his eyes, in his stance. He doesn't smile, doesn't seem overjoyed by what he's done. But he's thoroughly at ease. Content. Calm.

The pieces of Krios dissolve away - not like monster dust, but into golden-black glistening ooze, sinking through the throne room floor, dragged back to Tartarus where they belong. Jason watches until every bit is gone. Then turns to the army that stands horrified in the open door way.

"Is everyone okay?" he calls out.

There's a persistent silence. Then Dakota chokes out, "Yeah, man, we're all good."

Now Jason smiles. "Great!" A burst of static crackles over his arms. His smile softens. "I'm glad."

The ones left behind may not have believed the other's tale of Jason's single-handed battle had he not emerged still drenched in blood. He stands beneath a summoned raincloud and lets it wash him clean of his conquest. There are a few wounds on his end, but they are small and shallow and healing fast.

A field medic daughter of Febris approaches him, baffled and awed by how swift his wounds heal without assistance. Jason has always healed fast, but this is pushing it. He doesn't even look tired, or mildly winded.

When she ghosts her fingertips over the last wound, barely a scratch now on his upper shoulder, she feels a strange bustle of air around it. Like a battery, she thinks. He can't grow tired, can't bleed, when the source of all his energy swirls around him. The more he generates around him, the more he recharges.

It's amazing.

It's terrifying.

"What were you thinking?" Reyna asks the next night, when the celebrations are still going, and energy remains high.

They're both tucked away in the high branches of a tree. Jason is staring ahead, watching the festivities. But Reyna cannot tear her gaze from his face.

He slides a hand across his thigh and shrugs. "I was thinking it wasn't fair that we had to do this again. Monsters are one thing, they're supposed to come back. But Titans - they're supposed to stay where they are. It wasn't right that he came back from Tartarus. So I had to put him back in the ground like my father did."

He tilts his face up to the sky. A gentle breeze sweeps against them both.

"That was the just thing to do," Jason says, and Reyna thinks of him covered in blood, tearing at a corpse like a rabid animal and wonders just how much of it was truly justice personified and how much of it was hidden ferality finally finding a reason to expose its sharp teeth.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Eclipse: Chapter 32

Fandom: Trials of Apollo Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Adventure Characters: Apollo, Hades We're finally here - the last chapter and end of this story. This fic's been a year and a half in the making, and it feels weird that it's finally done and posted. To head off the question I know is coming (because it's already been floated in the discord) - no, there is currently no plan for a sequel. Yes, there is definitely space for it, and if it happens it will be the Revolution~, but I have several other projects at the moment that I want to work on, and honestly writing a full blown revolution fic would be a lot of work and time I don't have right now. So for now at least, assume there won't be one. I'm not making any promises on the next project or when it'll come, but I have several muses clamouring for attention so there should be another longfic out of me at some point... In the meantime, I have a discord server for all my fics, including this one!  If you wanna chat with me or with other readers about stuff I write (or just be social in general), hop on over and say hi! <<Chapter 31

APOLLO XXXII

A goodbye for now The future keeps coming, but This tale is over

Hades rolled his eyes.  “You do not need to thank me, nephew,” he said, the familial title sounding almost fond and reminding Apollo yet again of Hades’ words after the Arai.  “I never intended to allow Nico to return to the Pit; it should be I thanking you for preventing it when he had found a way to get around my notice.”

Apollo had no words to say to that, a creeping feeling of awkwardness descending around them.  In the Pit it had been one thing, an alliance for survival against the Pit and everything it tried to throw at them – which had, eventually, been everything or close enough to it that Apollo was still amazed that they had escaped, and thoroughly grateful to Thanatos for choosing to aid them.  Now, there was no adrenaline tying them together, no co-dependence for survival.

They were safe once more, in Hades’ domain where Apollo had less power while his uncle ruled over every daktylos of it, and Apollo was not sure if he was expected to stay and talk, or if he had overstayed his welcome and was required to leave, now that the demigods had departed and Asclepius sentenced.

Silence stretched between them, before Hades broke it with a sigh.  “I did not lie, in the Pit,” he said.  “Your presence is more tolerable than that of your siblings and cousins.”  There was a weighted pause.  “Certainly more tolerable than your father.”

“I don’t think being more tolerable than him is much of an achievement,” Apollo muttered, and Hades let out an amused noise.

“No, it is not,” he said.  “Once, he was fair and just.  Now, he has allowed paranoia to devour any common sense he once had and isolates himself, fearing a knife in the back at every turn.  In truth, he is hardly recognisable from the young god I recall leading us from Mount Othrys, except in his determination.”

Apollo knew the stories, but that had been long before he and Artemis had been conceived so all he knew were the stories, most of which had been told to an infant god by his mother.  Zeus had rarely spoken of it, and Apollo had never been close enough to the other involved gods for them to tell him about it.

“Speaking of your father, and my siblings,” Hades continued, “I was not expecting Poseidon to drag himself from his watery depths, much less to take the side of Bob.  Athena, perhaps I could understand your sister gathering, but Poseidon keeps himself out of reach of Olympus almost as much as I.”

“It wasn’t Artemis.”  That much, Apollo knew, but the sound of his sister’s name provoked a memory of a vision, of two demigods scribbling symbols on a piece of paper.  An awkward, not-quite bubble letter ‘C’ – or rather, he realised, a crescent – squiggly lines stacked above each other in parallel rows, a stick figure that could creatively be called a bird.

At the time, Apollo had been too distracted with the aftermath of the Arai to recognise what the bad iconography had represented, but now he recalled mention of Percy and Annabeth, and the pieces slotted together.

“It was Will and Nico,” he said, meeting his uncle’s eyes as Hades froze.  “Somehow – Nico’s dream-walking – they reached out.  They must have known bringing a titan out wouldn’t go down well and tried to find allies.”

It was a laughable thought – allies amongst the Olympians.  Artemis was unique, his twin and intrinsically tied to him because of it, covering his back when she could manage, but the other gods?  No.

Except, Hades had stood with him, still stood with him, amicable and merciful to the son who offended him more than once, and Zeus had been the one outnumbered in the throne room.  It hadn’t been an alliance – Apollo had allied with three of the gods in there before, to try and talk Zeus into being a little less tyrannical, and that hadn’t been the same at all – but it had been something.

Trust demigods, who had little scope of the dynamic between gods, but an innate knowledge of how powerful friends in the right places could be, to head straight to the heart of the matter and enlist them regardless.  They must have gone through their friends – Percy and Annabeth, for Poseidon and Athena, and Reyna or Thalia to reach Artemis – all demigods who also knew the strength in bonds.

Asclepius had warned them against it, but hadn’t stopped them – enough of a god to know how unlikely it was to work, yet with the memories of a demigod who knew it needed to work.

Hades sighed, clenching a fist in the fabric of his robes.  The souls around his fingers twisted into something even more agonised.  “Foolish children.”

“Very,” Apollo agreed whole-heartedly, “but it worked.”

His uncle scoffed.  “It shouldn’t have done,” he said.  “My son’s irreverence for the gods will get him killed one day, if he is not careful.  It is one thing not to fear me – for all he should.”  Apollo didn’t think for a single moment that Hades was as irritated about his son’s lack of fear as he projected; parents who wanted to inspire fear tended not to put themselves in danger to protect their child.  “It is another to argue with or attempt to manipulate other gods, who would as soon as smite him down as listen.”

He wasn’t wrong, but Apollo could not see how they could convince Nico not to keep doing exactly as he pleased.  It was not as though the son of Hades hadn’t experienced first hand the wrath of a god – Apollo recalled the death of Maria di Angelo all too well, and not just because it had coincided with his uncle cursing his Pythia in his furious grief.

That had been the moment Bianca and Nico had been marked as important, to the future.  Their potential had always been there, but the potential had also been there for them to die in the war, forgotten casualties like so many others of the time period.  Zeus’ attack on Maria had provoked Hades’ defence of the children, squirrelling them away, out of the time stream and safe until it was time to bring them back out to re-join the world.

“In the future, I expect William to attempt to stop my son’s suicidal plans, not enable them,” Hades said, and Apollo gave a shrug.

“I’m sure he’ll do what he can,” he said lightly, well aware that Will’s own stubbornness and strong morals were more likely to have him joining Nico in the chaos, rather than pulling him out of it.  Even when he’d tried to keep Nico out of harms’ way, it had happened anyway.

“See that he does,” Hades grumbled, but Apollo suspected he, too, knew that the demigods were a lost cause.  As long as they were happy, that was the most important thing – although safe and alive were also listed at the top of Apollo’s priority list, and no doubt Hades’ as well.

His uncle stepped past him, as though heading for his throne once again, but paused after a few steps, turning back to face Apollo, who had half thought that he had just been dismissed.

“The prophecy,” he began.  “I find it curious that topaz referenced Koios.”

“I thought you didn’t care for prophecies,” Apollo retorted, defensive almost without thinking – it had been enough of a struggle getting his uncle to comprehend the idea of claiming one, and now Hades wanted to talk about the wording?

Hades hesitated, something that had been unnerving enough in the depths of Tartarus, but now in his own domain just seemed wrong.  “I cannot say that I like them,” he admitted, a truth Apollo had long been aware of, “but I realise now that they exist nonetheless, and will not be gainsaid by my refusal to listen.  I was… rash, when I cursed her.  Your Pythia.  I… should not have done that.”

It took Apollo a moment to realise his uncle was apologising, and another moment for the implications to sink in.  It changed nothing; Cassie’s life had been forfeit and she had been forced to endure long beyond the limits of her mortal life, restricted from death but unable to live.  With the lifting of the curse and the transference of her duties to Rachel, she had finally been allowed to rest, her torment over.

It also, Apollo realised suddenly, was not something he could condemn Hades for.  Perhaps once he would have done, a hypocrite of the highest order or perhaps simply forgetting his own crimes, but thinking now about a young woman cursed by a god for no good reason, Apollo could only remember the Cumaean Sibyl and the grains of sand he had made her life.

He had long waited for Hades to acknowledge what he had done to Cassie, to apologise for it, but now that he had received it, it gave him no satisfaction at all.  The act of his uncle apologising, and apologising to him, was strange enough in its own right, a flicker of warmth within his essence because apologies were not given lightly between gods, but it was cooled unpleasantly because as soon as he received it, it sent a chill through him.

He couldn’t accept it.

“You are not the only god to curse a prophetess in a moment of rage,” he admitted, glancing down at the polished black marble of Hades’ throne room floor before meeting his uncle’s eyes.  Hades looked surprised, as though he hadn’t known about the Sibyl – but perhaps he hadn’t, her name not appearing on Thanatos’ list of souls to be reaped and leaving that crime of Apollo’s unrevealed.  “I cannot condemn you for it when I have done worse.”

Cassie still had a body, when she was finally allowed to pass on.  The Sibyl of Cumae had been nothing but a naked and vulnerable soul, her body long since decayed to nothing while she still endured.  Apollo could not call it living, not in that state.

Hades’ eyes regarded him, surprise flickering in black flames for a few moments before morphing into something else, softer and yet harder at the same time.  “In that case,” he said after several long moments, during which Apollo felt exposed in a way he hadn’t even when his form had been torn to shreds and his essence was the only thing left of him, “let me rephrase.  In cursing your Pythia, I belittled and disrespected you and your domain.  You and she attempted to use Delphi to protect Maria and her children, and when I did not listen, I lashed out at the ones that would have helped me, had I allowed it.  If you will not accept an apology for my treatment of her, then let me instead apologise for the disrespect I gave you then.”

Apollo froze.  He had thought Hades would brush off the attempted apology and continue with whatever it was he had to say about the wording of the one they had claimed, not that he would amend the apology to address what was, in essence, the real offence.

“I still do not like prophecies,” Hades confirmed, “and I do not believe I ever will.  But they are part of the Fates’ designs, a part of your power, and I should not have lashed out.”

If the previous apology had startled Apollo, this one floored him.  His uncle apologising for a single rash action was one thing, but to delve into the heart of the issue and apologise for what was, at its core, disrespecting Apollo?  No, Apollo had never even considered the possibility.

He also knew that he could not brush this one away.

“Thank you,” he said.  There were no other words good enough in the face of Hades’ honesty, no elaborate speeches that would share his gratitude so eloquently.  “That…”  His breath hitched, as he realised just how much it meant, but also that while Hades had been open with him, he hadn’t returned the gesture.  “That means a lot.”

It felt wrong, baring himself, but if Hades could do it in Tartarus, then Apollo owed it to him to at least try.  “I know it’s less competition, but you’ve always been the most tolerable of my father’s siblings.”

Hades’ face went blank.  “Even Hestia?”

Apollo’s heart did an awkward twist at that, remembering her rejection of his advances.  In hindsight, it had been the correct decision, for both of them, but at the time…  Apollo had respected it, but he hadn’t been used to rejection.  Not when he was the young, handsome god everyone was falling over to be near, let alone with.

“You have never rejected my presence,” he settled on.  It must have been good enough, because Hades did not press further.  “Then, you protected me, in the Pit.”

“We protected each other,” Hades said, his face still unreadable.  Apollo hoped he hadn’t just overstepped, hadn’t just ruined everything he thought they’d created in Tartarus.  “It has been a long time since anyone trusted me like you did.”

The corner of Apollo’s lip quirked up humourlessly.  “It’s been a long time since anyone stood between me and Father.”  He could scarcely believe that he was admitting that, that he was admitting any of his thoughts, but after his uncle had been so open with him – it was the right thing to do.

It also, inexplicably, made his essence feel lighter, like a great weight had just dispersed.  “Thank you.”

