Not Just Another God ✓

Chapter 8: Now would be a goode time for my godly powers to kick in

"Nosoi?" I asked, planting my feet in a fighting stance, "You know, I keep thinking, I have now killed every single thing in Greek mythology. But the list never seems to end."

"You haven't killed me yet," Apollo noted, with a tone of careful consideration in his voice.

"Don't tempt me."

The three nosoi shuffled forward, their mouth gaping open and their tongues lolling. Their eyes glistened a milky white with a film of yellow mucus oozing out from the corners, running down their faces. The pure stench of rotting skin was enough to make anyone run away screaming.

"These creatures are not myths," Apollo said. "Of course, most things in those old myths are not myths. Except for that story about how I flayed the satyr Marsyas alive. That was a total lie."

I glanced at Apollo, my wariness probably evident on my face. "You did what?"

He didn't answer, and honestly, perhaps that was for the better. I'm not exactly sure I wanted the extreme detail of things he had done in his past life.

My gaze flitted up to the sky sending a silent prayer to Poseidon or anyone who would listen. "Can my godly powers kick in, like now please?"

If I even had godly powers. Since, I wasn't techically a god, but hey, it would be useful nevertheless.

"Guys." Meg picked up a dead tree branch, shifting it from one hand to another, seeing if it could be used as a weapon. "Could we talk about that later?"

The middle plague spirit spoke, though there was something strangly hollow about his voice, like if a dead person had come to life.

"Apollooooo..." His voice gurgled, rough and scratchy, like he was recovering from a bad cough. "We have coooome to–"

"Let me stop you right there." Apollo said, crossing his arms, trying to be intimidating but failing miserably.

"You've come to take your revenge on me, eh? You see, nosoi are the spirits of disease. Once I was born, spreading illnesses became part of my job. I use plague arrows to strike down naughty populations with smallpox, athlete's foot, that sort of thing."

"Gross," Meg stated, lifting up her tree branch in preparation.

"Somebody's got to do it!" Apollo said. "Better a god, regulated by the Council of Olympus and with the proper health permits, than a horde of uncontrolled spirits like these."

The spirit on the left gurgled, and again a felt a tickle at the back of my head, as of someone was attempting to enter."We're trying to have a moooment here. Stop interrupting! We wish to be free, uncontroooolled–"

"Yes, I know. You'll destroy me. Then you'll spread every known malady across the world. You've been wanting to do that ever since Pandora let you out of that jar. But you can't. I will strike you down!"

The spirit on the right bared his rotten teeth. "What will you strike us down with? Where is your booow?"

"It appears to be missing," Apollo readily agreed. "But is it really? What if it's cleverly hidden under this Led Zeppelin T-shirt, and I am about to whip it out and shoot you all?"

The nosoi shuffled nervously, though the look in their glossy white eyes was hard to read.

"Yooou lie," said the one in the middle.

I cleared my throat. "Um, hey, Apollo..."

"I know what you're going to say," he said, "You and Meg have come up with a clever plan to hold off these spirits while I run away to camp. I hate to see you sacrifice yourselves, but-"

"That's not what I was going to say." I answered, raising my blade. "I was going to ask what happens if I just slice and dice these mouth-breathers with Celestial bronze."

The middle spirit scoffed, his yellow eyes gleaming. "A sword is such a small weapon. It does not have the pooooetry of a good epidemic."

"Stop right there!" Apollo ordered. "You can't claim both my plagues and my poetry!"

"You are right," said the spirit. "Enough wooooords."

Apollo thrust out his arms but nothing happened. There was an awkward silence while we all just stood there, not one of us daring to speak in case we only made the situation more embarrassing.

"This is insufferable!" Apollo complained. "How do demigods do it without an auto-win power?"

Meg jabbed her tree branch into the nearest spirit's chest. The branch stuck. Glittering smoke began swirling down the length of the wood.

"Let go!" Apollo warned. "Don't let the nosoi touch you!"

Meg released the branch and scampered away, her only weapon lost.

Since my godly powers didn't seem to be cooperating, I charged into battle the good old fashioned way. I swung my sword, dodging the spirits' attempts to snare me, but whenever my blade connected with the nosoi, their bodies simply dissolved into glittery mist, then resolidified.

A spirit lunged to grab me. From the ground, Meg scooped up a frozen black peach and threw it with such force it embedded itself in the spirit's forehead, knocking him down.

Turns out that some things didn't go right through them.

"We gotta run," Meg decided.

"Yeah." I agreed, "I like that idea."

Apollo bit his lip but didn't say anything. His pride was probably bruised.

I pointed to a line of hills about a mile ahead. "That's the western border of Camp. If we can just get there..."

We passed an irrigation tank on a tractor-trailer. I felt the familiar tug in my gut as I made the side of the tank fall apart. A wall of water crashed into the three nosoi behind us, knocking them down.

"That was good." Meg grinned, skipping along in her new green dress. "We're going to make it!"

I bit my lip nervously.

"We can't–" Apollo gulped. "They'll just–"

Before he could finish, three glittering pillars of smoke plumed from the ground in front of us. Two of the nosoi solidified into cadavers-one with a peach for a third eye, the other with a tree branch sticking out of his chest.

I charged–and ran straight into a plume of smoke.

"Don't breathe!" Apollo warned.

Out of breath, I fell to to my knees, clawing at my throat which was rapidly drying up.

Air. I need air.

From my peripheral, I vaguely noticed Meg pick up another withered peach from the field, tossing it in her hand as she decided what to do with it.

"Which fatal illness shall I use to kill the great Apolloooo?" the spirit gurgled. "Anthrax? Perhaps eboooola..."

"Hangnails," Apollo said, squirming, "I live in fear of hangnails."

"I have the answer!" the spirit cried, "Let's try this!"

He dissolved into smoke and settled over Apollo like a glittering blanket, the bone-chilling ashes of a hollow laugh echoing in my ears.