Octavian
The Augur banged his fists against the stone for what felt like the millionth time.
"I am the Consul of the Gods!" he screamed, "You are bound by blood to release me this instant!"
The infuriating ginger girl stuck her head round the corner of her canvas again, this time a smudge of blue paint under her tired eyes.
"Octavian." she said, as if she was talking to an idiot, which riled him up even more, "Buddy. I share zero blood with the Gods. I don't have to do anything."
"I have been here for weeks!" he snapped, "My Roman Legion will have your head for imprisoning me. You and this entire filthy little Graceus camp."
But the girl just nodded.
"Uhuh, okay, sure." she waved him off, a large paintbrush in her hand.
He practically snarled. This was Reyna's doing, or the imposter Jackson's. Those stupid Greeks had bombed their camp and now they had a Greek praetor? Octavian wouldn't let it happen. Which was why he had appointed himself Pontifex Maximus, above Legionnaires, above Centurions and most certainly above Praetors. He had some loyalty still within the army, and as soon as he got out, he was going to burn this camp to the ground.
He had to.
It was what Gaia wanted.
"It's time." the Primordial Goddess whispered softly from the cave walls, her voice kind and respectful; Octavian couldn't resist.
They'd been talking for quite some time, reluctant at first, but the more she spoke, the more she offered him, the quicker he began to realise just what she could do for him. Respect from both mortals and immortals alike, all around the world. Power beyond his wildest dreams, enough to make Jackson fear him instead, to make Reyna kneel at his feet, to make Jason's knees knock together in awe. To bring Rome out of the ashes and make it the new epicentre of the world.
Gaia had assured him of this. He just needed to escape first.
He was in the little Oracle's cave-house. His nose wrinkled as he looked around with distaste. Paintings littered the walls, full of monsters and kids in those silly orange shirts. He was in some kind of lurid green armchair, and though it was comfortable, he'd never say it. Children of Morpheus had kept him down for a while, but now it was only his legs that were asleep, to stop him running off.
And they were torturing him!
Every five hours or so, on the hour every day, they would bring out food for him. But not normal, Roman food, oh no. It was different. Greek. Every dish under the sun mixed together, chips and samosas and blue cupcakes. They were giving him their leftovers! And what kind of monsters ate blue icing? Octavian seethed in his chair, lashing out and knocking off some of the books left out for him, earning another exasperated glance from the girl.
She seemed to be alarmed at what she was painting, but Octavian wasn't a master manipulator for nothing.
"Please," he said, making his voice as low as he could, "I'm so bored. Can I at least see what you're painting?"
The girl's eyebrows bounced as she frowned. "I'm not sure what I'm painting." she said, but obliged, spinning round the easel.
Octavian stared at it in confusion. It was a figure, a person, but their face was obscured, some kind of black mask covering them from nose to chin, a band covering their eyes. They were topless, but their skin was stained red and gold, tattooed with smudged and incomprehensible symbols. A sharp black sword hung in their hand, the rest of the picture a whirl of dark blues.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"I'm not sure." she said again, but this time Octavian had a feeling she was lying; her eyes were worried and trained on the painting.
"Would that centaur man know? Chiron?" Octavian asked casually.
"Maybe." the girl stuck her paintbrush behind her ear, "I think I need to ask him, actually."
She turned to look at him, and smirked. "Don't move, I'll be right back."
"You don't have to say that every time you leave!" Octavian shouted after her in frustration, but let it go.
It was time.
Slowly, he slid his uncooperative body out of the armchair, and began to drag himself across the floor, cold stone thankfully covered in an overlapping mess of fluffy rugs. Usually by the time he got to the painting of the spooky mansion, someone would walk in and hoist him back into the chair. But not this time. He had a plan with Gaia.
He groaned as he heaved himself along the floor a couple feet, aiming for the entrance of the cave, where he could see sprouts of grass trailing off towards the strawberry fields, which was overpowering and just plain stinky to his nose.
His elbows started to ache, but luckily, his arduous crawl was nearly over. He reached the edge of the cave, and sank his hands deep into the earth and mud.
"I welcome Mother Earth." he declared, the words repeating over and over in his head as they had done for weeks.
Octavian gasped.
A feeling spread up his arms, like bees going haywire in their hive, bugs crawling under and into his skin. His mouth dropped.
"Don't let go." Gaia whispered in his head, and he jumped as closed eyes protruded from the soil next to him, and he could see the eyeballs twitching and rolling behind the lids. "We're so close."
"This will give me my legs back?" he asked.
"Yes. And then you have several important things to do for me. For the fate of Rome."
Octavian nodded absently, his skinny chest puffing out, and a dark grin spread over his face as his legs began to twitch. Pins and needles filled them, and he slowly pulled himself into a crouch, hands still buried. His brows furrowed as he found himself unable to pull them out.
His wrists began to ache a little, and Octavian turned them over, watching in a flushed fascination as his sickly blue veins filled with a dark brown colour, going hard and pressing outwards on his skin, as if they were pumped with dirt. He gasped as it travelled up the rest of him, feeling thick lines shoot up the length of his neck. It felt... it felt... warmth spread over him, and Octavian forgot the stinging in his body, smiling broadly.
