𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒, ᴘᴇʀᴄʏ ᴊᴀᴄᴋꜱᴏɴ

003 ── hell hath no fury.

Percy's curbed irritation withdrew with the bite of sea salt gathering in the air as they entered Jupiter's temple. Measuring against Neptune's temple, left to rot in the aftermath of melancholy legends, Jupiter's was blessed with fervour like it was struck by its namesake's omnipotence. The marble floor was etched with garnished mosaics and Latin inscriptions. Sixty feet above, the domed ceiling sparkled gold. The whole temple was open to the calm wind.

Theia gripped her shirt within stiffened fingers, as if ripping the fabric would tear her anger from it's homely furnace in her veins. Octavian stood at the very center of the room in front of the marble altar, clad in a toga and his weary strawed hair drooping down his back. His presence was enough to push her from the temple. With a callowed mind and a tongue that lashed like a searing whip, Octavian was narcissism painted with a grotesque smile, just waiting for the opportunity to bite.

He stood in front of a prized marble statue; Jupiter, lord of the sky, dressed in a silk purple toga, holding a lightning bolt within his hands.

"It doesn't look like that," Percy muttered instinctively.

"What?" Hazel asked.

"The master bolt,"

"You've seen the master bolt?" Theia questioned, doubt seeping into her tone. Her freckles careened across tanned skin, whirling with her visible expressions like stars aligning among the universe's expanse. A brief second, and Percy toyed with the idea of counting them in curiosity. He shook himself from it swiftly.

  "I—" Percy frowned. For a second, he'd thought he remembered something. A lingering word, a fleeting touch... Now it was gone. "Nothing, I guess."

Octavian raised his hands. Crimsons and maroons and rubies swarmed the sky, permeated with a thrilling white that had the temple rumbling in a tremor. Then he put his hands down, and the rumbling stopped. The clouds turned from ashen gray to gleaming white, and broke apart, charging across the day's blue.

"What's he doing?" Percy murmured.

The boy turned as Hazel's hands wound around her back. He had a crooked smile and mania in his eyes that revelled within. In one hand, a knife brandished with the silver of the blade. In the other was something like a dead animal. His toga drooped along his frame, boney and lanky.

"Octavian." Theia greeted stiffly. His scowl twisted her own lips into a smirk. It was biting, impulsive, reckless stained pink and bitten and humane.

"Theia Harlow." He said her name as a poison, spitting it as if he was the viper and not the mouse ambushed in it's teeth. Percy and Hazel watched wearily. "Bothering me instead of destroying the camp, I suppose? Why, they should have thrown you to the wolves—"

"The wolves are sure to be better company." She stepped towards him, her step reverberating through the marble warningly. "You might disagree with your chosen company. Stuffed animals? I suppose they can't strangle you—"
Her hands lurched towards him, intent to grasp his jaw until red blistered among white and his mouth was wide with agony, but her wrists were restrained to her sides before she had the chance. Her back pulled to a wide chest, smoke slipping through her hands and through his.

But he wouldn't let go.

"Yes, that's right! Restrain her like the animal she is!"

"Octavian!"

"Let go of me, Jackson." Theia hissed. She could feel the smoke curling around her throat and distorting her voice, holding her captive to her own nature. So easy to trigger, with a remedy unthinkable. Gasoline with a match, erupting with a neglected ember.