Struck by Lightning

V

The chase had been long. Even after leaving the train and going ever further westwards, Percy found him and his companions continually hunted, followed all the way to New Mexico. While they could hold their own fairly well against the skeletal warriors that had pursued them across the United States, they could not dispel them – that is, bar Bianca's strange ability – leaving them endlessly fight until they, not the skeletons, dropped from exhaustion.

Their savior came from the wild. When they had finally been found by the General's minions at a small town in New Mexico, the Erymanthian Boar, a gift of mythological proportions, saved them, throwing away the skeletons and transporting them fast enough to get some good distance between the party of demigods and Hunters and the monsters that followed.

Where they ended up was a strange, oddly-lively town in the middle of the desert. If Percy had learned one thing over three years of being a demigod, strange meant bad. Or, at the very least, some powerful being was manipulating the situation.

His suspicions were confirmed when he found the tip of Ares' sword at his throat, said God of War grinning from the open back door of a limo that had pulled up out of nowhere in the middle of small, bustling yet deserted town.

"Not so fast now, huh punk," Ares grunted, smirking.

"Ares," Percy snarled. Around him, his companions readied their respective weapons, ready to fight even the God of War if they had to.

"At ease, peeps." Ares snapped his fingers and everyone's weapons slipped out of their hands like the hilts and grips had been covered in butter. "This is a friendly meeting."

He turned back around to face Percy, poking his blade into the demigod's throat just deep enough to draw the tiniest amount of blood, but not enough to do much more. "Of course, I'd like to take your head as a trophy, but the lady wants to talk to you, and it's best not to keep her waiting. Well, that, and it's not proper to behead enemies in front of a lady." Ares cruelly grinned at that.

"What lady?" Thalia said, scowling at the god.

"Oh, I don't think she wants to see the rest of you. Particularly them." He gestured to both Hunters. Turning back to Percy, Ares grabbed the son of Poseidon by the back of his collar. "Get inside punk," the god said, throwing Percy into the limo. "And mind your manners. She's not as forgiving as I am." With that, the door slammed closed.

Percy's jaw dropped the moment he saw her. Any words of protest died in his throat, leaving him utterly speechless with his eyes wide open.

The woman in front of him sat daintily in the soft leather seat, holding a small glass of champagne. She wore a deep red dress that accented her every curve to a degree even the world's finest supermodels could not match. Her face was absolutely beautiful, perfect in every way: just the right amount of makeup, gorgeous bright eyes, and a smile that could end wars.

The thing is, Percy had trouble focusing on her. Every time he honed in a certain aspect of her appearance, it shifted. Her eye color, her hair color or style, and more all constantly changed, yet meshed together to stay static. She was more beautiful than any human ever, but as Percy sat there, awed by the presence of the goddess of love, he felt an inkling of unease. She was not human, and the unceasing perfection of her appearance brought an eeriness to her that made Percy want to fling open the limo door and run away.

Finally, she turned to fully face Percy, a wide and bright smile on her face. For a split-second, Percy swore that he could see Annabeth – gray eyes, blonde hair – but as soon as he saw her, the woman's hair shortened, turning a dark black even as her eyes turned into an electric blue. That form lingered for a few seconds, but like the others, it changed once more, shifting into another attractive look.