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Blood-red drops kissed the floor of Mount Olympus, as if the person they were trailing had been dancing across the room.
And although soft blue light filled the magnificent archways and illuminated the golden glow of the space, it was still dark.
All you could really see in this moonlit darkness was a set of beautiful sea green eyes as ungodly and foreign as the deepest parts of the forest.
Maybe that was all they were allowed to see—those green eyes and that dripping blood. Nothing else, they imagine, could ever be as dangerous as this thing coming towards them.
“Where is she?”
That voice, gods that voice could kill mortals, could wipe out life, that voice was made from acid and rage and something entirely unpredictable.
“Where. Is. She?”
If any of them bothered to listen they would have heard the tremor of ache and heartbreak and such sorrowful longing it would make a sane man weep. But they didn’t listen.
Oh no. Fear stood armed and in charge at the fore front of their godly minds. Nobody dared talk. Nobody dared even breathe. It would mean he knew they were alive.
Those terrifying green eyes glowed and the strike of metal on marble echoed through the chamber, bouncing delicately off those moonlight archways.
“Be reasonable boy, she cannot be here.” a voice finally spoke, the most arrogant of all.
“Reasonable,” A huffed laugh echoed louder than the sword, “The God of War is telling me to be reasonable?”
Before that very same God could go on, another voice, soft but commanding, stepped in, “There will always be death Son of Poseidon, you are not the only one who has lost someone.”
Teeth as white as heat flashed under those glowing green eyes, “I’m truly sorry for your loss Athena. I’ll be sure to say ‘survived by father, stepmother, step-brothers and loving immortal-mother’ in her eulogy.”
Acid, hot and lethal laced every word.
Athena did not get the chance to obliterate that ostentatious grin before her brother-of-sorts stepped in.
“Son,”
What a weary voice, so addled with exhaustion.
“Whose blood drips red from your hands? And how many more before you realize we cannot help?”
Another flash of white, “Father, do not fear. My hands will drip red no more,”
A collective sigh of relief gathered amongst these beings of old, gathered and settled into the stones that held them.
“No Father if I do not have her my hands will drip gold.”
And then Percy Jackson brought Riptide down so that liquid sunlight made rivers through those archways of moonlight.