Bab 21: A sane Point of View
I remind everyone that this story is up to chapter 29 on fanfiction dot net, under the name The Age of Men, and there is a pdf on Cloud9Stories.net complete up to chapter 29. Likely it's there that XShadowsX copypasted it from under the name of The Rise of Icarus.
If you could report that scummy piece of garbage, maybe webnovel's admin will do something about it.
Chapter 21: A sane Point of View
The park had been completely ruined. Scattered boulders that were once pebbles blocked the trails, crumpled cars stood like crumbles on the ground, while the once green grass had been mostly burned out. Where San Francisco's usually white noise included the occasional siren, now it was all that could be heard along the wooshing of raging flames born from Greek Fire, screams of the mortal victims, and the persistent and undeniable smell of molten tar.
The sun had finally set, and the nightly sky was hidden beyond a cover of lead-like clouds born from the fire. The very air was heavy, the breeze from the ocean moving sluggishly, as if too fearful to take notice of the conditions of the city.
San Francisco cried as its buildings shuddered in the unwelcome flames, and a Satyr sat still on a dead stretch of grass, taking in the enormity of what had just happened. Slowly, as if his ears uncorked after being squashed by the pressure, Charles rose from his seated position, gulping down the guilt born from the ruined surroundings, and even more slowly, disbelief and tiredness let room for an exhausted rage that could not be expressed, lest he killed the demigods responsible for such a ruin.
Charles was fucking tired of Icarus' bullshit.
A group of demigods wants to sail on their own? No Quest? Risky, but the satyr might as well join them, since he had exhausted any other option to find Pan.
Not sacrificing anything before sailing? Dumb, but Poseidon had mellowed out considerably since WW II, and he was basically a kitten when compared to what he was in more ancient times.
Not turning back to drop the clandestine child of Athena? Again, it was dumb, but understandable, and ultimately not Charles's problem. Not until said child freed Prometheus at least.
Adventuring out of curiosity? Kind of risky, but okay, and while the Hydra had proved itself fucking dangerous, they managed. And 6 months of vacation would have turned unbearable if not for the numerous spontaneous orgies that popped up from time to time. Charles knew of the Thyrsus, which satyr could ignore it? That Icarus was a favorite of Dionysus was renowned, even if it raised more than a few eyebrows. Still, they were barely in the sea of Monsters by then, giving another chance to the mad demigod sounded reasonable enough.
Outwitting Circe had been luck. Pure and simple. Pushing said luck by looting her whole fucking island and setting fire to everything before leaving was a tad bit insane, but at least would buy some goodwill with Ares, which was one of the better ones to have in your angle when shit hit the fan.
Ignoring the perfectly acceptable route of 'not-making-land' in order to dedicate your very small crew of demigods to the genocide of an ancient race of giant man-eaters? Fucking insane. There wasn't another way to describe it. Worse? Icarus' crew just went along with it. Not a single objection. And worse of the worst? The Adamas succeeded, and the Laestrygonians were no more.
Meeting Prometheus again? It stank of Fate so much that it clogged everybody's noses. But apparently not enough to not free him again in exchange of him teaching shit to the son of the Fire god. It was once again sheer dumb luck that the God of the forge hadn't popped a volcano from under their asses.
Going into the Labirynth willingly? Why the fuck not. At that point, Charles was growing a bit skittish from the months of guerrilla on the island anyway. If one had to go insane, might as well do so near one of Dionysus' favorites, at least it should be hilarious.
Founding a city upon the newly conquered island without asking for a patron first? Suddenly going into the Labirynth assumed an entirely more fascinating veneer.
Immediately outwitting Janus' trap? Convenient, but then again, Charles was already growing used to the sheer bullshittery that seemed to blossom under Icarus feet every fucking step of the way.
Finding a random hole in the ground that led to Tartarus? Not unheard of, but Charles had read clearly in Icarus' eyes the flash of 'curiosity' that brought him to consider the idea of trying out a jump into Tartarus. For the first time in the satyr's experience, Icarus had taken a sane decision and turned away.
Only to stumble upon a blatantly illegal breeding ranch for unholy combinations of animals that had no business breathing fire, eating humans, or existing altogether. Sure why not, let's strike a deal with the fucker that casually profits from the holy animals which were symbols of the gods. At least Icarus had the good sense of not touching Apollo's cattle.
But apparently, he spent all of his good sense on that decision, because less than an hour later, he was wrestling bare-handed against the most potty-mouthed horse Charles had ever had the unfortunate honor to listen to. Never mind that said horse ate raw flesh as the first and the last ingredient of her diet.