Hades nodded, a single tilt of his chin acknowledging his words, but when he spoke it was a change of topic, backtracking to the comment that had sparked their openness.  Apollo followed the subject change eagerly – baring himself, being honest, was unnerving at best, and if Hades didn’t want to leave those words hanging between them awkwardly, then he was more than happy to oblige.

“The prophecy,” his uncle said.  “Topaz was an interesting choice for Koios.”  With a flick of his wrist, a collection of gemstones appeared in his hand, a mixture of fiery oranges and yellows, and faded blues.  “These are all topaz,” he said.  “It comes in a variety of colours, but these are the most common ones, and amongst the common colours, its reputation is for yellows and oranges, not blue.  Yet you and Koios both accepted without question that it was him.”

Apollo gazed at the gemstones, bright and pure in the hands of their god, and could only shrug.  “Prophecies are not set in stone,” he reminded his uncle.  “Topaz certainly referred to Koios” – he’d known that, felt the certainty of an event coming to pass – “but had events resolved differently, there may have been another prisoner of the Pit who better fit the other colouration.”

“You,” Hades said bluntly, not even letting Apollo pause before jumping in.  “If you had gone without me, it would have been you.”

“It could have also been Asclepius,” Apollo corrected, “or anyone who ended up in the Pit and could be conceivably associated with one of the many colours of topaz.”  Like Will and Nico.  “Once a prophecy has come to pass, the other potential interpretations are meaningless.”  Discarded possibilities, like so many of his visions over the millennia, because there were near infinite possibilities but there was only one future that would ever come to pass.

“And it has come to pass?” Hades pressed.

“Yes,” Apollo said simply.  “It has.”

Really, there was no more to be said on the matter.  Prophecies were simple, in hindsight, and this one was no different; he and Hades had ventured to the depths of the prison in Tartarus, and helped Bob and Koios leave – with the help of Thanatos – before he and Artemis had cast Koios back down at the moment their domains overlapped.  It was almost too simplistic to encompass everything else the prophecy had caused, the weeks of impossible-to-track time trudging through Tartarus and suffering everything the Pit chose to throw at them.  None of it had been even referenced in the vaguest terms by the prophecy, and yet without it none of it would have happened.

“In that case, it is time we returned to our duties,” Hades said, turning away once more and continuing his way to his throne, resizing to fit.  Almost instinctively, Apollo grew to match, even though this time he was sure that was the start of a dismissal.  “Thanatos did well, but he is not this realm’s god.  Likewise, the sun felt wrong, without you at the reins.  The gods from the other pantheons are not you, Apollo, and you are irreplaceable.  Do not let anyone, least of all your father, tell you otherwise.”

Ichor rushed around Apollo’s cheeks, and he pushed it down with only the innate force of will and absolute control being a god allowed him – things he had sorely missed as a mortal, when his body had failed him on multiple, often humiliating, occasions.

“So are you,” he replied, reaching for the sunlight high above them, in the Overworld.  “See you later, dear uncle.”

“One last thing, nephew,” Hades said, and he paused, casting his gaze up at the god sat on his throne as the address registered.  “Next time you need help, just ask.”  There was no if, just a simple when, and Apollo wasn’t sure what to think about that when he was the god of prophecy and had no inkling of when he might need it, but the look on his uncle’s face was intent.  “You know where to find me.”

It was a promise, Apollo realised, briefly losing his grip on the light high above in surprise.  A promise of aid, when he needed it – something he hadn’t had in millennia.

“I- thank you,” he breathed, before finding enough presence of mind to say, “the same goes for you, uncle.”  Hades rolled his eyes.

“If I need your help, I will call,” he said, but despite the eye-roll the tone wasn’t dismissive; rather, it was serious enough that Apollo could feel that he meant it.  “Now, go.”

That was a dismissal, with no room for misunderstanding, but it wasn’t harsh, and Apollo gave his uncle a grin and a wave before latching onto the warmth of the sun and dissolving into light.

The sun was only just risen, a new dawn to mark a new day, but it was late enough that Apollo had once again missed the timing for the chariot.  Tomorrow, then, he would take the reins again, although he was well aware that his horses required a lot of bribing and grovelling before then for disappearing on them again, despite the fact he had warned them this time.

Perhaps it was a good thing that he had almost an entire day to spare.  Part of him immediately flickered away to Helios’ old palace in a near-repeat of when he’d re-ascended as a god – sure enough, Hermes had piled up all the subscriptions and repeating orders he hadn’t cancelled across the door again, and once Apollo got past it to enter the stables, the greeting he found himself on the receiving end of was very similar, complete with hooves in delicate areas.

Most of him, however, had only one destination in mind, and it was barely a thought to reappear at the edge of Camp Half-Blood, watching the demigods stir as their new day began.  His children were all up and about already – Will was curled up in a suntrap near the porch of cabin seven, the unmistakable shadow of Nico tucked away outside of the sun’s rays but with his boyfriend nonetheless.

Will looked much better under the light of the morning sun, even if it was a sun that wasn’t Apollo’s.  Tomorrow, when he took to the skies once again, he would ensure a boost to his son – it was the least he could do, after being the reason he had been trapped in the Underworld for so long.

“I hear you and the old man below stirred up some drama,” a voice drawled from behind him.  Apollo had sensed Dionysus’ arrival and refused to give him the satisfaction of being startled when he began to speak.  Dionysus had gained enough blackmail material to last him millennia simply from Apollo’s second, brief visit to camp on his and Meg’s way to Nero and their fake surrender.  He did not need any more.  “A titan rescued from the Pit, wasn’t it?”

“Bob,” Apollo confirmed, still watching the demigods as Kayla prodded Will incessantly until he stood up – bringing Nico with him – and meandered his way to the breakfast table.  That appeared to be a cue for the others to swarm their brother and Nico, and Apollo was abruptly reminded that as far as the rest of the camp were considered, Will and Nico had simply disappeared for two months without a trace.  No wonder they were delighted to see them back, and in one piece at that.  “Formerly known as Iapetus.”

Dionysus snorted.  “I bet Father loved that,” he commented.

“Not particularly,” Apollo replied.  “The Fates intervened.”

That got the full attention of his younger brother.  Apollo felt the burning violet flames of his eyes boring into the back of his head.  “The Fates?”

“‘Bob will aid Olympus in her time of need’,” he quoted.  “‘Because Olympus aided him’.”

That prompted another snort from the other god.  “Father definitely loved that.  I almost wish I’d been there to see his face.  Where is Bob now?”

“Reuniting with Percy and Annabeth,” Apollo told him.  “New Rome probably received rather a shock when he arrived with his chaperone goddess.”  He suspected it would have been Athena who went with him on that particular errand, given that it concerned her daughter.  Apollo certainly would have gone himself in her position.

Dionysus flapped a hand dismissively, clearly uncaring about New Rome’s potential collective heart attack.  “So, what happens now, brother?” he asked.  “Do we just continue in this boring dirge of an existence, ignoring the titan’s presence outside of the Pit, until something exciting enough to change things occurs?”

“Life isn’t boring,” Apollo corrected.  “Did we not already establish that you will continue making wine out of the sour grapes deposited in your way?  But as for me – Will demanded I drop by, and he seems awake enough now, so if you don’t mind-”

“One last question,” Dionysus said, the lazy drawl of his voice disappearing to be replaced with something dangerous.  “The voice summoning Nico.  I trust there will be no more noises dragging my patient into situations that worsen his mental health?”

Alcyoneus sprang to mind, jewels and rocks combined as he sent out a cry that had sounded all too much like help me despite an eternal grin on his face, luring Nico down simply to get to Hades.  Apollo also recalled the way his and Hades’ essences had intermingled, furious and deadly even to a giant.

“The voice will not call him again,” he said confidently.  “Hades and I made sure of it.”

“Good.”  The single word was vehement enough it almost made Dionysus sound personally invested in the situation.   Apollo almost called him out on it, but movement from the pavilion drew his eye back to Will.

Will, who was looking directly at him and pointing a firm finger at the stone table cabin seven used as their own.  Apollo wasn’t sure how his son had noticed him, but he was not about to ignore such a blatant summons.

The rest of the table were beckoning him over as well, a total of eleven demigods including one son of Hades, and Apollo homed in on them like a fly to honey, slipping onto the bench next to Will, Austin on his other side.

“Is it over?” Will demanded, skipping greetings in favour of jumping straight into the grilling.  None of his siblings looked surprised at the question, and Apollo assumed they’d all dragged the story out of Will the moment he and Nico had reappeared in camp.

Apollo smiled at him, and looped an arm around his shoulders.  Instantly, his son nestled against him, and Apollo got a sense of tiredness.  Of course, he and Nico had lost all semblance of a sleep schedule in the Underworld for so long, so far away from the movement of the sun and the moon.  Arriving back in the middle of the night must have been a shock to their systems.

Was it over?  Was anything ever, really, over, when the future kept marching forwards, adjusting to the tune of millions of small, individually inconsequential decisions with every new weave from the Fates’ loom?

But Will wasn’t asking about the universe.  He was asking about Tartarus, about the voice calling his boyfriend, about the prophecy issued to him – but also to Apollo – and the titan that had clawed his way back out of the Pit and had no intentions of ever returning.

According to those, the answer was simple.  “Yes,” Apollo promised, pressing a light kiss to blond waves.  “It’s over.”

End.

[jacereaall]

They're scheming

[Image description provided in Alt)

Lou Ellen and Ajax Pax from: @jflashandclash 's delightful fanfic, Tales From Mount Othrys.

What I imagined a pre-mission talk before "Ajax: Why little siblings need fidget spinners II" looked like.

Under the cut: close ups.

[m4gp13]

do you have any ta fic recommendations?

I don't know how to make links so bear with me here and I apologise:

Prelude to sunrise by crystallines. It centres on Alabaster and Ethan in the aftermath of the big battle, Al managed to stop Ethan from dying and now they need to figure out their next move. It can be read as romantic or platonic. It was a little angsty but not so much that I felt like crying for hours after reading it. It's a one-shot and it's only 2,767 words so it's a pretty easy read if you're looking for something to pass the time.

Full circle by crystallines. This one did make me stare at my wall for a solid five minutes which, considering my attention span, is a lot. It focuses on the relationship between Ethan and Silena during the years before and during the war plus a little after. It was, unfortunately, canon-compliant which obviously means death but it was very well written and made me stay put even when it absolutely devastated me. It's very angsty with some hurt/ no comfort but if that's your jam go right ahead. My one piece of criticism is that I feel like Al was pretty ooc but aside from that solid read. It's another one-shot, this time 15,866 words so it's a bit longer but it won't take you very long to read.

From Outsider's Perspective by Kairi_Ruka. This is from the perspective of who I believe is some kind of fast-food cashier who sees a little ta business going on but, as a mortal, has no idea that the scruffy teens they just served were probably there refuelling after a long hard day of trying to kill god, ya know, as kids do these days. This fic includes some light banter between friends and some slightly less angst if you know what's going on. It's a very light read, only 1,797 words, so don't expect a heavy plot but it was a fun read.

Tales From Mount Othrys by jflashandcrash. I feel like I should warn you right off the bat that this is a 124,959 word fic with 45 chapters and counting so maybe clear your schedule of bookmark it before starting. It does contain a lot of OC's so skip if that's not your thing but I did enjoy a lot of the characters. I like that this fic has some comedy without shying away from the horrible acts done by both sides in the war. It is a pretty long fic and it covers from before Percy's quest up to botl and I think the author intends to keep going with it up to tlo. Personally, I enjoyed this take on the titan army especially because I haven't really seen it anywhere else and I did like the writing. Some of the paragraphs can be pretty intimidating but if you can read them I suggest you do. It was fun to read and I love how Al was with his sister. Also, I believe this author has written some other titan army fics that I haven't gotten around to reading yet so maybe check them out.

I know this list is super short and I'm sorry. These are only the ones I've read, I'm sure there are other good ones out there and I encourage you to find them! These can all be found on AO3 if you're curious. I do have roughly five ta fic works in progress so if you're interested in knowing more about those let me know. Thanks for the ask and have a nice day <3

[jflashandclash]

Do you know how angry I am right now?????

I was gonna draw Pax in a leather duster but I did not know what a duster looks like

So searched it up

Are you fucking telling me Pax wears this unironically??? And that this is something no one mentions or teases him about???????????? Through out the entire series????? How did he get his hand on one??? Who told him it looked good?? Why does he wear it?? I have so many questions @jflashandclash ?????

[jflashandclash]

Axel: Into the Lion’s Maw VII

The rest of the walk back was, admittedly, a little awkward. Axel didn’t mean to make Ethan go so pale or shut up so abruptly.

However, if he said he wasn’t proud of the Leonis Caput’s charm, he would be lying.

He and Ethan stepped through an archway of gold. The room on the other side was still illuminated with turquoise fire.

A cheer erupted. “It’s the Lion!” someone shouted.

“They didn’t leave us!”

From a glance over, Axel saw anger replace Ethan’s fear. His scowl returned. Someone, Axel suspected, didn’t like being rescued.

After their heart-to-heart, Axel wasn’t going to let Ethan out of his sight. Nor was he going to waste a moment where another hostile deity could appear. He was impressed Ailiseu had kept everyone corralled within his turquoise flames. These soldiers didn’t need to discover that the flames were nothing more than light tricks that Uncle Frasco had taught him to use in the circus.

“Get in two lines, side-by-side,” Axel said, pacing back and forth in front of them to establish the start of the lines. Like herding his siblings. “Everyone hold onto the person in front of you. Keep your weapon in your other hand. No one goes off alone—is that clear?” There were nods of understanding as the troop scrambled to obey. “If you hear Mary, do not engage.”

