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Ongoing46m
Last published Tue, Aug 18, 2015
Nike is the Goddess of Victory.
So anyone named after her should win at everything they do right? That is not the case. I've found myself in some pretty awkward situations that in no way counts as a victory. The one that takes the cake would have to be Beckett Rand, the towns resident pretty boy and known trouble maker, saw me completely naked. To make matters worse my mother decided her 17 year old daughter couldn't handle staying in her house by her self. I'm now in the house with the biggest playboy in this town who's seen me naked, and told his friends about it.
Call me Nike: Goddess of Awkard.
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The gods thought they could contain him. They built walls of frost, sent armies of light, flooded the tides and poisoned the air - but the crown still burned on his brow. They took his name from their songs and his face from their marble, yet his shadow stretched across every field they claimed. And when they bound a daughter of Zeus into living wood, they believed she would never walk again. They were wrong. Now the fortress holds two storms instead of one, and Olympus feels the ground shifting under its own feet. The lightning bolt they once feared to lose is no longer the only weapon beyond their reach. The Helm they sought to reclaim sits in a vault they cannot breach. And in the court of black stone, the pine hums with the memory of a girl returned to flesh and fury. The siege tightens. The hourglass runs dry. Champions are sent not to win a war, but to end it before it grows. And as the first hunter steps from the shadows, Percy Jackson knows the truth: there's no going back to quests and half-truths and camps in the woods. This is no quest. This is rebellion. And in rebellion, you don't ask the gods for permission. You take what they've hidden, you break what they've built, and you make them fear the very world they claim to rule.
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