The Mark of Athena (The Heroes of Olympus #3)

He looked the same as he had in Kansas, but Percy still couldn’t get over the differences between Bacchus and his old not-so-much-of-a-friend Mr. D.

Bacchus was meaner and leaner, with less of a potbelly. He had longer hair, more spring in his step, and a lot more anger in his eyes. He even managed to make a pinecone on a stick look intimidating.

Ephialtes’s spear quivered. “You—you gods are doomed! Be gone, in the name of Gaea!”

“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.

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.

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?”

“Never mind,” Bacchus said. “At any rate, you got my attention. I’m here. Now I need to see if you’re worthy of my help. Go ahead. Battle. If I’m impressed, I’ll jump in for the grand finale.”

“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.”

The god dissolved into purple mist. Piper and Nico disappeared.

“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.

Percy’s heart did a somersault. This wasn’t just any coliseum. 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 and Jason 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?”

“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. Show me. Entertain me, heroes of Olympus. Give me a reason to do more. Being a god has its privileges.”

He popped his soda can top, and the crowd cheered.

Chapter 48

Percy had fought many battles. He’d even fought in a couple of arenas, but nothing like this. In the huge Colosseum, with thousands of cheering ghosts, the god Bacchus staring down at him, and the two twelve-foot giants looming over him, Percy felt as small and insignificant as a bug. He also felt very angry.

Fighting giants was one thing. Bacchus making it into a game was something else.

Percy remembered what Luke Castellan had told him years ago, when Percy had come back from his very first quest: Didn’t you realize how useless it all is? All the heroics—being pawns of the Olympians?

Percy was almost the same age now as Luke had been then. He could understand how Luke became so spiteful. In the past five years, Percy had been a pawn too many times. The Olympians seemed to take turns using him for their schemes.

Maybe the gods were better than the Titans, or the giants, or Gaea, but that didn’t make them good or wise. It didn’t make Percy like this stupid arena battle.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have much choice. If he was going to save his friends, he had to beat these giants. He had to survive and find Annabeth.

Ephialtes and Otis made his decision easier by attacking. Together, the giants picked up a fake mountain as big as Percy’s New York apartment and hurled it at the demigods.

Percy and Jason bolted. They dove together into the nearest trench and the mountain shattered above them, spraying them with plaster shrapnel. It wasn’t deadly, but it stung like crazy.

The crowd jeered and shouted for blood. “Fight! Fight!”

“I’ll take Otis again?” Jason called over the noise. “Or do you want him this time?”

Percy tried to think. Dividing was the natural course—fighting the giants one-on-one, but that hadn’t worked so well last time. It dawned on him that they needed a different strategy.

This whole trip, Percy had felt responsible for leading and protecting his friends. He was sure Jason felt the same way. They’d worked in small groups, hoping that would be safer. They’d fought as individuals, each demigod doing what he or she did best. But Hera had made them a team of seven for a reason. The few times Percy and Jason had worked together—summoning the storm at Fort Sumter, helping the Argo II escape the Pillars of Hercules, even filling the nymphaeum—Percy had felt more confident, better able to figure out problems, as if he’d been a Cyclops his whole life and suddenly woke up with two eyes.

“We attack together,” he said. “Otis first, because he’s weaker. Take him out quickly and move to Ephialtes. Bronze and gold together—maybe that’ll keep them from re-forming a little longer.”

Jason smiled dryly, like he’d just found out he would die in an embarrassing way.

“Why not?” he agreed. “But Ephialtes isn’t going to stand there and wait while we kill his brother. Unless—”

“Good wind today,” Percy offered. “And there’re some water pipes running under the arena.”

Jason understood immediately. He laughed, and Percy felt a spark of friendship. This guy thought the same way he did about a lot of things.

“On three?” Jason said.

“Why wait?”

They charged out of the trench. As Percy suspected, the twins had lifted another plaster mountain and were waiting for a clear shot. The giants raised it above their heads, preparing to throw, and Percy caused a water pipe to burst at their feet, shaking the floor. Jason sent a blast of wind against Ephialtes’s chest. The purple-haired giant toppled backward and Otis lost his grip on the mountain, which promptly collapsed on top of his brother. Only Ephialtes’s snake feet stuck out, darting their heads around, as if wondering where the rest of their body had gone.

The crowd roared with approval, but Percy suspected Ephialtes was only stunned. They had a few seconds at best.

“Hey, Otis!” he shouted. “The Nutcracker bites!”

“Ahhhhh!” Otis snatched up his spear and threw, but he was too angry to aim straight. Jason deflected it over Percy’s head and into the lake.

The demigods backed toward the water, shouting insults about ballet—which was kind of a challenge, as Percy didn’t know much about it.

Otis barreled toward them empty-handed, before apparently realizing that a) he was empty-handed, and b) charging toward a large body of water to fight a son of Poseidon was maybe not a good idea.

Too late, he tried to stop. The demigods rolled to either side, and Jason summoned the wind, using the giant’s own momentum to shove him into the water. As Otis struggled to rise, Percy and Jason attacked as one. They launched themselves at the giant and brought their blades down on Otis’s head.

The poor guy didn’t even have a chance to pirouette. He exploded into powder on the lake’s surface like a huge packet of drink mix.

Percy churned the lake into a whirlpool. Otis’s essence tried to re-form, but as his head appeared from the water, Jason called lightning and blasted him to dust again.

So far so good, but they couldn’t keep Otis down forever. Percy was already tired from his fight underground. His gut still ached from getting smacked with a spear shaft. He could feel his strength waning, and they still had another giant to deal with.

As if on cue, the plaster mountain exploded behind them. Ephialtes rose, bellowing with anger.

Percy and Jason waited as he lumbered toward them, his spear in hand. Apparently, getting flattened under a plaster mountain had only energized him. His eyes danced with murderous light. The afternoon sun glinted in his coin-braided hair. Even his snake feet looked angry, baring their fangs and hissing.

Jason called down another lightning strike, but Ephialtes caught it on his spear and deflected the blast, melting a life-size plastic cow. He slammed a stone column out of his way like a stack of building blocks.

Percy tried to keep the lake churning. He didn’t want Otis rising to join this fight, but as Ephialtes closed the last few feet, Percy had to switch focus.

Jason and he met the giant’s charge. They lunged around Ephialtes, stabbing and slashing in a blur of gold and bronze, but the giant parried every strike.

“I will not yield!” Ephialtes roared. “You may have ruined my spectacle, but Gaea will still destroy your world!”

Percy lashed out, slicing the giant’s spear in half. Ephialtes wasn’t even fazed. The giant swept low with the blunt end and knocked Percy off his feet. Percy landed hard on his sword arm, and Riptide clattered out of his grip.