Axel pivot turned to face the golden-arched doorway. “And Mary,” he called, in the event the goddess had perked back up, “You are not to approach my troops without explicit permission.”[1]

“Kronos’ troops,” Ethan growled.

Axel glared. “Once we rejoin.” Then, they would be Kronos’ troops again. Until then, Axel pointed beside him. “You’re leading the second column.” To the others, “Protect your side of the column!”

He glanced around the floor for a dim glow. Not through the golden archway. Not through the silver one. This was going to make him look really stupid if he got them all organized to play Guess Which Way Leads to Death. He did have—what had Ethan called it? Clear vision? Right?

Something touched his neck—or hadn’t yet?—he saw a flicker of finger movement, felt the caress moments after, and saw the echo of the hand before it vanished. Three transparent white gloves that blurred into one: Hecate.

Always here to give a third option, the helm mused.  

Axel couldn’t respond. His knees had gone weak, but he couldn’t reveal that in front of the other demigods.

Hecate had trace up to his chin, tilting his head up.

There, above them, the roof was glowing with a Greek D.

Axel shook off the phantom sensation, unsure if it had been real. “Excuse me,” he said to Ailiseu, borrowing their pilum. He tapped the symbol.

A retractable ladder popped out of the ceiling, joints groaning as it extended. Demigods exclaimed and ooed. He used the pilum to tug it down within reach, thinking, no matter how badly he wanted to, it might look undignified to jump for the bottom rung. As though constructed by the Fates, the ladder was wide enough to accommodate two people at once. He just hoped it was strong enough.

He felt a hand touch his shoulder. This time, it wasn’t a crazed goddess or his friend’s godly mother. It was Ailiseu, nodding their head gravely. He handed them back the pilum. “Thank you.”

Behind them and behind Ethan, the demigod soldiers had lined up appropriately. They had expressions of scared hopefulness.

Was that a good attitude to take into battle?

Say something.

At times like this, Axel wished they had a better name for themselves. Camp Half-Blood had “campers” or “Greeks.” Camp Jupiter had “legionaries” or “Romans.” Kronians sounded too much like cronies. When Pax had suggested “Tambourines” for Mount Tam, Axel stopped the conversation before it caught on. They were a blend of nationalities and godly ancestry. Axel wasn’t even a demigod: the one thing the rest of them shared. What brought them together?

He cleared his throat, tilted up his chin, and projected the way Uncle Frasco had taught him.

“We were forgotten. We were abandoned. Neglected. Abused,” he glanced down the two columns, hoping each soldier felt seen. “Camp Half-Blood worships our abusers. They pay tribute at every meal to those who tormented us or left us to torment.”

One of the newer demigods raised his sword and shouted, “Fuck those guys!”

There came a cheer.

Axel grinned fiercely. He raised his own sword in salute. “We fight for Camp Othrys! We fight for freedom from tyranny!” Cheers continued between each sentence. “We will defeat those that defend the practice of dictators!” Axel remembered Pax telling him how boring it got when he speechified about tyranny and oppression and how he should keep it simple unless he was speaking with Witch Boy.

So, to finish off, he shouted, “Let’s go kick their asses!”

The tunnel echoed with a roar of approval and agreement.

As Axel and Ethan each placed a foot on the ladder, relieved to find it held their weight and that of the demigods behind them, the Leonis caput added, “I will lead us into battle!”

***

*Jack crawls from the grave to set this as a tiny offering to its followers’ shrine before crawling back into its grave to seek out a juicier offering for next time*

Thank you for reading! I hope all of you enjoyed! Hopefully, in two weeks, I’ll have the next installment in this segment for Into the Lion’s Maw. Thank all of you so much for your comments, artwork, support and patience! I keep thinking things are going to settle down and they might be soon!

***

Footnotes:

[1] Original draft, for those of you interested: “Everyone hold hands. I don’t want ANYONE going off on their own. Is that clear? I do not want anyone to listen to Mary here without first okaying it with me. Mary, you’re going to be integral in us getting out of here. Can you hold onto my hand.”

Axel offered her the severed bone hand.

She gleefully clenched it, immediately snapping a finger off.

[jflashandclash]

Tales From Mount Othrys

Axel II: Into the Lion’s Maw

The masks’ thrum was alluring. Something brushed his knuckles—the edges of another pew? Axel startled, gripping the wood. When had he started walking forward? There was nothing between him and the altar now—no other pew to warn him that his legs had elected to go for the shiny, dangerous object before his brain agreed. 

Pax was as cautious as he was capable. “The Triple A Chimera helmets!” he squeaked and scrambled ahead of Axel.

“Ajax!” Axel growled, but knew he couldn’t stop him. Pax was right beside the altar, and Axel didn’t trust his legs to cooperate.

Alabaster sighed. “Ajax, we’re not calling it that.”

“Witch Boy, you might not be, but the rest of the world is in agreement.” Pax cracked his knuckles and reached for the bronze serpent helm. If he was willing to drink mysterious, glowing vials for Alabaster, he would definitely pick up a haunted artifact that screamed, “hex me, please.” 

Alabaster grinned darkly. “Mercedes has been fueling more of the Romans’ own rumors, the ones about a beast that can morph in and out of the Mist. Why not—”

“Hello, little Spy Master,” the voice was soft, harsh, and slithered from the helm in Pax’s fingers.

The helmet clanged onto the altar. Pax jumped backwards. “Cool creepy stuff!” he yelped.

Axel ground his nails deeper into the pew. “They talk?” He already had to worry about Jack and Matthias’ influence on Pax. Pax didn’t need more bad influences.

Alabaster nodded. “They each have their own unique sense of humor.”

Sense of humor? What could that mean from Alabaster of all people?

Pax paled, still staring at the bronze one in confusion. “Why’d it call me the Spy Master? I’m just an irresistibly adorable spy assistant.”

Hecate settled a calming hand on Pax’s shoulder. This time, her smile was sad. “These helms reveal potential futures if you chose to align with them.”

“Maybe you take over spying on the Greeks when Silena Beauregard finally betray us.” Alabaster rolled his eyes at his age-old complaint.

Pax brightened, “You mean, I could be Mercedes’ irresistibly—”

“Irritatingly—”

“—adorable partner? Not just her assistant?” The prospect thrilled Pax. Axel knew how desperate Pax was to impress Mercedes. Despite that, Pax glanced over at Axel. The Free Possessions Here vibe had spooked him, and he wanted to make sure it was safe.

Axel swallowed, willing his legs into a casual approach. The closer he came, the more he could make out the detail of the beautiful plumage, the worse the urge to touch that gorgeous gold. His fingers twitched back to the cigarette in his pocket. Otherwise, he’d grab the helm. “Kinda flashy for you, no subtle amulets?” his voice came out rougher than he wanted.

Alabaster rubbed the edge of the antler between his forefinger and thumb. “I believe you gave me lectures on the value of utilizing fear in battle, and then proved it during our fight for my lab. These forms will enhance that…” His hand shook. He was awaiting an answer for a question Pax hadn’t realized he’d asked. But Axel knew the gravity of this conversation. And with this topic of conversation, Axel worried how demigods, supposedly, could spy on others in their sleep.

If Axel hadn’t come to know Alabaster so well, he might not have noticed how unconfident the Witch Boy felt. He was paler than usual—worried. His voice was soft as he continued, “Daedalus won’t make Kronos a body. I’ve researched his myth and history. He worked under threat for too long. Kronos only needs one more soul before he reforms.” Alabaster glanced up at Axel. “Castellan’s getting desperate. Even more short tempered than usual. And paranoid. He turned away Kelly. He sent out souls into the labyrinth that aren’t coming back—”

The three of them winced. None had heard from Chris Rodriguez. Pax liked to pretend he was okay.

Alabaster’s expression hardened. His knuckles turned white on the edge of his helm. “He hit Mercedes.”

Pax froze. “He what?”

Axel clenched his jaw. Mercedes hadn’t given Luke a name for their leak yet. She couldn’t find that Di Angelo child that Luke so fanatically wanted. He went from saying they didn’t need a Spy Master to using her supposed incompetency as a scapegoat to Kronos.

“Yesterday. When I told you Mercedes wanted you in the laboratory…” Alabaster trailed off. Something uncharacteristic of him. He was usually so calculated with his words. “Both of you are…” He hesitated and glanced at his mother.

Hecate nodded at him in encouragement.

Pax clutched his stomach, like he was ready to use the new helmet as a barf bag.[1] Axel understood the nausea. Mercedes was the first person to show them kindness on the Princess Andromeda.

Alabaster closed his eyes to collect himself. He squeezed the horn of the boned helm once more before his gaze shifted back to Axel. “You’re not pledged to Kronos. You can’t. Both of you have befriended those in power: Castellan’s Scourge of New Rome, his Quiet Death. The Bearer of Flames owes Axel his freedom—” Axel felt dizzy as Alabaster listed their monikers: Jack, Flynn, Prometheus.

“You can just call them their names,” Pax said weakly. “Or give them more accurate names. He Who Wears Pink Pajamas.”

Alabaster glanced to Pax, betraying the slightest of smiles over the joke at Jack’s sleepwear. “Ajax, you’ve become Mercedes’ prized spy for New Rome. Even your silly band has marked the two of you as a minor celebrity with the monsters. And—and both of you have wormed yourselves into the good graces of the children of Hecate.”

Pax feigned some bravado, leaned towards Axel, and whispered loudly, “I think Alabaster just admitted to liking us.” He straightened and looked at Alabaster. “Alabaster, you could have just said you thought we were cool. Remember how we talked about needing to sound less like a super villain about to assassinate someone?”

Alabaster’s lip twitched.

Pax balked. “Are you a super villain about to assassinate someone?”

Alabaster and Axel exchanged a glance.

That was exactly what they were talking about.

If possible, Pax’s eyes widened further. “Axeeeellll,” he whined in a tattle. “Alabaster is talking about assassinating someone!”

Alabaster sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s Kronos, Ajax. Must I spell it out for you and any hostile gods that might be eavesdropping?”

“Nah, I’m illiterate.” Pax waved a hand. “It would only help the gods.” Axel could tell how desperately his brother wanted to look aloof about the situation.

Alabaster straightened to his full height. One hand lifted a vial out of his pocket. “I can’t do this alone. I need people I trust.”

“And if we refuse?” Axel asked, eyes trained on the vial. Something about this felt wrong. But, when was the last time things felt right? Despite everything, he could picture Luke’s easy smile, the way he coaxed Jack back after Calypso captured him.

And the look of hunger on his face when he wanted to interrogate Annabeth one-on-one.

Alabaster’s expression crumbled. “I have the River Lethe water on hand. You’ll never know you were asked. And, I will be down two friends.”

Tension curled the Mist into menacing figures in their peripheral. Hecate, Axel suddenly realized, had faded into the fog around them. 

Alabaster and Axel stared at each other. It felt like they were on opposite sides of disk that was balanced on a ball. One wrong move, both would topple. Was Alabaster trying to trick Axel into admitting treachery? Or was he reaching out to commit it with him? This felt like a trap, but Alabaster had never gotten along with Luke. But, what if Luke could still be brought back?

Pax glanced from his brother to his friend. He raised his hands in an unarmed gesture. “Guys, I know you’re both paranoid, but, like, we can all agree that Luke is a dick. He—” Pax quieted. He took a shuffled step closer to Alabaster. Tactically, Alabaster shouldn’t let Pax get that close until he had an answer. “He has been. H—he hit you… when we first got here.” The end of the sentence disappeared into a mumble. Pax slipped his fingers along Alabaster’s.

          Alabaster startled. His face rouged, but he didn’t withdraw. “You hadn’t even officially joined and you were already spying for Mercedes.”

��         “Only unwittingly.” Pax’s smile was shy, impish. He pressed Alabaster’s hand, and vial, back into Alabaster’s pocket.

          Something about the interaction rang Axel’s Older Brother Alarm Bells. (And, besides, did Pax have a crush on Mercedes…?) But there was too much to process to consider it now. “And if Luke can be separated from Kronos?” Axel asked.

          Alabaster shrugged. “This will give us the tools to free him, whether through aid or death. We need him to win the war, but afterwards…”

          “I don’t want to kill Luke,” Pax said, “That would make Jack very sad. And he might resurrect him. And that could start the zombie virus—Ala, do you think we could make the zombie virus in Camp Half-Blood and New Rome and win that way?”

          “Well, we—” Alabaster raised an eyebrow at him. “Super powered zombies?”

          Pax puffed up his cheeks and popped them. “Oh. I see your point. Bad idea.”

          Pax and Alabaster’s hands hadn’t come out of Alabaster’s pocket. Later, Axel decided.

          Right now, the helm thrummed in his ears. There were no coherent words, just dissonance—a presence felt by way of an increasing pressure around his skull. Did the others hear it? Did they feel it? Did theirs call to them so intensely?

          The eye sockets seemed to have eyes of their own, pits of blackness. Axel thought, for a stuttered heartbeat, that an iris shifted. Reflections off metal, he assured himself. Though he knew better. Maybe others could be tricked by the Mist. He could see through it. Something was inside the helmet. Something wanted out.

          “These grant us power,” Axel summarized. Placing a hand beside the helm made the cacophony inside his head near unbearable. 

          No wonder Alabaster asked them to meet in his mother’s realm. Having these in the laboratory felt dangerous. Too much for demigods. Axel had to wonder if Alabaster was just a mouthpiece? Maybe Hecate was doing what she was rumored to do: give another option. A tertiary option to Kronos or the Olympians.

          Axel searched the surreal jungle. She had to still be here. This was, presumably, her temple, and these were her godly gifts. Even with his true sight, all he could spot was wisps of her presence in the fog: the wave of some hair, the echo of a finger, the curve of fabric along her side, none in the same spot. An unsettling notion made Axel draw his shoulders back. She was the Mist itself. Millennia of entangling with its essence had left her nearly indistinguishable.