Oh, Charles was so fucking tired of Icarus' bullshit. Even if his brief speech about Pan had somewhat unsettled the satyr, it had also given him some sort of twisted hope. Whether he succeeded in finding the God of the Wild or not, Charles would still fight for Nature. And that was a fact.
Charles didn't even want to think about what Abigail had to do in order to win the allegiance of the fire-breathing horse instead. It was only then that Charles realized for the first time that he held some measure of respect for the insane?... lucky?... for the insanely lucky demigod.
But that wasn't all, oh no! All that shit was stuff that Charles had witnessed 'live'. But the Satyr had heard whispers from the nature spirits about Icarus, they were hard to ignore.
He held the fucking sky!? He even managed to obtain apples, a pity that the Nymphs of the Sunset ate them all, but considering that Hera found out in two seconds flat he had been lucky.
He punched the Oracle!? He scuffled with the Lieutenant of the Hunt!? Seriously, how the fuck was the demigod still alive?
Oh yes, he promised Artemis to find Pan in order to not become the hunted himself. WHAT. THE. FLYING. FUCK.
But the last decision beat them all: freeing the prized prisoner of the 4th ranked 'fuck you' to everything that ever existed. After Typhoon, Echidna, and Ladon. She was right there at the top. Fucking Kampê and her fucking smell.
The small measure of gratitude because of Icarus' words about Pan and the reluctant amount of respect (mostly born from sheer disbelief) that the demigod had gained by surviving that long, despite any and all reasonable expectations, were both burnt into ashes when he actually acquiesced to Abigail's wish to kill Kampê. Fucking Kampê.
Because it wasn't enough that the improvised plan went to shit, no, Icarus escalated, like he always fucking did, and decided to fight Kampê. Kampê. That was just so out of line that words failed the satyr.
That's was so much beyond insane that it wasn't even funny. Over the top, outrageous, preposterous. You name it. It was bullshit.
Admittedly, the situation they had stumbled upon during the fight against Kampê made it difficult to consider anything beyond the general scope of 'fuck-this-shit-I'm-out', but Icarus had casually disregarded whatever collateral damage if it could ensure victory. Which wasn't a behavior that anyone wanted a demigod to have. It was bad enough when said demigod casually strolled across the world not giving a flying fuck about the gods, but actively bringing ruin upon unsuspecting mortals stank a bit too much of what the Olympians were like at the times of ancient Greece, and nobody was eager to see a return of those times.
And Charles should have gotten used to it by now, shouldn't he? Because guess the fucking what? Icarus fucking succeeded.
Sure, San Francisco just felt its Sixth Great Fire, and Coit Memorial Tower, which was dedicated to the volunteer firemen who had died in San Francisco's five major fires, ironically went up in flames. Charles grimaced when his eyes landed upon the dead oak that had fought valiantly against Kampê, before his orbs outright misted over when he observed the damage to the park, shadowed by pillars of smoke so thick that they choked the sky.
He did it. The thought still rang disbelievingly inside of the satyr's head as he moved closer to the demigods.
Abigail had called for her father just as Icarus squeezed whatever amount of juice he had left in order to kill Kampê, and Charles had managed to clearly see Apollo himself lend his power to his daughter's last arrow, which impacted against the back of the monster's head just as the Adamas' Captain struck at the face.
Just as Kampê turned into golden dust, leaving behind her two terrible scimitars and a pauldron of sorts with everchanging heads of snarling predators, Briares had started crying, laughing, and a combination of other things that he accomplished only because of his 50 faces, Mera, for once too tired to insult the satyr, had just laid down, deciding that sleep was the best way to digest the insanity of the last hours. Not that she's wrong. I'd take a nap myself.
Apollo had apparently carried his daughter to the bottom of the tower in order to avoid her going up in flames along with the Memorial, and he had walked towards the other downed demigod with a pair of aviator's Rai-Ban hiding his eyes from the sight. For an instant, Charles feared that the Sun God would kill Icarus. Gods knew Icarus had actually done more than enough to deserve it, but Apollo had already blatantly and openly broken Olympus' Law that forbade him from interfering with his offspring, what was the life of another demigod taken? Like a flower plucked from a field.
Instead, the god had simply slid the demigod away from his downed horse and placed his hand over one side of the mortal's head, and now Charles knew why: a deep gnash, likely caused by one of the barbs present on Kampê' skin crossed diagonally from almost the center of Icarus head to the middle of his jawline, joined by another, smaller one, that ran parallel from the center of his cheek to the end of the demigod's jaw.
