The Wolf of Mars

Rude Awakenings

Of course there were better ways to wake up too since he awoke to a bitter and putrid scent. It felt like it was penetrating his brain and Cole grimaced, groaning, "Ugh. Get that out of my face," but his voice seemed incapable of words as his throat grinded and strained, and an unintelligible grumbling came back to his ears. It sounded like a cat was dying, but all things considered, it was probably half true.

But thankfully it got the smelling salts away from his nose as a voice greeted, "Welcome back to the land of the living, Cole!" But living was the last thing he felt since it felt like his body was mashed into mush and set on fire. Still Cole groaned and sat up in his hospital bed, feeling thankfully warm for the first time in what felt like months.

"Here drink this," the voice said, grabbing Cole's wrist to guide him to a smooth glass. Humming in thanks, Cole shakily brought the cup to his lips and drank its contents, feeling the blissfully cool liquid quench his fire. The feeling traveled around his body, washing away his pain and ache, and Cole felt his world sharpen once more.

Licking his parched lips, Cole nodded in thanks and cleared his throat before saying, "Thanks, George." The camp doctor, clad in a lab coat over his turquoise scrubs, smiled and took the empty glass from him, "De nada, Cole. You certainly went through the grinder, didn't you? You've been in a coman for about...two days."

On the lapel of his coat, the centurion badge shone proudly, marking him as one of two leaders within his cohort. The Fourth Cohort or the medical division. While most legionnaires were capable in first aid, it was the Fourth Cohort that were specifically trained to be field medics and doctors.

George Santiago was a proud example of this practice as a legacy of Apollo. If there was an ailment, he could find it without difficultly. Luckily for him, finding Cole's was about as easy as finding a hay in a hay stack.

Tucking a pen behind his ear, George began to rattle off Cole's cracked bones, bacteria infected muscles, and different conditions that ranged from sleep deprivation and exhaustion to mild hypothermia. In summary, he was messed up, but it was nothing that nectar and ambrosia couldn't fix as George handed him another glass with a golden liquid and what looked like a gold brownie.

But before could scarf them down, George grabbed his arm and warned, "You know procedure, Cole. Give the Unicorn drought time to cleanse your body before taking any kind of godly food."

As the foods of the gods, no mortal can ingest Nectar and Ambrosia without burning up, but for legacies and demigods, it is used to heal them...but too much can make them burst into flames. And since Unicorn drought was a handmade medicine, it probably wasn't a good idea to mix the two.

So while Cole sighed and leaned back, George crossed his arms and gave him an appraising smirk. "So what's it like being the new boy prodigy?" That struck a chord in Cole as he chuckled at the title. Boy prodigy? The last person who held that title became praetor. "When did I get that title?"

"Oh don't be so modest," George laughed, slapping him on the shoulder, "You know why." Though it was just a light slap, it sent waves of pain down Cole's frayed nerves and he stifled an urge to groan and instead gave a strained smile. "The boar?"

"Not just any boar, Cole. That was an Erymanthian boar from Hercules legend," George explained, "You know? The one of the monsters that only the greatest hero of all time could beat?" Honestly, no Cole didn't know because myth and legends was never his strongest suit. All he was concerned about was if it was a monster and if he could kill it.

"And not only did you beat," George continued with his smile growing wider, "but you beat it bare handed! Who even does that?" Taking a bite of ambrosia, Cole muttered, "Knowing you, you would have just crapped yourself and called it a day." It tasted like his mom's casava cake and filled Cole with a warm, fuzzy feeling.