          “Hecate?” he called, “What is the catch? What are we trading?”

          She resolidified across the altar from Axel. “While you wear these, the past will become nothing more than just a dream, so that you may regain the ability to dream.” She lifted the feline helm to examine it. As she did, the air electrified. He felt something swishing behind him in tempestuous flicks—a tail? He didn’t look. She was trying to distract him.

          “These will harness your anger, your pain, your doubts, and your fear. They manifest it and they become it, so that you may hold it separately from your own identities. So you may don it and meld with it when it is most fitting.” Her emerald gaze lifted to Axel’s. “You are trading a piece of yourself, pieces that will become my little monsters, my children. You are trading control. You will no longer have unwanted intrusions, but they will become the intrusion when you don them. I’m powerless to change your fates…” She looked to each of them in turn. Her son. Pax. Axel. “But in the end, I’ll shelter you. After all, you are my child’s cherished friends.”

          Alabaster went red.

          Breaking her somber speech, Pax nudged Alabaster. “Your mom knows she doesn’t need to pay us to hang out with you, right?”

          Alabaster shot Pax a glare.

          Axel tried to picture what that would mean, to be able to dream again without screaming, to know internal peace. He clenched his jaw. This felt like a cheat. It felt like—

          “They will fail one day,” she said, as though reading his thoughts. “You’ll need to face your fears. But, not during this war. The delay will make it traumatic, especially for you, Jaguar Child. Melding with this will cause you pain.”[2]

          Axel swallowed. Hesitantly, he reached out. The cacophony intensified, screaming until—

          “Hello, Lieutenant of Kronos.”

          Everything siphoned into that voice. Tension eased out of Axel’s shoulders. Distractions faded. He meant to just brush the cool metal with the back of one knuckle, but it was cradled in his hands. Its weight felt right, comforting. The plumes were soft as they curled around his forearm, around the blades he kept strapped there.

          Lieutenant? Axel mused, Like Atlas? A smile curled along his lips. The Leader of Assault and Battery? Or the Sabotage Unit?

          Touching the feline etching made Axel feel lighter. The calm was intoxicating. Some people went to his father to fuel their opioid addictions. He wondered if this kind of relief was similar. 

          “Do you two need a room? Or, well, a tree to hide behind?” Pax asked. He tried to sound light.

Axel startled, glancing up at his brother. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. It must have been more than a few moments, as it had felt for Axel. Pax fidgeted with a satchel of something Alabaster must have given him to occupy his free hand. The one not in the Witch Boy’s pocket. Alabaster was examining Axel, expressionless. Axel ignored Pax, instead, giving Alabaster a crooked smile. “You’re not tricking me into taking a magical sleep med by throwing a rebellion, are you?”

Alabaster shrugged. “Is it working?”

          It was, but Axel didn’t want to admit that. The thought of falling asleep with this calm, all in the name of stopping a tyrant? Instead, he pointed out, “If these are going to alter how we fight and think through combat, we’ll have to test them in a controlled environment first.”

          Pax bounced on the heels of his feet. Alabaster merely nodded; he already would have planned for that.

          Axel’s fingers shook around the helm at the thought of putting it down. “Kronos will be suspicious if Luke tells him we have got specialized magic armor, if Kronos doesn’t just pull the memory out of his head.”

          “A memorandum for surviving the Roman’s raid on my laboratory,” Alabaster explained away.

          Pax rolled his eyes. Axel had to agree: Alabaster wasn’t known for being sentimental. That was an unlikely story.

          Axel considered other protests or objections. But, as he did, he realized there was no way he could put this helm down without trying it on. His gaze dropped down to the flicker of movement behind those blackened eye sockets.

          We have work to do, Lieutenant, the mask reminded him, as though they were already one.

          This wasn’t like signing up to fight Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter. That hadn’t been a choice. Luke’s men were going to kill both of them if he hadn’t signed up. But this? Alabaster was treating Axel as an equal. He was giving him the tools to fight an encroaching evil, something that was devouring his other friend.

          “I’m in,” he said.

          A dark laugh echoed from the helm, something that felt strangely comforting.

          Axel looked up to find Alabaster smiling. The Witch Boy turned to Pax. “Ajax?” he asked.

          Pax puffed up his cheeks and popped them. Everyone always assumed he would follow Axel’s lead in every decision. Axel appreciated that Alabaster wanted the three of them equally committed.

          Pax hesitated. He set the satchel in Alabaster’s pocket. Timidly, he reached for the serpentine helmet. This time, he didn’t drop it, cradling it like Axel held his. He gave Alabaster and Axel a goofy grin. “Triple A Chimera assemble! Do we get a secret handshake?!”

“No,” Alabaster said. After Pax pouted at him, his stern expression cracked, “But, the helmets do come with weasel kittens, now that you’ve accepted them.”

Alabaster was excellent at delivering deadpan humor; that hadn’t sounded like a joke. Before Axel could ask him to repeat himself, he heard the soft trilling sound from the plumes.

“No…” Axel mumbled in disbelief.

There, emerging from the thick feathers, was a tiny set of squinting, beady eyes. The whole critter was miniscule, certainly smaller than Axel’s palm. Lifting its head appeared to be too much for it, the snout bobbing around uncertainly as it sniffed. A pang hit Axel’s chest. He held the helm more delicately. This was even more fragile than his pet jaguar cub, Juana, had been.

Pax squealed with delight. “It’s a weasel! It’s a baby weasel! You got us baby weasels!?” He hopped around the altar with the helmet. It made Axel want to frantically rush over to assure no tiny weasels fell out.

Alabaster plucked a pure white one out of the ivory on his skull helm. He slipped the weasel into a breast pocket on his shirt. Alabaster often had various compartments on him for spell ingredients, but—

“And you got yourself an incubator shirt?!” Pax yelped with glee. He had separated his weasel from his helmet, set the helmet on the altar, and was cradling his weasel in both hands.

Leave it to Pax to ignore the All Powerful Magical Armor.

��Kits or pups,” Alabaster corrected. “They don’t need incubators, but they will need to be fed, socialized with each other, taught to hunt, and—”

Alabaster cut off when Pax went on his tiptoes to kiss his cheek. His complexion had just settled back into that of a vampire. He went bright red again, cleared his throat, took a step back, and pointedly avoided looking at Axel.

That “later” talk that Axel and Alabaster needed to have? It was going to happen as soon as the three of them were awake.

“And named,” Alabaster tried to make it sound like there hadn’t been a pause. “Th—they’re more than pets.” He swallowed, regaining composure. “Each is an extension of your helm’s power, playing to the strength of the owner. Nietzsche can store spell runes, acting as both a roving set of prepared spells and a conduit to set magic off at a greater distance.” The tiny white head poked out of Alabster’s pocket, slitted red eyes trained on the Pax brothers.

Axel extended a finger towards his tiny charge. When the weasel sensed him, it curled about his index finger, nipping vainly. Axel had to admit, he liked her. She had spunk.

“Who gets Honey and who gets Baller?” Pax bobbed to Axel’s side.

Axel’s tiny charge clung to his finger while nodding off to sleep. “Honey and--?” he asked.

“Hunahpu and Xbalanque! Duh!” Pax cheered.

Alabaster looked relieved at the shift in conversation. “Maya names?” he asked.

Axel nodded. “The hero twins.” The names of sorcerer warriors felt fitting for gifts from Hecate. Though, Axel doubted these two weasels could feign dismemberment, the way the ancient warriors and Hecate’s children could. Well, maybe Pax’s could. That would fit Pax’s style of combat.

Pax pointed to a clustered spot of fur on the back of Axel’s. “Yours has little rosettes.”

Axel nodded. “Mine shall be Hunnapuh then.”

Pax held his up, Lion King-style. “And this shall be Baller!”[3] he proclaimed with bravado.

The three boys got to enjoy something they rarely did these days: a peaceful moment in a safe place with no one watching but a caring mother. Pax demanded they put their weasels into a kit pile in his hands. Axel surveyed this carefully, but was relieved Pax seemed to have a natural knack for tending to the little ones.

Despite discovering the existence of Greek gods, being “adopted” by someone a few years older than he was, and being cast as the heartthrob in a monster-centric metal band, these gifts were some of the biggest surprises Axel had in the past two years. Alabaster had always been uncomfortable with shows of affection. Some people got each other burgers and French fries as signs of friendship. Others gave each other weapons of war.

All of them were smiling when the jungle shook. The quake’s ripple was so strong, Pax pitched onto one side. He cradled the weasel kits protectively to his chest with one hand while smacking the forest ground with the other floor to break his fall. Axel stumbled. Alabaster snagged the edges of the altar. “Mother--?” he called.

“Mount Tams,” she said from the fog of mist, “is under attack.”

***

Thank all of you for reading! Also, thank you to those of you that left comments in my last post. I promise, I’ll be responding as soon as I can. You rock and have made it worth while to get myself to post again! In the meantime, know you have Jack in an appreciative pile of moosh and gratitude! Stay tuned for, hopefully (>>’’) every other week updates!

***

[2] Pax, “Way to hit his kink, Hecate.”

[3] I recently read up that the hero twins were pronounced, “WAH-nuh-pwuh and shi-BAY-lan-kay.” But I think younger Axel would have been too insecure to call his lil one “Pooh,” so we’re sticking with the mispronunciated, butchering of Honey and Baller.

[jflashandclash]

Tales From Mouth Othrys

Axel: Into the Lion’s Maw III

A thunderous crack startled Axel out of sleep. At first, he thought Hecate had darkened the Mist into onyx.

His memory kicked in: black marble walls. Jack had moved Pax and Axel to their own room in Mount Tamalpais. Jack attempted separate rooms, but, of course, Pax ended up in Axel’s room within twenty minutes of being split, fifteen more minutes than the Sabotage unit had bet on, leaving Prometheus with a score of 7 to 1 on prediction.[1]

Mementos from the dead scattered and clanged all over their carpet. Axel had left all other decorating to Pax. That was why Praetor Julian’s medallions, a centurion’s unicorn necklace, and other items clattered onto a pink shag carpet with paint splotches. Axel hoped they were paint splotches. Pax had, allegedly, found the carpet dumpster-diving with Matthias.

Panic hadn’t set in yet. Axel sat up, clutching something to his chest: the Triple A Chimera helm. A hiss erupted from the top of the plumes, something far too weak to be the helm’s gravely tones.

Honey, the weasel, appeared quite distressed by the movement, hissing and squirming to find comfort.

Above Axel, he could see Pax peering over his bunk, his amber eye glistening in their room’s night light. Matthias had installed it at the same time he installed Pax’s bunk. Axel had replaced the original cover: a British aristocrat’s glowing ass, the monocled and top-hatted man peering over his shoulder while mooning them. Now, it was a winking dryad. Still inappropriate but a massive improvement.

“Baller is upset,” Pax said, his voice trembling, “Was that an earthquake? Like, did Poseidon just take a massive shit? Imagine if that is what took out the titans—”

“Axel! Pax! My boys!”

Their door flew open.

The scene was a flashback overlapped into real time. Jack stood in his pink, monogrammed PJs, the back of a toilet seat raised like a baseball bat to attack potential intruders. The only difference from the first time was that the walls and toilet seat were black. Prometheus often quipped that Kronos might have an aneurism if their new camp didn’t have the right SS aesthetic.

“You’re okay!” Jack exhaled, lowering the lid with a thunk. The effort had made his arms shake. “The room next door collapsed. I thought—”

“You were going to dig us out where a toilet cover?” Pax asked, voice quivering.

“Yes, next best thing to a shovel—”

“Jack,” Flynn’s snap quieted Jack. He took a step back.

The Leader of Assault and Battery was mid-tugging a shirt over her chest as she came into view. Axel averted his gaze. “Luke is hurt,” she said. There was a faint jingling noise, signaling that she must have been wrapping her bun. She’d taken to wearing the goofy hair trinkets Pax made for her. “Ajax with me. We’re mobilizing to dig Luke out. Axel, with Kampe. She’s decided she’s leading the charge to camp Half-Blood while Kronos is occupied under rumble.”

Axel’s gaze shot up. “She’s what?” Her command was already taking effect. Axel sat up fully, careful to assure the helm and weasel stayed safe against his chest.

“She thinks they might be able to beat Percy Jackson back to his camp—”

“He was here?!” Pax yelped. He, too, appeared under Flynn’s command. He scurried down from the top bunk, only pausing to collect Honey from Axel’s helm. She squeaked indignantly. Axel appreciated it: a battlefield was no place for a newborn Mistform, no matter how fierce.

Flynn glowered. She liked to be interrupted (especially by children) as much as the soldiers of Mount Othrys liked doing Monster Laundry Duty.

Fortunately, Jack had no such reservations. He picked up one of their newly minted Orpheus Metal shirts from the ground and slipped it over Pax’s head. As if he were five years younger, Pax obediently lifted his arms to make it easier. Jack’s motion was frantic, and Axel had to wonder if Luke could get hurt after receiving the Curse of Achilles. “Well, kiddo, unless some other demigod’s parent has earned the title of ‘Earthshaker,’ then that’s our perpetrator—”

Someone’s words overtook Jack’s. It was Luke’s voice, but not. A second voice reverberated under the first, the same way Kouta, Axel’s older brother, made announcements for the circus, but maybe if Kouta was hyped up on some demonic energy drink. It was a two-toned cacophony, rusty and vile. As it roared, the building shook again, a hateful scream of, “Percy Jackson! After them—after them—”

Everyone froze. Even Flynn’s hold on the boys snapped.

