The Battle of Olympus | III

12. I Attack A Prince

I'm actually on fire, and this is plot-fowarding. What is happening. Guys, I think I might've accidentally sold my soul to the devil in my sleep or something because this shouldn't be legal.

Also, I designed a new cover for TBOO that I think could also fit the theme, though it isn't as subtle as the one I have now: what do you guys think of this  ^ vs the one I have? Anyway, that's it, so enjoy the rest of this trash!

It turned out that tracking magic was harder than I thought.

Back in Tartarus, it had been sheer desperation driving me; here on Earth, it wasn't as easy. The chaos ringing all around me was disorienting, but it wasn't like I could find a quieter place or do it on Olympus. I almost turned around to ask Apollo for his advice before I remembered: Apollo wasn't here. He had wanted to go, but he had been pulled into some business; he promised me he would come as soon as he could, though I couldn't hold him to that promise.

Without even meaning to, I felt a strange rush of disappointment. He had promised me that I wouldn't have to face Claudius alone, and though I knew he hadn't left of his own choice, it still felt almost like he had... abandoned me, in a way, though I knew it was silly. He had his duties, I had mine, though I still wondered why I missed him, considering how, all things considered, I didn't know him for very long.

It was probably because I had just gotten used to him being there after Tartarus, I decided.

I half-wondered amusedly if I could just put up fliers with Claudius' face on it and ask if anyone had seen him, or if I could just shove a picture of him in people's faces and ask if they had seen him. It would've been funny, except Athena would've killed me for worsening the situation, so I desisted, though after having been outside in Boston's freezing snowstorm after twenty minutes, I was seriously fighting the urge.

"Ugh, snow," I muttered.

I might've been wearing magicked clothes designed to keep out the cold, but having been a San Franciscan for almost as long as I could remember, I didn't do well in any temperature even mildly warmer or colder, much less a literal snowstorm blowing in. Did Claudius know that? Was that why he had chosen Boston?

Or, at least, according to Athena, he had. I wasn't too sure, but she had insisted that Boston had been radiating a suspicious amount of chaos magic. Still, why would Claudius choose Boston? There were no ties, no connections; I had a feeling that Boston might've just had a surprising number of monsters, but it still would've been foolish to not even check it out. Though I silently cursed Athena for not noticing a sudden increase of chaos magic in Australia or something as I sliced down some sort of bat creature.

"Andromeda?"

I froze at the voice.

No. No, that wasn't possible. He was already dead, he was in Elysium, he wasn't—

"Andromeda..."

Against my better judgment, I turned.

Patroclus was standing there, swaying, eyes wide with fear, still holding onto the bloody wound in his stomach, broken spear still thrust through. He looked exactly the same as he had that day he fell, that day Achilles had lost the last wisps of his sanity and Hector had sealed his own fate.

"Andromeda..."

He stumbled forward and I rushed to catch him.

Why was nobody helping? I wondered wildly. Why were there people just walking past and not batting an eyelash at the man bleeding to death in my arms? Some part of me, some part far, far in the back of my mind knew that none of this was really happening, that there was no way Patroclus was currently dying, but my panic clouded my judgement. I was sure that he was going to die again, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.