𝙄𝙉𝙁𝙇𝘼𝙈𝙀𝘿; heroes of olympus

godlike

ERITH JAY
ERITH KNEW SHE WAS DEAD.

A long time ago, before Tartarus, before camp, Erith Jay had accepted her death. It had just happened one day on the swing set of an abandoned park. Dusk had just settled, and mosquitoes hummed against the golden glare of the sunset.

In one hand, she held a half-smoked cigarette, and in the other, she held onto the rusted chain that held the swing in place. She watched the sky wash itself away and tasted her cigarette until it was less than ashes, then let it fall from between her fingers and smeared it under her boots.

It was then, as night fell and the stars peeked their heads out to stare at her, that she had accepted that she wasn't going to live through this. Whatever this was.

Those views had wavered. Over the last year, Erith had done amazing things; extraordinary things. She had met fantastic people. Charming Jasper. Lovely Piper. Golden Jason. Quick-witted Percy, always-warm Leo, death boy Nico. And many, many more.

And she loved them, she did. In those fluxes, in those sunsets and stars and mornings, she had learned to live again. She had trudged through Tartarus and knew she wasn't going to make it much farther than that.

And, indeed, here she was: the Earth had woken, and she stood at the heart of the world, with seven people she loved more than anything, more than life or death or whatever was in between, more than rusty swing sets and the stars and all of the gold in the world. It made her want to cry, to love and to be loved like this.

Erith was ready to die. She was born for it. But she wasn't ready to die now, not like this, not here.

And so, she wasn't even really surprised when the sky opened and showed her those same stars from that day with the cigarette and the swing and the grass underneath her shoes.

Zeus came first, riding into battle on a golden chariot, a lightning bolt the size of a telephone pole crackling in one hand. Pulling his chariot were four horses made of wind, each constantly shifting from equine to human form, straining to break free. For a split second, one took on the icy visage of Boreas, and the other three shifted similarly into gods Erith did not know.

On the underbelly of the Argo II, the glass bay doors split open. The goddess Nike tumbled out, free from her golden net. She spread her glittering wings and soared to Zeus's side, taking her rightful place as his charioteer.

"MY MIND IS RESTORED!" she roared. "VICTORY TO THE GODS!"

At Zeus's left flank rode Hera, her chariot pulled by enormous peacocks, their rainbow-colored plumage so bright it gave Erith the spins.

Ares bellowed with glee as he thundered down on the back of a fire-breathing horse. His spear glistened red.

In the last second, before the gods reached the Parthenon, they seemed to displace themselves, like they'd jumped through hyperspace. The chariots disappeared. Suddenly Erith and her friends were surrounded by the Olympians, now human-sized, tiny next to the giants, but glowing with power.

Together, they charged.

Out of the corner of her eye, Erith could see all of her friends fighting with their godly parents by their sides, but she had a different target.

Hippolytus was stalking toward her, his face grim. "Ready for another round, girl?"

"Certainly," Erith said, picking her sword up from the ground. "Try me."