Before, when Luke and Axel used to meditate together or when Luke had convinced Jack to allow Axel to join them at the Horizontal Monster Mash, Luke had described that voice. Between Luke’s gulps of beers, the color would drain from his face and his eyes would go hazy. He recalled the sublime and awful tauntings that haunted his nightmares, that would seep into his waking hours to remind him he was useless, merely a vessel, a stuffed animal disemboweled of its stuffing. (That last one, Axel knew, would upset Pax immensely.)[2]

That voice made Luke feel small, the way Axel’s father’s voice had for him. He didn’t need to ask why Luke followed its orders. It was impossible to resist when it was in your head all day.

Now it was Luke.

Axel couldn’t help but think of Pax, pitching their cause to new demigods: Have you heard the good word of Kronos? Overlaid with a blasphemous verse from his days at a Catholic elementary school: he has risen, just as he said.[3]

Kronos had risen.

Axel didn’t realize the Luke-Thing was still screaming. Not until Lucille stepped into their doorway.

She wore her battle armor. Her blonde hair was neatly braided back, and she carried a Greek-style helm under one arm and a pilum in the other. With her frail frame, she looked like a costumed Barbie. Their training taught Axel otherwise.

“Flynn. Axel.” Her tone was grave, the same way it always got before battle. “The strike force is moving out.” Her icy blue eyes shifted. “Jack, Pax, I’m sorry.” Giving them a fragile smile. It failed to comfort anyone.

Flynn’s gaze narrowed. “I’m not leaving Jack alone.” Ever again, Axel thought he could hear. Maybe with another faint echo of, Especially not with that thing. “What if the Ol’sissies double back while Luke is out of commission? A child of the Big Three? Maybe two if that earthquake wasn’t from Jackson?”

Lucille nodded. The half-sisters had a respect for each other’s combat intuition.

Despite trembling at Luke’s shrieking and the fear of angering Flynn, Pax whimpered, “B—but Mercedes said—”

That she could make Axel and Pax be part of the Sabotage Unit, away from the main battles. But, Axel knew it would be futile after his second cage match had gone so well, especially after the assault on the lab.

Lucille explained this gently, “I know, sweetie. But, Axel has proven himself over and over. It will boost everyone’s moral if he’s there.” She pressed her lips together. “And gain him favor with any new… changes in command.”     

Axel had a gut-sinking feeling Lucille was right. The helm hummed in his grip. Now, more than ever, he needed to be seen fighting along the monsters’ side. If they were to survive assassinating Kronos after the war, they needed the full backing of Alabaster’s monster family.

Axel stumbled to the armor at the base of their bunks. His legs felt leaden. The fingers touching the helmet buzzed with painful anticipation, an electricity that made him lightheaded and eager. The opposite sensations left him disoriented. He needed to focus on one. He unwove a strip of leather from his armor and tethered the helm around his neck. That would need to do for now. He should leave it. They needed to test these in a controlled environment. But, instinct—

You’ll need me, Lieutenant.

Axel wanted to snap that he didn’t need anyone. A glance around the room proved no one had heard that but him. Maybe it couldn’t talk outside of Hecate’s realm.

Lucille had already lifted his breastplate to offer it to him.

Jack tugged at his hair, frantically looking from Axel, to Flynn, to Pax. “Oh, Lucille, keep my boy safe! He’s too young and pretty to die! We haven’t even gotten him a girlfriend or a solo in one of our concerts!”

Lucille giggled weakly. She couldn’t cover her mouth with a pilum in hand. “I’ll do what I can.” As Axel finished strapping on his armor, she turned to Pax. “Can you do me a huge favor?”

Three sets of eyes were intent on her: Pax’s multicolored ones, and the beady eyes of the two weasel kits.

“Go to the nursery and check on Charlie and Ethel for me.” Her eyes softened at the names. 

Oh, Fortune bless Lucille. That would get Pax out of harm’s way. Besides, he was an excellent playmate for Charlie.

They walked as Axel finished strapping on his armor. Lucille led him out. Goodbyes—did they properly say goodbye? He remembered ruffling Pax’s hair, trying to ignore how Pax’s eyes welled with tears, the same way they always did before his cage matches—Don’t you dare die—and ducking under Jack’s attempted hug.

Their hallway was an offshoot from the main one. The main one had descended into chaos. Monsters and demigods jostled past each other. The Luke-thing’s howls left them panicked, disorganized, and disoriented. Its order was so primal: after them.

“Please proceed to battle in an orderly fashion. Please keep your voices low so you can standby for more orders!” Lucille’s charmspeak was sweet and kind. She never had the projection that Flynn’s snarls had, but all the soldiers within hearing distance slowed, relaxed, and fell more into military lines. The calming effect rippled to the others rushing by.

With the mob partially tamed, Axel could see down the hall towards Luke’s quarters. Part of the ceiling was collapsed. Krios, one of the Titan lords, stood beside the rubble with his arms folded, tapping his left bicep. “If you can’t ask nicely for help,” he said, voice booming, “then you needn’t bother asking at all.”

“Imbecile,” the not-Luke snarled back.

Krios rolled his eyes. “Some things never change.”

At least the Titan Lords seemed unbothered by Luke’s and Kronos’ unholy matrimony.

Something about seeing Krios standing there left Axel confused. “Kampe is leading us?” he asked. Hadn’t Luke mentioned something about Krios leading them through the labyrinth? Axel finished strapping on his old helmet. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it would keep his skull intact. His own confusion at the chain of events—going to Hecate’s realm, Flynn’s charmspeak, Kronos’ screams—was clearing.

Lucille nodded, helping up a demigod who had fallen in the chaos. “Yes.”

The younger camper blushed, thanked her, and darted after the others.

Axel felt skeptical. “But, she’s a jailor.” Did they give battle lessons in Grecian jail school?

“Luke gave her Ariadne’s string,” Lucille said, “The others are going to follow her.” She nodded to the disciplined line up at the labyrinth entrance. Because of newly established order, support was able to come through. Matthias could be seen walking down the line, chest puffed up and shoulders pulled back, as he handed out goody bags of ambrosia and, if Axel had to guess, fart bombs. He and a dracaena checked monster and demigod armor and handed out extra weapons.

Lucille continued, “She’s known to be a powerful entity—like Atlas. Why do you think Luke wanted Atlas when he had the other Titans?”

Recognition meant a lot to mythological beings. Axel clenched his jaw. Just another mythological aristocracy, as Alabaster would say. “Being a famous jailor doesn’t make a good strategist.”

They were approaching the labyrinth entrance. Axel had steered clear of this place, especially after Chris Rodriguez never came back. Selene Beauregard had told Luke that he was alive at Camp Half-Blood, but that he’d been left to babbling incoherence. Chris was the only one who had come out alive.

Another foolish scheme to send a demigod when a monster could thrive in the labyrinth.

Axel could see the mark of Daedalus. Alabaster had explained the symbol to him: a glowing blue D above the labyrinth entrance. Any time he walked in the hallway, it stuck out sorely: an exploitable security risk that had, indeed, been exploited. He didn’t understand why everyone had treated it like a kitty door for coatimundi to wander in. Jack and Pax had given him a weird look the day he’d growled, “It’s like no one else can see it.”

Watching how the others felt along the wall until finding a grip on the door, Axel realized the others really couldn’t see it.

Lucille glanced at him. “Are you nervous, Axel? It isn’t like you to protest so much.” She reached over to squeeze his arm. With Lucille’s status in the Attack and Battery unit and Axel’s recent rise to fame, no one minded how they cut in line. From the queasiness on some of the demigod’s faces, he assumed they wouldn’t have minded either way.

Axel stared at the entrance as they stepped up to it. He couldn’t stop his ears from twitching. Something felt wrong about this place. The strategist in him screamed. They were going underground—underground­—chasing after a demigod that could cause earthquakes. “What if Percy doubles back and collapses the tunnels on us?”

“Recent rumor has it, Percy sprinted away from Luke and did not look like he was coming back. He was scared of Kronos. We’re in his army and I’m scared of Kronos….” Her brow furrowed. “I’m glad Pax agreed to check on Charlie. I can only imagine how terrifying those shouts are for them.” She frowned, and reached to twirl a lock of hair that was tucked too far back to reach.

Axel winced. Them. She meant Charlie and Ethel. Ethel didn’t handle this kind of shouting well, and Charlie was only a kid. “If there’s one thing Ajax is good at doing, it’s distracting people from terror.” And he and Lucille both knew Pax would be a she (instead of a he) if it would make Ethel more comfortable.

Lucille might have been about to thank Axel.

“Move it,” a quivering voice came from behind them. Feigned bravado. Axel suspected the waiting was about the same as waiting for a delayed tooth extraction: sometimes you just want to get something over with.

Axel took a deep breath. “If I lose my mind and forget who I am, promise me you won’t let Ajax convince me I’m a famous weasel catcher on Discovery Channel.”

That earned a real giggle. Axel remembered how cute he thought Lucille was the first time he met her at Monster Donut, before he knew about Ethel. That seemed so long ago.

“Oh, don’t make me promise that! I think you’d make a charming show host.” She suddenly hopped onto the tips of her toes, coming close to his height. She rearranged her pilum, so she could hold it and her helmet in the same hand. With her hand freed, she gracefully lifted it up and lowered it towards Axel.

It took Axel a heartbeat or two to realize she was offering her hand the way she might for a ballet partner to spin her. Or for a partner dance? It was called something in French that Alabaster would have known.

Axel took his friend’s hand, sheepish at how scarred and rough his looked compared to her dainty fingers. The absurdity of it—a ballet pose before battle—made him laugh.

Axel had no delusions. She was holding his hand for his sake. A return laugh for the one his joke incited.

He and Lucille stepped into the darkness, hands held high, into one of the most dangerous places of the mythological world.

___

Thank all of you for reading! I think I rediscover my footing a bit better as a writer in the next chapter. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy! (AND THANK ALL OF YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR COMMENTS, ASKS, REBLOGS, AND SWEETNESS! You're making it so worth coming back! <3)

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[1] Jack, “You’re old enough now that you can have your own room where your fanclub will know how to find you alone and, potentially, underdressed—“ Axel, “Ajax and I are still sharing a room.” Jack, “B—but your fan club!” Lou Ellen, “But your fan club!”

[2] Pax, “ARE YOU INSINUATING LUKE WAS ONCE A BABY PANDA--?!”

[3] Mathew 28.

[jflashandclash]

Tales From Mount Othrys

Axel: Into the Lion’s Maw V

Bandages covered the forearm closest to him, ones striped with thin, red slits.

Her chesire smile was so fragile; it twitched on the edge of sobs.

She was going to crush his shoulder.

Axel gripped her wrist. She flinched back, dragging him a step with her. Up close, he could see her lips were split. Flakes of skin dangled off. Spittle flicked from them as she giggle-cried, “Gone. Don’t you see? All gone. Just us. Don’t you see? Just us and our little audience, like a puppet crowd we stigger and stabble in the auditorium with nothing to do but fear the dreaded Exit Sign at the end of all sho—”

Axel allowed one glance.

The monsters were, in fact, gone.

With that one step, one that the demigod soldiers had unwittedly taken with them, the labyrinth had come to life and taken its own step. The hoards of monsters—their strength and shield—had vanished. There was a fork in the stone tunnel ahead. It ended in two doors, one with a golden archway; another, a wrought iron one.

He was alone with a handful of terrified demigods and a mad goddess.

“They left us,” one of the demigods shouted, “Without Ariadne’s string…” His fellow soldier—Luke’s new favorite—Nakamura?—didn’t need to finish the sentiment.

Mary spoke their fears aloud, “Everyone forgets that we all cease. How does everyone forget? You can read and read and watch and watch and drown and drown, but that’s all you’re doing. Drowning—[1]”

Lieutenant, came the gentle reminder.

The helm was correct: his job was, right now, to keep everyone calm. Something Mary was rapidly undoing.

Mary was far stronger than he. There would be no overpowering her. But, maybe he didn’t need to. Ethel needed gentleness after Zeus attacked her. Hiro, his little half-brother, needed slow movements and softness after Hiro’s mother had killed herself and tried to kill him. Mary’s desperation reflected that same fragility.

“Mary,” Axel said, maintaining eye contact, “My name is Axel. I am friends with Chris Rodriguez.”

That’s what he meant to say.

“I am the Leonis Caput,” came out instead. Axel felt like the alteration should scare him. Instead, clutching the helm brought calm detachment. “The child of Hermes was to be under my protection. As these demigods are now. We are rejoining our main force. And I do not like distractions.”

Pax would have liked it. It had dramatic flair. He would have wanted to end it with, and hear me roar.

The authoritative tone worked.

Mary released his shoulder and shrank back a step. Her lower lip quivered, making the skin flakes dance. She hugged herself, digging her nails into the scabs along either bicep.

“I can help! Help—help—please—” she pleaded, “I’ve been down here a long time. A lo-o-o-onnnng time. I’ve guided many people in the labyrinth.”

In the labyrinth, Axel noted. Not through the labyrinth.

“I know the way!” she pranced once towards the golden archway. “This way—oh, all ways are the same, but this way is best same way.”

But, Axel knew it wasn’t the way. Earlier, the flooring under Kampe and the monsters had glowed dimly. Here, the glow deadended between the two arches. “No—”

Mary had already gripped Ethan Nakamura’s arm. She dragged him towards the golden arch. “Hey!” Ethan shouted, unable to keep his footing at her speed.

“We’re going to be left behind again!” someone from the back cried.

For an exacerbated heartbeat, Axel remembered babysitting all his siblings after Uncle Frasco had given them several pounds of candy and they sprinted in two different directions. Except, that only resulted in several bags of throw up instead of the potential destruction of the entire demigod force.