It felt like power.
He staggered to his feet, hands released.
"Hurry up," Gaia snapped, but to Octavian, her voice was an encouraging caress across his mud streaked face, and his smile bulged wider.
He turned to walk, his movements shaky and stiff at the same time, the mud in his veins like metal poles through his body. He wandered awkwardly through the still forest, eyes that didn't seem to close flicking from demigod to demigod in the distance. Orange shirts, purple shirts; Octavian felt a white hot fury, yet at the same time barely cared; the only thing that mattered anymore was waking up Gaia.
The camp was quieter than when they had arrived, the majority of both armies overseas. Those that remained were children, pacifists or defenders. Whilst the Greeks milled about as they liked, shrieking and laughing with each other, clanging their swords together, the Romans patrolled in groups, or simply sat around the campfires. Octavian's mad eyes tracked two campers as they hurried through the trees nearby, not noticing him as he stood and watched them, neck twisting slowly as they ran. One orange, one purple.
How sweet. They liked each other.
Octavian reached down, and lifted a heavy rock the size of a remote control car.
A Greek and a Roman, together.
It flipped his stomach.
His body turning to catch up with his craned neck, Octavian followed silently, never taking his wide eyes off them. Their loud footsteps made them easy to track, he thought, his smile exposing his bared teeth now.
They disappeared behind a tree, and Octavian crept slowly closer, barely able to hold back an insane laugh choking his throat. He peered around, and saw the two embraced, kissing and giggling against a tree. The clashing of their shirts made his dry eyes hurt, and his smile grew feral, a hyena-like laugh bursting out of him.
The pair sprang apart, and Octavian recognised the Roman as Clara, a daughter of Bacchus. She whipped out an expandable spear, deftly maneuvering it in and out of her fingers.
The Greek boy just laughed, and shook his head, reassuring Clara. "It's probably a Stoll," he said, "Come on out, Connor!" he called, hands on his hips.
Octavian made no move to reveal himself, and trailed a heavy hand over the bark of a tree, feeling the intricacies and patterns in the wood. Oh yes, he thought, this would burn quite nicely.
Clara whipped her head around, gripping her spear tightly. The Greek boy now looked distinctly nervous, reaching for the dagger at his waist, but laid his other hand on Clara's shoulder.
"It's okay." he said softly, "There can't be any monsters within the border. It's probably just a prank, or a startled forest nymph."
Octavian shook his head from side to side. "Wrong, wrong, wrong," he said, and both demigods locked onto him as he stepped out the shadows.
The Greek boy shrieked. His eyes roamed Octavian's body as he stumbled back, his girlfriend stepping in front of him, face shocked but her spear lowered.
"Octavian," she muttered, "What- what's happened to you?"
"How do you mean?" Octavian asked, wandering over to them.
"You look sick." she stated. "Awful. Your-your eyes aren't blue anymore. There are doctors here, I really think you should-"
"You were wrong." Octavian cut her off, his eyes trailing away and snapping back to her.
"I- what? Octavian, you really do look terrible. You've got these streaks all over your face and your arms, you need to see a doctor right now?"
"You were wrong." Octavian just repeated. "There are monsters within the border."
The Greek boy shook his head. "That's not possible. Thalia's tree protects us, and Peleus." he gestured over his shoulder, and Octavian spotted a large tree a few meters away from them that seemed to radiate power, a golden blanket of some sort ductaped to one of the branches. A dragon lay beneath, and Octavian could see it watching him. It was large, snake-headed with copper scales.
The demigods continued to talk to him for a while, but a smooth high pitched whistle just buzzed in his ears.
He stared at the dragon, and held back a smirk as he saw the earth reach up to muzzle and envelop the dragon. He couldn't hear it, and even if it tried, an aborted roar could just be mistaken for a wave this near the beach. Soon, all Octavian could see was its eyes glaring at him in a wild anger.
He stared back at the demigods blankly. He saw their mouths move, saw twigs snap underneath their feet, saw the trees creak around them, but he was deaf to it all.
He clenched the stone hard in his hand, and locked eyes with Clara, who still looked as if she was trying to help, poor thing, talking rapid silence.
Octavian nodded to himself.
And he swung the rock into her head.
The area around him erupted back into noise, the sickening crack of Clara's skull smashing, the scream of the Greek boy, the birds fleeing the trees around them. He began to laugh uncontrollably.
"There are monsters within these borders, but it's not me." he told the Greek boy, whose panicked gaze was flicking wildly between the bloody rock in his hand and the unmoving body on the floor, probably wanting to run but unwilling to leave Clara.
"How do you spot a monster?" Octavian asked him suddenly.
This seemed to confuse the other boy, but he didn't hesitate with a quick answer.
"I can spot one right now!" the boy told him, trying to circle him, but Octavian made no attempt to move.
"You look for claws, for fangs, for glowing eyes." he listed, as if the boy wasn't even there.
"And now are you gonna reveal that you have some of those, just tucked away?"
Octavian laughed again; these mortals were so funny. The boy thought he was a monster. He thought he was the monster here.
"Of course not." he said. "But do you know how I spot a monster?"
