Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot—and there is no way I'm going to say this every chapter, so this goes for the whole story. Everything else belongs to Rick Riordan and Stan Lee(I think, forgive me if I'm wrong and add something I shouldn't have).
The world was dyed with crimson.
The sky was dark and stormy, with ruby lightning bolts splitting the air in half with divine rage. Every breath taken was charged with immeasurable waves of electricity. The soil was soaked through with thick blood, creating a sticky, clumping landscape reminiscent of pulsating organs beneath the battlefield.
As demigods and monsters alike fell, the bodies and golden dust mixed together into a mess of gore. Intestines and mutilated corpses filled with the settled remains of enemies that had been slaughtered moments after their victory. Shattered skulls and blown off limbs littered the ground, and yet the battle raged on still.
Romans and Greeks fought side-by-side, but the sight was soured by the circumstance. Rather than moving forward towards a better future together, they charged onwards only so that they would not die together. All that mattered was that they wanted to live, and that the monsters wanted the opposite.
An overwhelming aura of death cloaked the warriors, made all the more oppressive by the desire to avenge fallen comrades and the suppressed fear. Clouds of dust scratched at their eyes, causing them to water but unable to be blinked away for fear of being struck down. The stench of blood saturated the air so that even the simple act of inhaling was laborious.
This sense of hopelessness, of terror and grief, was war. True war.
A war that was not a strategic or calculated endeavour, akin to a game of chess. A war without rationality or organisation. A war where neither side would ever manage to outmanoeuvre the other, but where the victory was only the force that outlasted the mutual waves of devastation coming their way.
But neither was it a war like a storm. The conflict was not entirely devoid of thought. This slaughter wasn't quite as uncontrollable nor as impersonal as the destructive dominance of a pure storm.
In the end, all that war was– all that it could be– was mindless killing with no end in sight.
Nothing could possibly justify this feeling that the fighting would drag on until the end of eternity. Nothing could quell or erase the agony wrought by the countless battles.
The prophesied seven heroes were scattered across the battlefield in various states of disarray.
They, along with most of the other demigods over 14, were most definitely the deciding factors on their side of the battlefield. The tides of the battle had turned significantly, from no-chance-in-Hades-are-we-going-to-win to we-might-just-survive-to-see-tomorrow.
Jason, Piper and Leo were to the East, bringing destruction with both cold and hot fire.
The son of Jupiter electrocuted any monster who entered the dome of sparks he was maintaining around his body. Using the winds as a stepping stone to support his movements, the blonde rushed forward to stab his blade into the middle of a group of monsters. His movements were as cold and measured as one would expect from a former praetor.
A small distance away, Piper's frequent charmspeak turned her words into soothing water, with her tongue as the conduit to seduce and guide all of her opponents to their demise. Monsters of various species fell prey to the gentle reprieve from gory violence, dying in the most peaceful and eerie way available to Gael's forces. She gifted them a beautiful death, like a healing lullaby.
YOU ARE READING
Beating Hearts
ActionPerseus Jackson. The name that sent chills down monsters spines, and that sparked hope in demigods everywhere. But beyond that, this name belongs to a boy. A man. A man who has seen so much, too much. Who has watched as his friends were killed, murd...