 “Stop!” Axel roared. He flicked out his lighter, bit his tongue, murmured a word in Maya, and spit into the flame. It quadrupled in size, taking on a turquoise hue. With a flick of the Mist, torches around the room flared to life, providing them a parameter.

He pivoted on his scared troops. “Stay in the protective barrier. We lose no more to the labyrinth on this trip.” He sought out someone whose name he knew, someone responsible, and settled on a short brunette in the back. “Ailiseu, keep everyone here.” Before anyone could protest, he ran for the golden arch. Ethan just vanished into it, his over-sized armor clanging.

There was no protective barrier, but Alex couldn’t have them splitting up into the labyrinth. Ailiseu—he couldn’t even remember their godly parentage—was level headed. He just needed them to keep the others there until—

Heart pounding and eyes darting, Axel dashed after Mary’s footsteps as the sound retreated into the darkness. He held up his lighter with the turquoise flame. Uncle Frasco could manipulate flames like this for hours—for a whole circus show. Axel had only tried it for brief tricks. He hoped that “protective barrier” would hold.

“Hey! Let go of me, you crazy lady—” echoed ahead.

Axel almost stumbled over Ethan’s sword. He must have dropped it in the struggle. Axel slipped his foot under the hilt and kicked it up, snatching it in his left hand. The floor’s dim glow had shifted, the light trailing after the kidnapped soldier and mad goddess.

When Axel saw them, he increased his speed.

Ahead, Mary was dragging Ethan towards a pile of corpses.

Thank you for reading! I know this is a short one. And I’m only technically getting it out before the end of the weekend (er, my time zone’s weekend--) but I hope you enjoyed! Getting a short with both Ethan Nakamura and Mary. I’ve had requests on both of them and I hope this doesn’t disappoint!

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I’m hoping to resume our every-other-week schedule with a lovely forecast of dismembered limb jokes. I hope you have an awesome leap day!

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[1] Interlude brought to you by Jack’s recent existential crisis. Interlude music begins here, preformed by Pax and three weasels. Doo doo to doo doooooo—

[jflashandclash]

Axel I: Into the Lion’s Maw

Axel I: Into the Lion’s Maw[1]

Or Labyrinth of Treachery

          Mist poured everywhere, both magical and nonmagical. Axel liked to think Alabaster’s mom had the same flare for the dramatics that he did, if not a little more pronounced.

          The dilapidated church flickered with light from three torches, forming an equilateral triangle. Two hovered behind them and one above a scorched altar. Their eerie green light cast everything in shades of grey and turquoise.

          Reflexively, Axel knelt and crossed himself upon entering. He swatted Pax to indicate that his little brother should do the same. Pax did, but with about as much reverence as grabbing a napkin for eating at a barbecue.

          “Hello. Hedonism.  Blasphemy at forever o’clock.” Pax mumbled, rubbing the back of his head with a pout. He’d gotten more mouthy. Axel couldn’t tell if it was from discovering he could adjust to people’s gender preference when he flirted his way out of things. Or, more likely, because their surrogate father had been different since he’d been trapped on Calypso’s island.[2]

Recently, Jack had been… worse. He’d come into dinner toying with a tendon he’d ripped out of a captured Roman’s knee and wondered why some of the demigods didn’t want to participate in Spaghetti Night after he lost it. The monsters thought he intended it as a Happy Meal toy. Great for monster moral. Great for demigod nightmares. 

Axel puffed up his cheeks and popped them as he and Pax approached the hooded figure in front of the altar. The person was meditating. Alex would say praying, but Alabaster didn’t pray to deities. He spoke with them as equals. Any misrepresentation of that, Axel knew, would be considered a “grievous offense.” Axel wasn’t in the mood for another thirty minute lecture.

Without checking to make sure it was Alabaster, Pax scurried up alongside the figure. He sat beside his assumed babysitter and shuffled closer until their legs touched. If that was Hecate, she would need to come up with a creative punishment for impertinence. If she turned Pax into a pole cat, he would consider that a reward.

“Pleasure seeing you here. You come to church often?” Pax teased.

“Ajax,” Alabaster’s warning was half-hearted.

Axel could hear Pax roll his eyes. “Fine,” Pax corrected, “Do you come to evil church often?”

Alabaster’s response was dry, “Every night in my finest robes in hopes of attracting… what does Mercedes call them? Persistent parasites?”

“Ah.” Pax patted down his duster jacket. “Sorry I forgot my occult robes.”

“I have some for you in the pews.”

Axel snorted. The pews were, mercifully for their eternal souls, empty of said robes. He scanned the church, checking for exits or potential ambush areas. Not that they could be ambushed here.

“Do we finally get to see the secret project you’ve been scheming over?” Axel asked. The question came out a little too serious for Axel’s liking. This was some kind of special occasion for Alabaster. The invitation in Axel’s back pocket proved it. The envelopes had been waiting on their pillows on thick, dark paper and swirling golden script.

Axel Pax,

Your presence is formally requested at the altar of Hecate.

Directions to Address: Fall asleep at a reasonable hour.

I know that’s hard for you. Your attendance will be appreciated.

--Alabaster C Torrington

Axel wondered if Pax had been twiddling his thumbs outside the church for hours or if Hecate had given him a sleep Fast Pass. Knowing Pax, he would have been thrown out of Hecate’s realm for making ghostly faces through the windows had she not. 

Axel had tried to sleep on time. He really did. He just saw corpses of the people he killed each time he closed his eyes. He tried reading the brick-of-a-book  Alabaster lent him. As it turns out, the dog-eared pages about overcoming a sinisterly encroaching tyranny? Not a good substitute for counting sheep. Especially not when it had Axel pacing in the world’s shortest loop across his and Pax’s room, wondering if Alabaster was referencing how Luke—no—no—how Kronos had been acting. Did Alabaster disapprove of Luke’s new management style as much as Axel did? Axel had been wondering about that until Pax threw a pillow at him with a, “Axxxeelllll! I wanna see Witch Boy’s mysterious whatever! Go to sleep!”

Axel had succeeded without being drugged by Pax, which Pax claimed his invitation instructed him to do.

Alabaster didn’t respond to Axel’s question about what this mysterious night time meeting. But, the room seemed to. Axel felt the air thicken. His breath strained.

The gleam of torchlight above them sank. A stoic whisper entwined with his own thoughts, making him flinch.

I can’t give you back what you had…

The Mist expanded, enveloping the room. A river gurgled nearby. The stars sparkled into life above them, thousands more than could be seen in Los Angeles or at the new site for Mount Othrys. Bugs hummed and Axel found himself smacking a mosquito that landed on his neck.

Belize.

They were in Belize.

Sort of.

Axel was left with the uneasy superimposition of the evil church amidst the calming jungle: a scorched altar and pews dropped into the thick undergrowth. Vines wrapped along the rotting wood, as though the disjointed images had been one for years.

Nearby, Pax wept softly. He and Alabaster were still kneeling in front of the altar. Pax turned to press his face against Alabaster’s shoulder, quivering at…

The last time they were in Belize, their father had killed their Uncle and Aunt in front of them. Axel hadn’t been strong enough to save them. All he’d done was get his arm broken.

Someone touched Axel’s hand, the one he had on his neck. I can’t give you back what you had…

He couldn’t tell if it was an echo or if she was repeating herself. Axel clenched his jaw. No one could give him Frasco or Nilley back. But… But Belize and Chiich… his siblings. They were still alive—they were—

Axel didn’t feel like a trained killer when his gaze turned to see the titaness beside him.

But you don’t have to do this on your own.

They had walked among titans and gods for years now, yet Axel felt his knees go weak seeing her. Her black hair swayed in the humid breeze. Her white robes with the ornate silver runes—all of it was immaculate despite their surroundings. Her eyes blazed like the orbs themselves were made of emerald fire.

Even if you’re never going home…

Pax hiccuped with a sob. What even was home for them now—

“You’re not alone.”[3] Until the last part, her mouth hadn’t moved.

Axel found himself staring a moment longer than he intended. “Hecate,” he breathed. Alabaster’s mysterious mother. Although she mothered at least a fourth of Luke’s troops, Axel had never directly seen her.

Hecate stroke Axel’s cheek and temple with gloved knuckles. She was investigating the swirled patterns of his fresh scars. “You ran out of room in your graveyard,” she observed.

His stomach plummeted. His graveyard? His and Pax’s room. He had run out of space for his—what else could he call them but trophies? Graveyard felt more appropriate: the pieces he collected from those that he murdered, his way of honoring the dead. They had become too numerous, too heavy. Encroaching into his sleep at night and into his thoughts during the day.   

But he couldn’t forget them. He couldn’t pretend they were nothing. He couldn’t become his father. So he’d started to carve them into himself.

Because, wasn’t that how it started? Choosing yourself over them? Deciding people were insects because you’d shatter to think anything else?

“You’ve been having more bad days,” Alabaster said evenly. He wouldn’t look at Axel.

Axel knew that. If Axel clenched his jaw any tighter, his teeth might break. This felt like an ambush. It didn’t help him to dwell on the bad days. That was the problem. That’s all his brain wanted to do—to rewind, replay, repeat.

          Breathing exercises and meditation didn’t work anymore. All he could do—as he did now—was fumble a hand into his pocket for a cigarette.

          Hecate’s brow furrowed. “My son is worried about you, Jaguar Child.” When her fingers curled around Axel’s ears, his grip loosened on the cigarettes. Her touch was soothing, almost mesmerizing. He hadn’t had someone scratch behind his ears like that since he was very little.

          “I—I don’t need help—yours or otherwise,” Axel said. He didn’t need help. He was the cavalry. He couldn’t need help because—because where would Pax go when he was crying from a nightmare? Or Jack when he was panicking over which band covers they would pick? Or—or Luke if he—if one of Axel’s best friends needed someone to kill them—[4]

          “Holy Titan!” Pax sniffled away his tears. Something had thrilled him. “Did you hear the quaver in his voice? Do whatever you just did again!”[5]

          Axel glared at his little brother. He would have smacked the back of his head if he were closer. All Axel could do, for the moment, was reach behind him to grip the backing of a pew. Hecate’s presence thickened the air with the tang of lavender, mint, chamomile, rosemary—a cycling swirl of scents that overwhelmed Axel’s sensitive nose and made him lightheaded.

          Those gloved fingers scratched along his other ear. Axel thought about slapping her hand away but—

          “Axel Pax,” she said his name like it was a secret, “A poison has infected the members of this camp and spread to you. You’ve seen it growing.”

          “I don’t want to lose you to it. Now that I’ve decided the two of you are worth something beyond being lab specimen,” Alabaster said. He tilted his head to allow his hood to drop back. He withdrew his spiral notebook, flipped it open, looked up, and startled. “Mother, what are you doing?”

          “Calming your wildcat,” she said. Axel could see her lips curl into a humorless smile. He swallowed deeply. She had stronger features than most of the Greek goddesses. When he lost focus (something he struggled to keep with her touch) he swore he could see multiple faces beside hers—one a residual of her past expression and one, he could only guess, a foretelling of her future. “I’ve been rather fond of cats as familiars in the last few centuries, especially since polecats are harder to come by. It’s important that they know your scent and show them you mean no harm before you make deals.”

          No harm—deals--? Axel’s mind spun. He jerked his head back. Although he felt her fingers lose contact, there was a shadow of her hand, a lingering, that rolled along his chin, just as another phantom of her limb withdrew sharply. Axel shook his head, watching as the shades unified into one hand.

His arms strained. Axel realized, with some mortification, that he’d bumped the backs of his knees into the pew. The only things keeping up upright were his claws, digging into the wooden backing.

“Deals?” he managed. His face felt hot; his legs were shaking. Axel hoped his ears weren’t a dead giveaway about how uncomfortable he was. He focused on orienting himself instead of replaying the feel of Hecate’s gloves on his ears. What were they talking about—his nightmares. Maybe something about Luke. Maybe this could be related to the book Alabaster lent him?

Axel glanced to Alabaster for answers.

He thought he’d seen Alabaster angry before, when he muttered about “causing his downfall,” during their celebratory dance. Axel had been wrong.

Had Hecate not been standing beside him, Axel could have felt the Mist radiating off Alabaster from the Princess Andromeda to Mount Othrys. His freckles looked like cooled black spots on a volcano, his face had gone so red.

“My child, shall we continue? Weighing the options?” Hecate asked, stepping past Axel towards the altar.

“I’m reconsidering,” Alabaster growled.

Axel fumbled to find his footing. Hecate’s, um, greeting hadn’t been weird. And, it wouldn’t intrude on his nighttime moping for the next week. He puffed up his cheeks and popped them before he could stop himself, something that made Alabaster’s glower deepen. Alabaster’s mother, he chided himself. Not that he needed chiding. He hadn’t done anything.

Pax looked delighted. His little brother was likely devising the best teasing strategies that would incur the least amount of injury.

Axel wouldn’t look at Hecate as she ran her gloved hands along the scorched altar. He gritted his teeth, seeking that indignant rage he felt moments before, instead of… instead of whatever that had been. “Is this supposed to be some kind of intervention? I’m fine.” He just hadn’t been sleeping. That was it. He had been waking up screaming for years. It was routine by this point.

“Augh, you had to focus on the boring part of this interaction, not the sexy one” Pax complained.

“Ajax!” Alabaster and Axel scolded in unison, going red for very different reasons.

Hecate remained impassive.

Alabaster fought to keep his voice level. “We talked about this?” Raising an eyebrow at Pax.

Pax rolled his eyes. “Fine! Fine—the fact that Axel has startled backwards from new campers, thinking they’re people he’s killed that have come back for vengeance? Totally normal.”

