The gods are real.
All it takes is this one realization, sparked by a short video no one expected to go viral, to turn 21-year-old Angie Nohl and her friends' worlds on their heads.
Their existence now exposed to the masses, Angie and the Greek pant...
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Angie's hand was framed around the doorknob to Zeus's palace when everything began to shake out of control. She fought to maintain her balance, and seemed to be winning for a second, before another violent tremor sent her tumbling, arms flailing in a futile attempt to catch herself.
"Angie!" Clio hooked an arm through hers, helping her to her feet.
"It's not—this can't be," she said, and turned, looking back at Hades. "What's going on? Are we too late?"
He swallowed, his hair in disarray and his glasses slightly askew. "I don't know," he stammered. "I don't know. But Persie...Persie's in there."
"We're going in," said Conny, gun gripped so tightly in his hand that his knuckles were a mottled pinkish-white. With a sharp exhale, he blew a strand of his hair from out of his eyes. "We have to. You first, Angie. We'll all be behind you."
She nodded at him, then at Clio. Her sword felt strange and warm in her hands, almost like it was buzzing. She stepped forward to push the door open, just as the palace began to crumble, one crack forming, then splitting into two, six, too many to count. Dust flew into the air, stinging Angie's eyes, making her cough. She thought she heard screaming, somewhere over the thunderous thuds of marble and stone crumbling away.
The bulky shadow of a golden spire loomed above Angie's head. Before she could make sense of it, vines had curled around Angie's waist, flinging her backwards with enough force to send her stomach into her throat and yank the air from her lungs. She skidded across the ground, only stopping when Conny caught her, sweeping an arm around her back.
"Clio," she said, forcing herself up onto her elbows. "Where's Clio? What was—"
A familiar voice, cool and collected and thus twice as unsettling, interrupted the panicked storm of Angie's thoughts. "Where's the zombie?"
Esme stood like a vengeful witch among the rubble, black dress rippling behind her. Something about her was different, Angie thought. Something in her face had changed—the eyes dimmer, the smile more unhinged, like somewhere, somehow, she had lost a part of herself. No. That she'd killed it.
Angie struggled to her feet, pushing Conny away when he tried to steady her. "Go look after Hades," she said as he looked at her, grayish eyes wide and dazed. "I'll handle this."
He shook his head, hair falling lank into his eyes. "Angie—"
"Go, Conny," she snapped, and couldn't keep the frustration from her voice. "I'm not—I'm not letting anyone else get hurt, okay?"
She could tell by the tense furrow between his eyebrows that it was the very last order he wanted to obey. Nevertheless, he nodded at her, turning back and going after Hades, who had disappeared somewhere amongst the rubble of the former palace.
Angie's eyes flicked anxiously about, skimming the grim scene before her. The sky and clouds were a deep, ash-like gray, the air thickened with dust and tiny bits of crushed stone, enough that she could hardly see into the distance. Where were the other gods? She thought she could make out moving shadows somewhere beyond her, but it wasn't enough to dispel the chaos. None of it was enough to tell her what she wanted, needed, to know.
