Percy had never been so happy to see his girlfriend's father in his life. And nor had he ever thought of Mr D as a calming influence but all the machines ground to a halt and the wild animals stopped growling. The two leopards that had been injured from fighting Otis were miraculously healed as they padded over to the god, butting their heads affectionately against his legs as he scratched their ears.
"Really, Ephialtes," he chided. "Killing demigods is one thing. But using leopards for your spectacle? That's over the line. However, doing both, and against my daughter, no less, that is where you have gone too far."
The giant made a squeaking sound. "This—this is impossible. D-D —"
"It's Bacchus, actually, my old friend," said the god. "And of course it's possible. Someone told me there was a party going on."
And the fire in his eyes died down as he gave his daughter a kind smile that she returned.
Ephialtes's spear quivered. "You—you gods are doomed! Be gone, in the name of Gaia!"
"Hmm." Bacchus sounded unimpressed. He strolled through the ruined props, platforms, and special effects. "Tacky." He waved his hand at a painted wooden gladiator, then turned to a machine that looked like an oversized rolling pin studded with knives. "Cheap. Boring. And this..." He inspected the rocket-launching contraption, which was still smoking. "Tacky, cheap, and boring. Honestly, Ephialtes. You have no sense of style."
"STYLE?" The giant's face flushed. "I have mountains of style. I define style. I—I—"
"My brother oozes style," Otis suggested.
"Thank you!" Ephialtes cried.
"If by style you mean style for the clinically insane," Cressida remarked and her father laughed as the giants seemed offended.
Bacchus stepped forward, and the giants stumbled back. "Have you two gotten shorter?" asked the god.
"Oh, that's low," Ephialtes growled. "I'm quite tall enough to destroy you, Bacchus! You gods, always hiding behind your mortal heroes, trusting the fate of Olympus to the likes of these."
He sneered at Percy and Cressida.
Jason hefted his sword. "Lord Bacchus, are we going to kill these giants or what?"
"Well, I certainly hope so," Bacchus said. "Please, carry on."
Percy stared at him. "Didn't you come here to help?"
Bacchus shrugged. "Oh, I appreciated the sacrifice at sea. A whole ship full of Diet Coke. Very nice. Although I would've preferred Diet Pepsi."
"And six million in gold and jewels," Percy muttered.
"Yes," Bacchus said, "although with demigod parties of five or more the gratuity is included, so that wasn't necessary."
"What?"
"Papa, please," Cressida begged. "Forget the spectacle, just help us."
"Oh, I will, Gem," he said, and she shuddered at the sound. "Just after I'm impressed by your spectacle. You may be my daughter, but I can't have the other gods thinking I've gone soft."
"But you have!" she whined as she stomped her foot, rather frustrated at this god who was seeming less like her father with every passing minute.
"Of course," he said as if it was obvious. "But the other gods don't need to know that."
Percy put a hand on her shoulder before addressing the god. "We speared one," Percy said. "Dropped the roof on the other. What do you consider impressive?"
"Ah, a good question..." Bacchus tapped his thyrsus. Then he smiled in a way that made Percy think, Uh-oh. "Perhaps you need inspiration! The stage hasn't been properly set. You call this a spectacle, Ephialtes? Let me show you how it's done."
And he dissolved into purple mist along with Piper and Nico.
"Why would you ask him that?!" Cressida snapped as she smacked his arm with each word, Percy shying away.
"Because I thought it would help!"
"Have you even met me!? Dramatic flairs may be good to strike fear into the hearts of your enemies but they're a pain in the ass to do! Not to mention that that being isn't my father! Who knows what he's going to make us do!?"
"Pipes!" Jason yelled. "Bacchus, where did you—?"
The entire floor rumbled and began to rise. The ceiling opened in a series of panels. Sunlight poured in. The air shimmered like a mirage, and Percy heard the roar of a crowd above him. The hypogeum ascended through a forest of weathered stone columns, into the middle of a ruined coliseum. This wasn't just any coliseum though.
It was the Colosseum.
The giants' special effects machines had gone into overtime, laying planks across ruined support beams so the arena had a proper floor again. The bleachers repaired themselves until they were gleaming white. A giant red-and-gold canopy extended overhead to provide shade from the afternoon sun. The emperor's box was draped with silk, flanked by banners and golden eagles. The roar of applause came from thousands of shimmering purple ghosts, the Lares of Rome brought back for an encore performance. Vents opened in the floor and sprayed sand across the arena. Huge props sprang up—garage-size mountains of plaster, stone columns, and (for some reason) life-size plastic barnyard animals. A small lake appeared to one side. Ditches crisscrossed the arena floor in case anyone was in the mood for trench warfare. Percy, Jason and Cressida stood together facing the twin giants.
"This is a proper show!" boomed the voice of Bacchus. He sat in the emperor's box wearing purple robes and golden laurels. At his left sat Nico and Piper, her shoulder being tended by a nymph in a nurse's uniform. At Bacchus's right crouched a satyr, offering up Doritos and grapes. The god raised a can of Diet Pepsi, and the crowd went respectfully quiet.
Percy glared up at him. "You're just going to sit there?"
"Because you asked him to!" Cressida shouted.
"Oh, so this is my fault?!"
"This, yes! Everything that's ever happened to us, no. That I blame Hera for."
"I'll agree with the Hera part," Percy said and Jason just stared at them, bewildered.
"Are you guys seriously arguing right now?!" he asked, and they both turned on him as he took a nervous step back.
"We don't argue, we bicker!" they shouted in unison at him, and he raised his hands in surrender as he learned to never get involved in one of their arguments - bickerings or whatever.
"Ok, forget I asked!"
"The demigod is right!" Ephialtes bellowed. "Fight us yourself, coward! Um, without the demigods."
Bacchus smiled lazily. "Juno says she's assembled a worthy crew of demigods."
"Juno can shove my thyrsus up her ass!" Cressida shouted and her father's eyes darkened.
"Watch your language, Gem."
"Come down here and make me, Papa," she dared but he simply sat back in his throne.
"Oh, I will. Once you prove your lineage. Prove to me that you are the daughter of the god of theatre. Give me a spectacle worthy of my name."
He popped his soda can top and the crowd cheered.
"Oh, I hate Romans," Cressida scowled. "No offence, Jason."
"None taken," he said, slightly intimidated by her.
"Cress, I never thought I'd say this," Percy whispered to her. "But I miss Mr D."
"You and me both Fish Face," she said before she hefted her thyrsus, a dangerous glimmer in her eyes. "But he wants a show? Let's give him a show."