Axel clenched his fists. That had only happened once. But, it had been while he was helping Flynn train new recruits. A bad look for their camp. She had been furious and made him smack himself with a sword hilt.

With the alteration in conversation, Alabaster’s expression eased back to a calculated calm. He gently disentangled from Pax and stood. “This is more than an intervention, Axel, and this proposition goes far beyond counting sheep before bad dreams.”

He stepped to the side of the altar, parallel to Hecate, his swaying dark robes contrasted hers. “For…” Alabaster closed his eyes, quoting, ‘Contradictions do not exist. Whenever you think that you are facing a contradiction, check your premises. You will find that one of them is wrong.’” He opened his eyes, Hecate’s emerald fire reflected in his own. This must have been a quote from the loaned book. Axel didn’t have the heart to tell Alabaster there was no way he would remember a quote like that.

Alabaster continued, “Elevating a thug to a position of power to destroy other thugs—that is a contradiction.” He nodded to his mother.

No incantations or movements came from the Goddess of Magic, not that Axel saw or heard. Unlike her son, she didn’t seem to need them. Axel felt her will ripple the air around them. The pressure in the jungle dropped. Axel’s ears pop. Pax slapped his hands to either side of his head, like he could stop the sensation.

Mist thickened around the altar, strands winding into three orbs. One reflected the green of Alabaster’s eyes, one the gold of Axel’s, and one of utter blackness. A nod towards Ajax’s black eye? Or perhaps my Mist mask? Axel wasn’t sure. He’d seen displays of godly power before, but this made him shiver with excitement. Pax had sat up, shifting his weight from side to side in anticipation. 

The weaving tightened into distinct shapes. Teeth sprouted out the golden mass. A mane of red pilled out its back.

Horns jutted from the central, black Mistform. The blackness chipped and shriveled away to hardened ivory. It pooled and gathered into two central eye sockets in a cervine skull.

The emerald smoke undulated in leisure waves before solidifying into serpentine scales.

All three settled into oblong shapes with distinctive eye sockets and mouth openings. The green and gold glimmered with metallic sheen; the former, a platinaed bronze, the other a pure gold. The last one kept the texture of bone.

As the Mist twisted away, three helmets remained. They hummed in deep guttural tones.

Axel’s heartbeat pounded alongside their two-toned cacophony. Adrenaline pumped, though he wasn’t sure if it was to rush towards the helms and grab one—the gold one, the feline one—that one is mine—or turn and flee this desecrated holy ground, maybe shrieking a few octaves higher than he’d normally allow.

“These,” Alabaster said, settling his hands onto the bone helm, “were made to eradicate contradictions.” Alabaster’s gaze turned to Axel. His expression was hard and defiant.[6] “The idea that Kronos would rule over freed demigods? That is a contradiction.”

He spoke so openly of treason. Axel almost forgot they were in Hecate’s realm. He’d broken into a sweat. Luke had become so paranoid; he and the other titans spread rumors that the walls of Mount Tam had ears. Some deep instinct warned this would be the perfect way for Mercedes and Alabaster to rat out dissenters, to trick Axel into admitting he disapproved of Kronos.

He thought of the promise he’d so casually given to Luke on the edge of a cliff. It was one of the last times Luke had acted like himself. It was when Axel had promised to kill his friend if he ever became a danger to those he loved.

Jack had lamented why they couldn’t just spend the evening talking about cute girls. It felt so absurd now. There had never been a future where Axel could just worry about girls, or school, or a job. He’d spent months strategizing the murder of his father; would killing his friend be that different?

Axel swallowed, looking from the golden helm, the feline curves of its face, back to Alabaster. Maybe these helmets would be the one way he could bring the promise to fruition.

“I’m listening.”   

***

Thank you for reading!

(And waiting two years >>’’’’ Those of you that are my original readers.)

I hope you’re having an excellent start to the New Year!

I can’t make any promises, but I’m hopppppinnnng to stick to: Stay tuned in two weeks for part II!

I will address some of where I've been in a post, shortly. In theory.

***

Footnotes:

[1] In which Jack has to begrudgingly let Axel be a badass instead of having his kneecaps hit every thirty seconds. I spent four books breaking this unbreakable rock, and I got so grumpy when I realized I need to actually let him build up to being Reyna-worthy in this one. *sighs* Can’t I just continuously beat up the Pax boys?

[2]When I need to edit stuff out and just can’t delete it, I’m going to start slipping it into my notes: Not that Jack had ever been the role model for stability—he couldn’t make it through a concert without striking up casual conversation with the base. Not the base player. Jack was the base player. The instrument itself. Something that surely would have made fan girls jealous if Flynn didn’t give away free ass kicking for anyone dumb enough to hit on Jack in front of her.

[3] For anyone wondering, yes this entire sequence was inspired and written to The Puppet Song by TryHardNinja. It felt appropriate. <3 It’s one of the first songs on their Spotify playlist that I will one day release.

[4] All equal IOUs in Camp Othyrs.

[5] What Pax wanted to say was, “I think he just went through puberty!” but fortunately the Fates prevented this.

[6] Pax guesses Alabaster practiced this line, and its bravado, over and over, both in front of a mirror and in front of Mistforms of his own creation, so they would applaud him each time. Just imagine him lecturing Hunnie, Baller, and Nietzsche and three tiny weasels standing up on their hind legs to applaud.

[jflashandclash]

It’s been a long time since you’ve been on. Just want to drop by and say that I hope you’re doing okay! Happy holidays and I hope you’re well!

Panel 3: Since I last vanished--maybe first vanished? I was kicked out of my dwelling due to a dispute with a partner, I had surgery for one disorder, and have been trying (and failing) to get medicated for another. (Character Jack and author Jack share more in common than red hair. Maybe I'll do a comic on that one day, since we're an often misrepresented minority.) I started a new job, and really, really recently, started grad school. (Wooh! Just got a baby scholarship!)

Panel 4: It's really hard to make art when you lose direction and hope.

If art is an expression of the soul, and you lose yourself, creativity becomes a vacuum. All the more hellish to realize it--you--were empty.

Panel 5: Anyway, THANK YOU FOR THE WELL WISHES, ANON! I'm doing a lot better. A lot clearer. I started to write and (obviously) draw again. I really appreciate your (and the other followers of this blog's) support. You guys ROCK!

I just picked up writing Tales from Mount Othrys again and want to get on a regular release schedule. I can't make any promises, but I plan to release more info on that (and my not-so-secret side project that had to be put on hold for--) soon!

THANKS AGAIN FOR BEING AWESOME!

Panel 6: What do you MEAN--it--it has been HOW LONG?!

Panel 7: Happy two year belated holidays to you too.

Two years....? TWO YEARS?!?

[jflashandclash]

Tales From Mount Othrys

Axel: Into the Lion's Maw IV

Axel had a horrifying realization: if they bottlenecked to get into the Labyrinth, they would bottleneck on the way out. He could imagine their meaningless march into a massacre, Kampe shoving each demigod to their death in an orderly fashion.

Upon stepping into the corridor, Axel was pleased to see that Lucille had been right about remaining calm. Kampe was, contrary to the bottleneck visual, an excellent strategist.

There was a massive corridor inside the entrance. Above them stretched a curved lattice of ornamental windows. Their floral and geometric designs were interspersed with white and green mosaics. Leaves and muck obscured parts of the glass, only allowing a few rays into the vast space. Where the light did break through, dust danced lazily in a snowy haze.

This was beautiful. Maybe eerie? But nothing like that horrors he’d come to associate with the Labyrinth. Alabaster said this was a foolish place to enter, that they’d lose a quarter of their army just getting through the maze. Axel rarely questioned Alabaster’s logic in mythological matters, but, seeing this…          

Several giants stood towards the far end of this massive chamber, presumably to lead their eventual charge. Earlier, Luke said the ground around the Zeus’ fist entrance was weak. If they sent the giants in first, they could likely widen that entrance.

Axel lowered his gaze. They didn’t have metros in Belize and, in their short stay in Los Angeles, Santiago always hired private cars. It took him a heartbeat or two to recognize the indents in the floor as tracks for a train. The monsters and demigods crawling in and out of them looked quite comfortable in the abandoned subway station. Axel just hoped no ghost trains came through to make everyone go splat.

Behind him, demigods coming in had a similar gasp of appreciation and relaxation. Someone mumbled, “Wow… so much better than Matthias’ horror game simulation.”

Lucille’s shoulder brushed his as she released his hand. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

Axel huffed out a laugh. “Wish you could show Ethel?”

Lucille gave another weak giggle. She lifted her pilum towards her mouth, the same motion she would normally use to cover it. “Not my ideal romantic outing, but maybe, one—”

“Daughter of Aphrodite,” thundered from the far side of the room. Kampe made the title sound like an insult. Axel almost couldn’t see Kampe amongst all the giants. It was strange seeing them in battle gear. Seeing them made him think of the Triple A Chimera Dance and the horrifying death contraption Matthias had rigged to transport them like weasels in a titan-sized backpack.

Lucille nudged Axel’s shoulder. “Stay close. I need someone I can trust in battle.” The levity vanished. She meant it. Cho, Axel internally swore, was dissidents in Luke’s troops so bad that even Lucille was worried? He swallowed.

Others parted until they were at the lead of the demigods, several lines back from Kampe.

Kampe and the giants were already lumbering forward. The tunnel shook, sending more dust particles cascading into the dim light rays. Their march forward was both deafening and devastatingly wordless. Hundreds of feet of various kind—hooved, scaled, and mammalian—droned into an eerie oppressive din. No one spoke.

This tunnel led to a narrow one with less natural illumination. Well, there was a dim, continuous glimmer ahead of them. The floor seemed to almost… glow. Despite this, various demigods fumbled for lights. The monsters were unbothered by the darkness, but Axel could sense the mounting panic in his fellow soldiers.

His own chest had constricted. This reminded him of the cage matches—

“We’re okay…” Lucille cooed. Axel could see she’d turned to walk backwards, so the demigods would hear her without risking mockery from the monsters.

The fear evaporated. Axel couldn’t be sure if it was Lucille’s charmspeak or… his fingers had reached back to brush the cool metal of the lion helm. He hadn’t consciously meant to touch it, but it felt comforting.

The tunnels snaked, curved, elevated, lowered, and altered from metal to concrete to mud. There were scuffles ahead. Potentially foes that Kampe and the giants extinguished without real resistance.

Despite how Axel hated to admit it, he wished Jack were here. He would have feigned a newscaster, giving everyone live updates in rhyming verse, likely with acoustic or kazoo accompaniment. He could imagine Kampe trying to squash him as he asked her what kind of battle ballad she would want after this victory. If Jack was here, they would have known exactly what was happening ahead when Axel had to grab Lucille’s arm to prevent her from bumping into a Scythian Dracaena.

Axel’s ears perked up and strained forward to hear. There was a disagreement. Kampe hissing, “But, the string says to go this way. This is the most direct route.”

Was the air thinner down here? It was colder. Axel could see puffs of air as it evaporated out of the anonymous metal helmets around him. The demigods’ reverence and obedience to Kampe seemed to ebb with each strained breath in the tunnel. Whatever argument was happening made the demigods apprehensive. He could sense some sort of rising tension in the way they glanced at one another.

“Can you hear them?” Lucille murmured.

Axel parted his lips to answer when someone thundered, “You fool! That could bring the tunnels down upon us!”

And a shriek of pain.

The demigods startled. Axel knew the movement: the nervous shuffle of a herd before it sprinted to panic.

Lucille shifted her pilum into the hand with her shield. She squeezed Axel’s shoulder, or he thought she did through the armor. “Keep everyone calm.”

The light pressure left. Like Lucille was flitting backstage, she slipped amidst the monsters, the plumes of her helmet becoming indistinguishable from horns and tails bobbing in the dull lighting. He could almost envision her pirouetting.

Keep everyone calm.

It’s not like Axel’s little knowledge of Maya magic was fear-based. Or like they mostly knew him from murdering people “for sport.” Or like what Alabaster taught him about the Mist was used to blend into and out of shadows.

Oh, he would be as natural at this as Flynn was at childrearing. He hoped Lucille could settle the dispute quickly.

Whispers of worry wormed their way behind him into a growing, writhing mass. “Hold,” he growled.

They died down. The Dracaena ahead of him jumped.

Yeah, a natural. He couldn’t say something without scaring the monsters, let alone the demigods.

He hoped Lucille realized that directing sword lessons and commanding an army were very different activities. Why did she and Alabaster seem to think he’d be such a natural at it when Pax wouldn’t even listen to him?

Are they different? the helm—was it the helm?—hissed.

No one else reacted. Axel wondered when others could hear the lion’s helm or… or had he just imagined it talking? He reached to feel the cool metal. Whether the lion’s helm or his own thoughts—cho, he was beginning to sound like Jack—it was right: maybe directing sword practice was similar to commanding troops.

And neither one involved freezing up like Pax had pantsed him in front of Aphrodite.

Axel pivoted away from the monsters to face the demigods. “Lucille has gone to confer with Kampe. Take this time to check your equipment. No one wants their first battle tactic to involve tripping on untied shoelaces.”

Nervous laughter. A decrease in tension. Murmurs went from worry to routine: all of these soldiers were used to checking each other’s armor. Axel knew there was comfort in repetition.  

Until one voice spoke up, fluttery and quick.

“The tunnels ahead are too narrow for the monsters to pass. Kampe could start a panic. They’ll trample us.”

Axel didn’t recognize the voice. It was high with a fragile quaver, like Pax when he was acting pathetic to get something from someone.[1]

Everyone stopped checking their armor. The tunnels went quiet. They stared, in unison, to Axel’s side.

