Alternatively

Scorned

Olympus was dark.

The doors were locked and the elevator was out of service to all floors. Strange yellow dust drifted to the city below, but the citizens wrote it off as unusually strong pollen and went about their day with a growing sense of dread. Slowly, the city descended into a state of unruly distress without knowing why.

She stalked calmly through the hoards of panicked people, following the trail of golden blood on the sidewalks and across streets. It burned through concrete and couldn't be trampled away, shining bright and heavy. She had seen it for the first time when she was twelve, a turning point fight with the god of war on the beach of LA. She had seen it when he rushed to hold the sky for the goddess of the Hunt, stale pools of gold rippling as drops of his own blood dripping to stain the ground red. Time after time, she had seen the gods bleed.

But they never felt pain.

The sky was dark.

Black clouds of an impending storm rolled over the island, sealing out the weak light of a lifeless sun. Some people said it was to be the worst storm New York will ever have to see, and in a way, those people would be right. There had been and never will be anything like what she was doing. Many before her had tried, all had failed.

Those who had come close had to contend with her, she had stopped them. She had led attacks to take usurpers down, had personally dealt killing blows, had ensured the safety of Western Civilization's greatest icons twice over. Anything to protect what mattered most, she would defend her security to a better future.

The wind was weak, dry. It lifted her flattened curls and crisped the drying blood on her skin, but there was something missing. Even the mortals knew it was wrong, looking around with suspicious and shifting eyes. Not a single tourist stopped to take a picture, not a single cab went empty. Crowds funneled to the subway entrances and she was willing to bet JFK was about to get an influx of people seeking a way out of the state.

She sidestepped a steaming manhole cover, looking up at the brownstone jutting into the sky. The building shivered, not used to holding so much celestial essence at once. There was a strange vibration tinting the air and as she got closer, she realized it was the bell shaking in it's tower. The golden blood trailed up the worn steps, disappearing behind a closed oak door.

Of course she'd hide behind someone else's faith.

The cathedral was empty, an eerie silence settling around her as the door clicked shut behind her. The pews were meant to be filled, the alter meant to be knelt at. Stoic up the back wall she stood at were organ pipes, gleaming dully in the gray light filtering through stained glass windows. Color was drained from the somber depictions of saints and angels, shadows stealing life from piece after piece.

Annabeth followed the blood trail down the center aisle, her footsteps echoing into the cavernous ceiling and her dagger loose in her hand. It was humming with all the crimes it committed, neither malevolent or pleased. It's time in hell and stuck in a titan's side made it a poetic weapon, one Piper made sure she had before she left camp.

She had tried to stop her, in the beginning. She was the only one who really knew, the same emptiness reflecting in both their faces. They stood at the boarder late at night under a starless sky, silent and staring. Their weapons were drawn and leveled, but neither made a move.

"You're going to the city."

Annabeth had only nodded, blueprints of her Olympus seared in her mind. There was no question was she was going to do, even if her friend didn't know how she was going to do it.