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{ 🔮 } · grief comes in many ways . ݁ ٬٬ ࣪
THEY SAW THE BATTLE before they were close enough to make out individual fighters. This time Percy insisted on Endora cooling off, trying to use less magic since the whole thing with what Hermes told her. The black stone burned cold against her skin when she thought about it.
It was well after midnight now, but the bridge blazed with light. Cars were burning. Arcs of fire streamed in both directions as flaming arrows and spears sailed through the air. They came in for a low pass, and Endora saw the Apollo campers retreating. Her heart pounded against her chest, her eyes scanning faces and looking for Madeline in the crowd of battling soldiers. The Apollo children would hide behind cars and snipe at the approaching army, setting off explosive arrows and dropping caltrops in the road, building fiery barricades wherever they could, dragging sleeping drivers out of their cars to get them out of harm's way.
But the enemy kept advancing. An entire phalanx of dracaenae marched in the lead, their shields locked together, spear tips bristling over the top. An occasional arrow would connect with their snaky trunks, or a neck, or a chink in their armor, and the unlucky snake woman would disintegrate, but most of the Apollo arrows glanced harmlessly off their shield wall. Endora, from where she was sitting on the pegasus' back, trusted her hand down onto the line of dracaenae and the monsters caught fire, burning until only their armor was left.
She hoped she helped at least something for now.
About a hundred more monsters marched behind them. Hellhounds leaped ahead of the line from time to time. Most were destroyed with arrows, but one got hold of an Apollo camper and dragged him away. Endora didn't see what happened to him next. She didn't want to know.
"There!" Annabeth called from the back of her pegasus.
Sure enough, in the middle of the invading legion was Old Beefhead himself. The last time Percy'd seen the Minotaur, he'd been wearing nothing but his tightly whities. He don't know why. Maybe he'd been shaken out of bed to chase him. This time, he was prepared for battle.
From the waist down, he wore standard Greek battle gear ─ a kiltlike apron of leather and metal flaps, bronze greaves covering his legs, and tightly wrapped leather sandals. His top was all bull ─ hair and hide and muscle leading to a head so large he should've toppled over just from the weight of his horns. He seemed larger than the last time Percy'd seen him ─ ten feet tall at least. A double-bladed axe was strapped tohis back, but he was too impatient to use it. As soon as he saw the boy circling overhead ( or sniffed him, more likely, since his eyesight was bad ), he bellowed and picked up a white limousine.
"Blackjack, dive!" Percy yelled.
What? The pegasus asked. No way could he. . . Holy horse feed!