A hand clutched his shoulder. This wasn’t the comforting grace of Lucille’s hand, but a shaking, icy pain. Axel swallowed. The speaker had bent his armor by touching him.

Her irises were wide, so wide and such complete discs of blackness; Axel could imagine ink overflowing and dripping down her face. The sclera was more red than white. Dark circles encompassed her eyes. In an insomnia competition between her and Axel, she wouldn’t just win, but make Hypnos beg her to take a break.

Her rags reeked of urine and defecation. Of rot and unattended sweat. Scabs of varied age crusted her arms, neck, and shoulders. With her other hand, she absently picked one open, revealing a glimmer of tainted gold.

Ichor.

“Chris said you could help me,” she whispered. She stood a little taller. “He said you were strong.”

Chris. Chris Rodriguez.

“But you can’t.”

Chris Rodriguez, Matthias and Pax’s close friend.

 “Can you?”

Chris Rodriguez who vanished into the labyrinth.

“You can’t help anyone.”

Chris Rodriguez who went mad.

“My name,” her soprano quavered so violently, it blurred to euphoria, “is Mary.”

-----

Footnote:

[1] It only worked on Jack.

Jack, “MY BABY NEEDS ME!”

-------

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! And thank you for your patience with me from last weekend! I plan to release next weekend, since I skipped a week, and then resume every-other-week. A job application+school kicked my ass XD Seriously, thank all of you so much for your continued support, likes, and comments. (And artwork, JACE! THE ARTWORK) I appreciate how kind everyone has been as I get my feet back under me and am hoping to respond to asks/tags soon!

[jflashandclash]

In a main story (there's prequel's for before and sequels for after but is there something specific you should call the middle story? lol) you can grow the characters from point A to point Z through the series but with a prequel, you're building the characters back up to Point A; do you find that hard? Is there any changes or new character developments you'd like to add but can't because the characters have to fit into their previously established TOO introductions? 1/2

Thank you for your ask, Jacereaall!!!!!

("It's the squeal to PJO--oooohhhhhh. i see." "Medequeal." "I like limiqueal more." "That doesn't even mean middle--" "YEAH BUT IT MEANS THRESHOLD AND ALABSTER WOULD APPROVE--")

The bigger struggle I have is giving each baby the time I want them to have. Tales from Mount Othrys contains shorts that are snapshots of their time at Camp Othrys. It was always meant to be more summary than full dive, but it means the lil babies only get snapshots of character development.

As for a character development that I can't pursue...? Mercedes.

I want to do so much more with her. Her feelings about her job. About betraying her cohort. About Preator Julian dying. About her hidden family. About her hidden faith. About her secret crush on a particularly persistent parasite. There are snippets of scenes I would love to construct into full ones: Mercedes giving Pax an eidi card or cash for Eid. Pax snatching a kiss from her under Christmas mistletoe. Alabaster asking to join her during Salah. (She is, secretly, the demigod he respects the most aboard the Princess Andromeda.) Alabaster getting pissy because she'll explain prayer to Axel, but not him, since Axel has cultural and religious appreciation and Alabster is, um, clinical and scientific. (She would eventually educate him, but love to annoy Alabaster.)

Because of the construction of the prequel, she can't. Mercedes has a lot of pressure put on her, and she's balancing out a lot. Especially with how luke is losing it? She's scared of getting closer to anyone else, despite desperately wanting to and wanting to explore their worlds.

But, gods, can you imagine Mercedes being the one healthy friend this whole group has?

Otherwise....

I have a whole list of AU ideas for Reyel for the prequel. Listen. It's a problem. But I at least KNOW it is a problem--

[jflashandclash]

Tales From Mount Othrys

Silenced V: Jack

 When the brilliance stopped radiating through his eyelids, when Jack thought it might be safe to look—to hope, to dream—they were back in Camp Othrys’ titan’s quarters. The Pax brothers, Luke, and Lucille were locked in heated conversation several feet away.

At the sight of Pax’s wild hair, Jack sobbed. They were real. He was back.

“My boys!” Jack cried, his throat cracking with effort. That phrase had been unused in his timeless prison.

Everyone moved towards him. Words blurred together into a pleasant garbled drone. As they gathered, surrounding him with love and excitement, his chest constricted.

As they encroached, so too did thought of children’s graves: Calypso’s children with various, unnumbered lovers. The children that never left the island nor would age to adulthood. What would Axel and Pax’s tombs be like? Would they be decorated in Greek or Mayan? If Calypso had been right, if he truly was cursed to dismembered eternity, would Jack outgrow his boys and entomb them? Encasing their bodies in eternal prisons like Calypso had caged him?

Her words drowned out those of his children, of his friends, of his love—the only dreams that kept him on the edge of that sanity, the sanity that Calypso cursed him with. Her. She was still all over him. Still in his head, her fingers still gliding through his too-short hair—

“Get these chains off of me!” Jack shrieked. He clawed at the white clothing, the sinister henchmen to that sea witch. What if she could still control the fabric here? What if she could use it to choke his boys in the night, to worm each strand under Flynn’s skin and clog her veins? If he fell asleep, he might wake up to them—his boys, his love—made of nothing but yarn.

Jack didn’t know he’d stolen Axel’s lighter until Axel and Luke were stomping the flames out. In the warm, California air, Jack stood naked, staring at the smolder of white fabric, crushed repeatedly by his son and friend.

Someone had shouted to give him room. Jack didn’t hear the exact words; he just saw a blur of motion away from him. Someone saying, “He’s been through a lot.” Anger. Worry. Exclamations of revenge. Someone offering a cute panda hug with no pranks attached. The words and faces existed in a flurry around him, but none of it would stay. All he could think about was how she’d be around the corner. Waiting. Knowing he had nowhere to run.

Been through a lot. Was this trauma? His mind raced with the erratic beating of his heart. This was a different way for the world to be distorted. He missed the old way: hearing voices he could decide weren’t there instead of dreading a presence he knew was. He—

         He grabbed Flynn’s hand. She had stayed beside him when everyone moved away. In contrast to the fogginess of everyone else, everything about her was so real: the way one eyelid drooped down more than her other, the ribs of scar tissue lining her left cheek and left side of her forehead, the way her left nostril ended shorter than her right, the thinness of her lips. The sight was comforting: gritty and uneven compared to the movie-surreal quality of Calypso’s beauty.

Jack always waited for Flynn to initiate contact, but he needed her right now. “Flynn—” he choked. Words still hurt from disuse. His voice was so quiet and hoarse. When he leaned towards her, Flynn gathered him up in her arms, like she had the day they came to camp, like when she’d taken away memories of his family, memories that had crept back while he despaired on Ogygia. “Take me away.” He pressed his face into her neck. Her posture stiffened and her neck muscles tensed but she didn’t shove him off. “Take away my sanity. Lie to me that we’ll be safe and I’ll never see her again. Everything is too clear here, too bright, like an endless, flat plateau boiled under the unclouded sun. Give me that shade. Grant me the oasis of a mirage.”

Over the years, he heard the whispers: Flynn didn’t charm speak him. It’s why she wouldn’t take him to bed.

But she had once: to drift him into a happy lullaby where he didn’t murder his family on accident and where Camp Othrys was a choice instead of a last resort. She let him start his new life with a fresh conscious and the ability to see Pax when he looked at his adoptive son instead of the corpses of his little sister and little brother.

Axel and Pax are much too old to be my children. A voice of reason dared to breathe.

The thought was unacceptable. Jack whined. Although he could barely make the intonation correctly, he begged, “Qing, Fēi Lín.”

Flynn slid a hand into his hair. “You’re safe here, Jack.” Her melodious voice was soft and warm. It quavered with emotion. When something wet fell against the back of Jack’s neck, he realized she must be crying. “She can’t get you.”

The words sank in, weighing down his panic and compressing the tension smaller until only exhaustion remained. He melted against her, unaware, until he relaxed, how hard his heart thundered or how violently he trembled. Jack could see again: past Flynn’s soft skin, he could see Luke, Lucille, Pax, and Axel in the hallway. Prometheus must have left or been out of sight.

From the way Luke’s cheek puckered, he must have been chewing on the interior. He always worried too much. Recently, he hadn’t had time to go to the bar for their weekly Luke-gets-smashed-and-Jack-has-a-Shirley-Temple. Jack wanted to tease that they needed more days along the cliff, meditating.

Pax burrowed against Axel, his amber and black eyes barely visible. They glistened with fear. Axel kept a comforting hand atop his brother’s twisting hair. With the paranoia of a warrior under constant threat, Axel’s fingers trembled over a sword hilt.  

Silent tears rolled down Lucille’s cheeks. She didn’t look at Jack, but at her half-sister.

“Jack…” Flynn rested her chin atop his head. “What did she do to you?”

Looking at his friends and family, Jack swallowed. The boys were used to seeing him break down—Jack liked that. They needed to know they were allowed to show emotion, especially Axel. But, this was different. Other than Luke, they hadn’t seen him begging, naked and shivering. How long had he been gone to them? On the island, he’d stopped counting the number of etchings he’d put into the new cave, making it closer to the mirror image of Odysseus’.

He didn’t want them knowing what happened.

“She threw away Mr. Sunny,” Jack said.

Flynn gave a choked laugh. “I’ll be sure to buy you a new one.” Although she already held him, Flynn cradled him off the ground with little more than a grunt.

Jack glanced up. Flynn paused to stare at the anxiety of their onlookers. Jack wanted to reassure everyone. That was Jack’s job: to handle people and their feelings. Flynn didn’t like to. When Jack opened his mouth, he couldn’t lie to them. All he could do was tremble.

“Let’s get your medicine—Phil has some,” Flynn said slowly. “Then, let’s have you rest—”

Jack’s muscles tensed again. Some deep horror fought back the calm of Flynn’s charm speak, peeling its lulling effects to shreds. “I don’t have to rest. She’s always there when I rest, eating my dreams.”

Flynn hesitated. Another of her tears splattered onto his skin, chilling it. “Then, let’s go to a Monster Donut shop with the boys. How does that sound?”

Jack wanted that to be an adoption day tradition. No one wanted to go after the first one exploded and killed Jasmine. He nodded his head vigorously, enjoying the thought of Axel and Pax stuffing their faces and happily chattering. Like things could go back to normal.

“Lucille, can you run ahead and make sure there are no questions at the shop?” Flynn asked softly. “Axel and Pax, get one of his band shirts and some jeans. Ready some stories and plans about your next band show. And, uh, Luke, don’t be worthless.”

There were sounds of movement. Pax uttered something in protest and Axel shushed him.

“Luke’s my best friend. He’s not worthless,” Jack whispered.

“That’s right, man,” Luke said. The hand that settled onto Jack’s back made him flinch before relaxing further. It was too broad and ungentle to be Calypso. “I’m gonna go find Phil to get your medication. Then things will go back to how they’re supposed to be.”

Jack repeated that word in his head: normal. Home with his boys, friends, and true love, never to see that sea witch again.

Something twisted his stomach and knotted his brain. You will be cursed, Jack. Even as his family scattered to prepare, even as Flynn took his face in one hand, the words slithered with the same consistency of Ogygia’s tide. You will know both the torment of the Fields of Punishment—

Flynn’s mouth pressed to his. The dampness of her cheeks imprinted on his, allowing their tears to join hands in their travel downwards.

—and you will know the curse of dismembered immortality—

Jack clung to Flynn, tracing and savoring the curves of her lips and the wetness of her tongue. He inhaled her harsh scent—leather, sweat, metallic—

If you stay here—

Jack tore his face back enough to see her dark eyes. “Flynn, I can bear torture in the Fields of Punishment if you’re with me. I won’t break under a dismembered immorality if I know you’re there. Promise me our souls will be intertwined—that death itself shall not part us. Promise me that—I—” Jack wanted to be on one knee, wanted fireworks in the background, and wanted a full orchestra (by orchestra, he meant his metal band) playing. He wanted to make the world as beautiful for Flynn as it could be, instead of the distorted chaos they’d experienced. “Flynn--Dǒng Fēi Lín—will you marry me?”  

This was the first time he officially asked. They had talked about it before in theory, but not…

But, before, Jack didn’t know what it was like to be without her.

Flynn frowned.

Jack’s heart pitched.

The same way she had when Jack adopted their sons, she groaned in annoyance. “Will an exchange of self-written vows suffice?”

Jack almost knocked Flynn off balance when he flailed. “Oh, titans, Flynn, is that a yes?!”

The tears dried up when she said, factually, “I vow to want to be and try to be with you and love you for as long as I exist.”

“Oh, gods! Flynn! Flynn, you’ve made me the happiest man. Wait—my vows are in my room. They’re ten pages long and I’ll need a guitar—electric, I’m not playing acoustic ever again—”

“Jack, we’re going to the donut shop first.”

“Yes! We can exchange donuts as rings—Axel can be the bearer and Pax can be the flower girl. Luke can be my best man and Lucille your best woman—”

Flynn didn’t shush him, as he suspected, nor did she tell him to stop dancing naked around the hallway, as he started upon being set down. She sighed and leaned against a wall, watching him with the slightest of smiles.

With his excitement, Jack rediscovered his love of planning for a theoretical, happy future, something he’d lost in the timeless, futureless island of Ogygia.

Something still felt different. Calypso had taken something from him. Maybe it was the belief in altruism, that selfless love was pure, that either could avoid the pitfalls of poison. Maybe it was that they were the good guys, that being good was definitive, or that being good mattered.

You’ll avoid both fates.

As long as Jack had his friends and family, he could handle any fate.

  PSA: don’t get married unless you want to.

  Thanks for reading! I hope you’re all doing well and getting ready for the spooky season!