"I really don't care." he said, but Octavian barely heard him over the rushing in his head.
"I just look for one of those stupid orange shirts." he said simply, and lunged.
The boy's dagger clattered off Octavian's rock, though he caught him on the arm, with a desperate slash. But they both watched, the boy in horror, as only thick mud leaked out of the tear in his skin.
"What the Hades are you?" the boy whispered, and his fear was a symphony in Octavian's ears.
Octavian leant forwards.
"I'm the Pontifex Maximus."
Their eyes met.
He turned to sprint, but Octavian was faster, stronger, better, than he had ever been in his entire life, and he caught his wrist as he turned. His other arm came up, and he slammed his rock into the boy's head as well. His fearful eyes glazed over and he crumpled. Octavian watched unblinkingly.
He reached down, and gripped the collars of their shirts, and began to drag the two towards the big tree: 'Thalia's Tree', whoever that was. Their blood had not yet reached the ground, trickling slowly into their eyes and impeded by their hair. It absorbed into their shirt collars, no longer purple and no longer orange, just a dull, thick red.
Blood of two demigods, Octavian thought to himself, check.
He dumped their bodies at the foot of the tree, before looking up, evaluating it for weaknesses. They were silly mortals, Octavian thought, a tree couldn't protect you. Only Gaia could.
He reached up, staring the dragon down as he tore the golden thing from the branches, ripped the segments of ductape off of it, and tied it around his neck like a praetor cloak. The Golden Fleece, his mind told him. The hero Jason had rescued it ages ago. Another artefact that didn't belong to the Greeks. Just like the Sibylline Books. Only he could have it now. He was the only one who deserved it, the only one who could wield such power. He wasn't just a legacy and a failed seer now. He demanded the same respect as a demigod hero. No...Octavian amended. He demanded the same respect as a God.
The dragon roared from where the very alive earth pinned it to the ground with all the weight and power of a primordial goddess.
"What do I do now?" he asked into the air.
But Gaia did not answer him, and Octavian felt a brief flash of worry. She was probably somewhere else, he thought. In Greece, he imagined, drowning the army in quicksand. The closer she got to awakening, the more power she unlocked, and the more power Octavian knew he would have when she took over. He'd destroy that cave, for one, painter inside and all.
He'd chain the remaining seven up, keep them like pets. The blonde girl was dead, Jackson was in Tartarus, probably dead or insane; for the most powerful demigods of their generation, they didn't know how to stay alive very well, he thought, spluttering out a laugh, spraying a dark black spit across the trunk of the tree.
It began to hiss on the bark, soil enveloping and crushing the wood. Octavian watched with joy, before he flipped over the bodies, searching their pockets for- ah, he knew Clara at least had- yes!
Octavian pulled out a lighter and held it up with reverence. He scooped up the Graceus' dagger, similar to his own before they had robbed him of his possessions. Yes. These would do nicely.
He wandered in a circle around the large tree, setting fire to various leaves and twigs that caught his eye, giggling uncontrollably. 'Graceus scum', he thought madly, rhymes with 'Graceus burn.'
He was a legacy of Apollo, after all; poetry was in his nature.
When the fire began to crackle and drop from above, Octavian pulled back, and his eyes lit up with the reflection of the majestic tree slowly spreading with fire. The blaze spread, sparks drifting to land on nearby trees, until at least a couple branches on every tree around him was ablaze.
He couldn't even feel the heat, and breathed in the thick smoke as if it was as thin as regular oxygen. His pasty skin glowed orange, the dark streaks across his skin jumping out as the fire flickered and grew around him. Flames pulsed in the yellow eyes of the dragon, Peleus, he thought it was called, but Octavian didn't know what it was so worried about; dragons couldn't be burned.
With a loud whoosh, Octavian looked up to see the large tree shake; a translucent barrier of blue appeared, but it was going an asphyxiated purple, and within a minute, Octavian could barely see it at all.
He held out his arms as if he was on a cross, and took a moment to revell in the chaos, beginning to hear the screams in the distance.
Music to his ears.
He was a legacy of Apollo; music came naturally to him too.
He dragged the two bodies to the edge of the forest, where he could see various demigods gathered. They pointed at him, clapping hands over their mouths in shock, and levelling arrows. Chiron stood in the middle, his lower half stamping its hooves, looking both furious and protective.
Octavian chuckled nastily to himself again, taking out the dagger and positioning himself over the bodies, knife high in the air. An arrow sailed into his chest, and he just laughed harder as the arrow was pushed out by a sprouting plant. He'd love to see Reyna disagree with him in front of the centurions now.
The face of Gaia emerged from the dirt next to him.
"The armies are distracted. Now is the time." she said, "They aren't the best sacrifices, but once I wake, and deal with a certain thorn in my side, I can just take the rest by force. Do it. Do it now."
Octavian felt more important than anybody else in the world, and puffed his chest out, as mud began to drip out of his ears, and as arrows flew past his face. He glanced at the bodies underneath him; he could no longer remember which one was Greek and which one was Roman.
All he saw were his stuffed animals and his dagger.
And he was more than willing to make these sacrifices.