Apple of Discord: Chapter 5

Sensing this may be a good time to flee, you plant one hand on the railing and bound over the side.

Your demigod training kicks in, and you land lightly, quickly rolling into a forward crouch and back up into a full run.

The contents of your backpack crunch and jab you in the back as it slides up toward your head during your roll.

You must have rolled into a pencil cactus, because your arm lights up in tiny pin-points of pain. Minor stuff. Keep moving, you tell yourself. 

It takes a few seconds, but you see the man from the baseball circus up ahead. You stop and risk a look back.

In a swirl of greenish vapor, the plague spirit follows in a swirl of greenish vapour, his face disfigured by extreme disease, his form trailing pestilence. 

“Sir!” you call out. “You’re in danger! Run!”

The man stops, as if trying to figure out if he was being addressed. Then he turns.

He’s wearing a lion’s head and carrying a giant baseball bat over his shoulder. He’s wearing camo pants and a black undershirt with the words “STRENGTH” across the chest. His chest and shoulders are covered in tattoos.

The plague spirit floats eerily toward you.

“Ah! There you are, demigod!” The man from the baseball circus smiles. 

This guy isn’t from a circus. This is Herakles, god of strength, and the dude is ripped!

That’s pretty great advice from a guy that could smash just about anything. You take the amulet. “Um, T-thank you!” you stammer.

You can hear the plague spirit behind you.

Herakles doesn’t seem bothered by the spirit’s proximity. He looks you over. The unspoken message is that there is work to be done here.

“I know several good trainers in town. Once you build up your strength and flexibility, I could give you several useful workout routines.” He nods. “How’s your diet?”

You can feel your health ebbing away. The plague spirit must be nearly on top of you.

Then, Herakles notices the monster and steps forward with his bat held over his head.

In a flash Herakles slides into the spirit, bringing his bat down on its head. There is a loud crack, and the head vaporizes becoming one with the green mist trailing along behind it.

Herakles smiles. “Well, that was cute.” He turns and looks at you once more.

“I don’t know what that amulet is, but Apollo’s plague spirits don’t like it. It’s the only chance you’ve got.

Better get going before the magic of the caduceus on the Hermes Air box fades. That symbol REALLY gets them agitated. I’d say you have about…” Herakles looks at his smartwatch, checks his pulse and says, “...five minutes.”

“So, I won’t get sick if I have this amulet thing with me?” you ask.

“I have absolutely no idea. I was just told it would strengthen your immune system. Good luck, demigod!” Herakles says, encouragingly.

You wonder if you covered yourself in Hermes Air delivery boxes if you’d have a better chance of surviving this. Cardboard armor is effective, right?

No certainties in life. Sometimes a demigod just has to take some godly help and then just trust.

You sprint toward the first set of bathrooms. What did Mr. Fishman call it? The place where the plague spirits were performing an angry toilet dance?

You hear the guitar music again. You stop for a moment and catch a glimpse of someone in bright yellow clothing. That’s when you realize it wasn’t a guitar you’d been hearing. It was a ukulele. 

Ponitifex is here.

Nero did warn you that he’d show up to collect the pieces of the Apple today.

You walk quickly toward the bathroom, sliding through a juniper thicket. Pontifex on a parallel course, matches your speed, while singing and strumming on his ukelele.

You both emerge on opposite sides of the clearing.The plague spirits still encircle the bathroom and the piece of the Apple.

You both lock eyes on the Hermes Air box.

“I want you to consider your answer to my question, very carefully,” Pontifex calls out. “Did you bring Lord Nero’s pieces of the Apple as he requested?”

Pontifex knows you have the pieces with you. No point in trying to pull one over on him.

“Yup.”

Pontifex smiles, broadly, revealing his nightmarish rows of need-like teeth. “There may be a place for you in Nero’s army after all, demigod. Give them to me now!” Pontifex holds out his gloved hand.

Over Pontifex’s shoulder you see a swirl of purple. The telltale sign of the BELCH opening. Something was coming. Grey was sending help.

“I said I brought them with me,” you begin. “I didn’t say I was going to hand them over.”

Pontifex trembles with rage, pushes the sleeves of his yellow suit up, points at you with one arm outstretched, and begins to scream, “Kill the d…”

He never finishes the command. A cyclops looms over Pontifex, snatching him up by one arm and one leg and throwing him like a discus over the trees. It’s kind of beautiful. 

“I think that man is bad. I hope he leaves you alone,” the cyclopes says.

“Thanks for the help.” You wave at the gentle giant.

“I have to go for my writing,” he says, proudly displaying his arms, covered in tattoos. “I have more here, see?” He lifts his shirt, revealing his torso. It too is covered in writing. “It tickles when she writes.”

The plague spirits roil and moan, their toilet dance increasing in velocity.

“That won’t tickle,” the kindly cyclops says, glancing at the plague spirits and pulling his shirt down.

“Yeah, you’d better get back to wherever you came from,” you say, turning to face the plague spirits.

“The book shop!” he says happily. “You’re sure you okay?” He half whispers.

“I am about to find out!”

He doesn’t answer, but you can hear the BELCH open up, then close. 

There’s only one way to do this. You place the amulet around your neck, draw your sword, swallow hard, and walk toward the angry host of spirits.

They begin to peel off one by one, launching themselves directly at you. Grotesque faces and outstretched hands trail vaporous disease.

The first plague spirit hits you, or rather the vapor blows past you, the head and hands insubstantial and without weight. It’s like they’re falling apart as they reach you.

The second and third hit you, with no effect.

The smell is a disgusting mix of rotting flesh and sweat. The voices and moans turn angry as one after another hurl themselves at you.

Where it rests between the hollow of your neck and the top of your chest, you can feel the amulet heat up.

“Wow! What supplements are you taking?”

“Ugh. Great gut health…” the plague spirits groaned faintly.

You keep moving toward the box. Finally, the remaining host of plague spirits disperse and vanish into the trees.

You bend down to grab the cardboard box. You shake it and hear what you assume is the apple piece rattling around inside. You scan the trees for any signs of Pontifex or plague spirits, but don’t see anything. 

You shove the small box into your backpack. As you do, a massive vibration rumbles across the landscape and through you. Dazed and nauseated, you wonder if the amulet didn’t work, and you’re now getting sick.

A moment later a giant black marble pillar shimmers into existence only a few feet from where you stand.

You feel the weight of the Apple double, buckling your knees. You crumble to the ground, short of breath and confused. You roll onto your back and blink into the light.

The top of the column is about twelve feet above you and ringed with images of the same man wearing a laurel crown, laughing, crying, looking triumphant, angry, and horrified.

This must be one of the markers you’ve heard about. Why did it materialize here? Why now?

You slowly roll back over to regain your footing. You call out to Grey and a BELCH opens revealing your home.