Where there had once been an eye, there was now only scarred tissue, even if it looked more like Apollo had simply cauterized the wound than anything else. Whatever, I'll take it. Charles thought as he unlatched the ruined helmet from Icarus' head.
"By Hades." Charles muttered as he simply looked him over, not finding any more injuries, before he squeezed some ambrosia down the demigod's throat, sighing in relief when he unconsciously swallowed. Apollo must have healed him. But why?
Deciding that he had done what he could for the insane demigod, Charles moved over Briares, who had retrieved Abigail from the foot of the burning tower.
"I owe a debt that I shall repay." Briares swore solemnly when the satyr was close enough.
"You should talk with Icarus about that."
"He told me he has a safe island in the Sea, but I sensed he wished for help in defending it. I shall." the rumbling multitude of voices didn't manage to drown the countless smiles that beamed from the Hundred-Handed One' faces.
"Of course he did." Charles found himself scoffing as he looked over Abigail, who simply looked to have burnt the fingertips that held the bowstring for her last arrow. A bit pale, but she'll live. They're fucking hardy, these demigods, aren't they?
As he squeezed some ambrosia down the demigoddess' throat, very much as he had done for Icarus, he found himself forced to take back his wineskin, lest Abigail drank too much: "Well, at least you're awake."
"He is already tired of wandering under an exhausted sky
for that kingdom overlooking the West, threatened by Time," Abigail started sing-songing, drunk on exhaustion and ambrosia, while she stared unseeingly into the quickly darkening ruined park.
"and of land he's had enough, not so of sails and prow,
because he's found a road of stars in the sky of his soul." she giggled when Charles worriedly shook her a bit, her eyes blinking open revealing white pupils to the satyr, who gasped in distress.
"He now can't fail again, he'll discover a new world;
the waiting makes him afraid he'll hit rock bottom." she went completely off-key with that verse, but she seemed too out of it to care as the fire of the burning city lit her features in an inhuman way, the scream of the sirens and terrified people drowned out by her lyrics.
"He doesn't lack the courage or the strength to live that madness
and even without a crew, even if it were a mirage, he shall sail." as the last word of the improvised song, she giggled again, falling back into unconsciousness only to be caught by Briares, who looked down worriedly.
Charles was about to comment on that when the wind whipped through the ruined park, ashes scattering and leaves rustling, singing a wholly different tune of freedom and untouched lands. Of prey and predator, of crisp air and freezing waters, of primeval forests and the unstoppable weight of landslides.
"Can you carry them and the spoils?" Charles felt himself ask Briares even as he stalked across the park, following the Call.
Briares shrugged with a rippling movement that made him look like he was bubbling, before he dedicated his multitude of arms to lifting Abigail, Icarus, Mera, and the leathery pauldron with everchanging and ever-snarling beasts. He hesitated when he spotted the twin poisonous scimitars that oozed death on the ground, but he compromised by sticking them both into a random boulder, a là Excalibur, and lifting the rock instead of touching the weapons. Lifting for last the heavily battered naginata of the son of Hecate, the Hundred-Handed One walked behind the satyr, who seemed to have found back his strength tenfold despite the exhausting day.
With the strange song of Abigail still resounding in his ears and the Call of the Wild urging him forward, Charles touched a tiny scratch, and it became a Greek Δ, which immediately shone. As the mark of Daedalus glowed blue, the stone wall ground open.
Charles was fucking tired of Icarus' bullshit, but Gods bless him, he had his hand so far up Tyche's ass that he used her like a fucking puppet. And I had stopped swearing too before this accursed travel. Fantastic! He sarcastically quipped to himself, Once returned at Camp I'll have to sit through another of those insipid seminaries in which I'm repeatedly told about the appropriate behavior...
But he heard again the call of the Wild, and as he entered the Labirynth, he distractedly thought that returning to Camp wasn't the obligatory epilogue that he had once envisioned for this venture.
AN
Yeah, I couldn't leave you hanging that much, could I? So yeah, Abigail is blind, Icarus lost an eye, but they're alive. I've actually tossed a dice to determine the fate of Abigail, and there wasn't an option in which she left the fight smelling like roses, so that's some hardcore meta-writing survival right there.
Briares was the most loyal to Zeus when the gods attempted to usurp him, and that was because the Sky God had been the one to free him from Kampe dearest. Now Icarus enjoys the same blanket loyalty. Cool, uh?
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