Apple of Discord: Chapter 6

“Demigod’s! Greeks and Romans! Pig’s Head formation. Shields up!” Tree commands.

“Hellas!” comes the collected Greek response, as the entire group of Greeks and Romans snaps into the classic wedge-shaped Roman formation. The sound of their roaring voices and the pounding of their feet on the ground charge your animus with excitement and something else.

It’s as if you can feel the collected voices of all the demigods who have come before you in battle, urging you to calm your nerves, focus on this momentous occasion. You are not alone. There is hard work ahead, and there is also hope.

“Reporting for duty, sir!” you half bark, half smile at Tree.

He looks down at you with a huge grin, “Quickly, take center post behind the line with Adele and the archers. When we break their line—and we will break their line—you, Adele and I will head for the factory door. Got it?”

“Yessir.” You salute.

You take your spot alongside Adele and the archers.

You run into position on Adele’s right side.

“Hey!” you say by way of introduction.

The archers nod gravely. You recognize a few of them from earlier in the park. One of the young women turns and speaks. She has shoulder length brown hair and glasses and is wearing a Camp Jupiter t-shirt. You seem to remember she’s a daughter of Vulcan.

“I’m Waffle Cone, you can call me Cone. This is Simone, Thomas, Hector, Jeremy, Hannah, Paul, and Harrison. You already know Adele. Welcome to Shade division. It’s what we throw. It’s all we throw. Let’s give our team some shade to fight in, people!”

“Nice to meet you!” you say quickly, then turn to face the oncoming army.

“Stay on me,” Adele says. “Swords and bows up!”

Thomas yells, “Nock!”

Shade division, as if one mind and body, nock multiple arrows to their bows.

“Loose!” Thomas shouts.

The first volley of arrows, shot in a low arc, land squarely in the bodies and shields of the approaching Germani warriors with dull thocking sounds. At least five of them fall.

“Rinse and repeat!” Hector yells.

Tree is at the tip of the wedge formation. The entire line moves forward under Tree’s orders. With shields extended and spears out, the wedge of Greeks and Romans meets the Germani line with devastating results. The older Germani mercenaries fall back as the wedge pushes into them.

Then the swirling mass of plague spirits weaves between the faltering Germani warriors and through the camp shield wall and the demigod heroes holding the shields.

The effect is immediate. The formation halts. Vomiting and coughing and sneezing quickly follow as the demigods stagger to a halt. Slowly the shields and spear points fall toward the ground.

“Hold the line, demigods! Puke if you got to, but keep those shields and spears up!” Tree encourages his troops.

The Germani re-form their skirmish line and press their advantage. Ryan points Otis and Ephialtes toward the advancing line of enemies. Ephialtes rips a Chinaberry tree out of the ground and hurls it over the heads of the demigods and into the advancing line of Germani. You swear you can almost hear the dull sound of bowling pins being knocked over.

“Party crashers, die!!!” Otis roars, kicking over the throne dias and heaving his massive wooden chair at Pontifex.

In response, Pontifex brings his giant mallet down on the chair careening toward him, shattering the thing to splinters. Stepping through the debris, Pontifex spins the hammer in a wide arc around him and releases it directly at Otis’s head, where it strikes the giant squarely on the nose. Otis flies off his feet to land on his back.

The ground shakes violently on impact. A massive cloud of dust and dead chinaberry leaves erupts from beneath him.

Pontifex bounds through the space between them with blazing speed, closing the gap in the blink of an eye. His hand raised, the man in the yellow suit, lands on the stunned giant’s chest.

The mallet materializes in Pontifex’s hand once more. Just as he is about to strike Otis, Ephialtes snatches the mallet out of Pontifex’s grip and crushes the weapon.

Pontifex stumbles atop Otis’s chest for a moment, then recovers his footing. He smirks.

“That’s not how it works, dear giant,” Pontifex sneers, holding his hand aloft once more. The mallet once again shimmers into being, whole and deadly in his grip.

“Fine!” Ephialtes returns a sneer. 

You see it before it happens. Otis kicks over the throne dias, revealing the large metal doors they had emerged from earlier. Ephialtes reaches down and opens the door with one hand, while snatching Pontifex and his hammer up in the other.

He unceremoniously throws Pontifex into the hole beneath and slams the heavy metal door shut, placing an old steel i-beam across the top for extra measure.

“Two points for me.” Ephialtes snickering sounds like a rockslide.

Ephialtes helps Otis back up to his feet.

At this point the wedge formation won’t hold against the Germani assault and the Plague spirits. The demigods from the Austin branch fight bravely, but the combination of the two is far too potent.

Only Tree and a handful of Romans and Greeks still  fight, seeming like people possessed. Occasionally one of the Plague Spirits homes in on you and the Shade division, only to be repelled by the necklace you wear around your neck.

Thank Herakles!

Time is running out for Masters Da’Mon and Cat. You’ve got to get the team inside, but what will you be walking into? An ambush? A trap? Almost definitely, you think.

Then you remember one of the other magical items you have. A certain dream-time item you have yet to use. The scarab beetle. 

“I’ve got something in my pack that I hope will help. Cover me?” you ask Shade division. 

The group nods and closes ranks in front of you.

You quickly find the carved scarab beetle. It’s deep blue with flecks of gold veining and about half the size of a candy bar. You can feel the dormant magic inside wake up and buzz excitedly, even though it remains still and stoney.

Removing it from your pack, you hold the flat of the scarab carving to your forehead and speak your intent into it.