The Son of Neptune (The Heroes of Olympus #2)(38)

Campers drew weapons. Hannibal trumpeted nervously. Scipio reared, almost throwing Reyna.

“I know that voice,” Percy said. He didn’t sound pleased.

In the midst of the legion, a column of fire blasted into the air. Heat seared Frank’s eyelashes. Campers who had been soaked by the cannons found their clothes instantly steam-dried. Everyone scrambled backward as a huge soldier stepped out of the explosion.

Frank didn’t have much hair, but what he did have stood straight up. The soldier was ten feet tall, dressed in Canadian Forces desert camouflage. He radiated confidence and power. His black hair was cut in a flat-topped wedge like Frank’s. His face was angular and brutal, marked with old knife scars. His eyes were covered with infrared goggles that glowed from inside. He wore a utility belt with a sidearm, a knife holster, and several grenades. In his hands was an oversized M16 rifle.

The worst thing was that Frank felt drawn to him. As everyone else stepped back, Frank stepped forward. He realized the soldier was silently willing him to approach.

Frank desperately wanted to run away and hide, but he couldn’t. He took three more steps. Then he sank to one knee.

The other campers followed his example and knelt. Even Reyna dismounted.

“That’s good,” the soldier said. “Kneeling is good. It’s been a long time since I’ve visited Camp Jupiter.”

Frank noticed that one person wasn’t kneeling. Percy Jackson, his sword still in hand, was glaring at the giant soldier.

“You’re Ares,” Percy said. “What do you want?”

A collective gasp went up from two hundred campers and an elephant. Frank wanted to say something to excuse Percy and placate the god, but he didn’t know what. He was afraid the war god would blast his new friend with that extra-large M16.

Instead, the god bared his brilliant white teeth.

“You’ve got spunk, demigod,” he said. “Ares is my Greek form. But to these followers, to the children of Rome, I am Mars—patron of the empire, divine father of Romulus and Remus.”

“We’ve met,” Percy said. “We…we had a fight.…”

The god scratched his chin, as if trying to recall. “I fight a lot of people. But I assure you—you’ve never fought me as Mars. If you had, you’d be dead. Now, kneel, as befits a child of Rome, before you try my patience.”

Around Mars’s feet, the ground boiled in a circle of flame.

“Percy,” Frank said, “please.”

Percy clearly didn’t like it, but he knelt.

Mars scanned the crowd. “Romans, lend me your ears!” He laughed—a good, hearty bellow, so infectious it almost made Frank smile, though he was still shivering with fear. “I’ve always wanted to say that. I come from Olympus with a message. Jupiter doesn’t like us communicating directly with mortals, especially nowadays, but he has allowed this exception, as you Romans have always been my special people. I’m only permitted to speak for a few minutes, so listen up.”

He pointed at Gwen. “This one should be dead, yet she’s not. The monsters you fight no longer return to Tartarus when they are slain. Some mortals who died long ago are now walking the earth again.”

Was it Frank’s imagination, or did the god glare at Nico di Angelo?

“Thanatos has been chained,” Mars announced. “The Doors of Death have been forced open, and no one is policing them—at least, not impartially. Gaea allows our enemies to pour forth into the world of mortals. Her sons the giants are mustering armies against you—armies that you will not be able to kill. Unless Death is unleashed to return to his duties, you will be overrun. You must find Thanatos and free him from the giants. Only he can reverse the tide.”

Mars looked around, and noticed that everyone was still silently kneeling. “Oh, you can get up now. Any questions?”

Reyna rose uneasily. She approached the god, followed by Octavian, who was bowing and scraping like a champion groveler.

“Lord Mars,” Reyna said, “we are honored.”

“Beyond honored,” said Octavian. “So far beyond honored—”

“Well?” Mars snapped.

“Well,” Reyna said, “Thanatos is the god of death, the lieutenant of Pluto?”

“Right,” the god said.

“And you’re saying that he’s been captured by giants.”

“Right.”

“And therefore people will stop dying?”

“Not all at once,” Mars said. “But the barriers between life and death will continue to weaken. Those who know how to take advantage of this will exploit it. Monsters are already harder to dispatch. Soon they will be completely impossible to kill. Some demigods will also be able to find their way back from the Underworld—like your friend Centurion Shishkebab.”

Gwen winced. “Centurion Shish kebab?”

“If left unchecked,” Mars continued, “even mortals will eventually find it impossible to die. Can you imagine a world in which no one dies—ever?”

Octavian raised his hand. “But, ah, mighty all-powerful Lord Mars, if we can’t die, isn’t that a good thing? If we can stay alive indefinitely—”

“Don’t be foolish, boy!” Mars bellowed. “Endless slaughter with no conclusion? Carnage without any point? Enemies that rise again and again and can never be killed? Is that what you want?”