45As I put in the original AN of chapter 1, there's going to be a massive overhaul and fleshing out of the Norse pantheon and how certain factions operate in conjunction with one another.
MandTeKad, þú niding blauðr! Eg þú finna vil! Loyner þú seg, er þú redd?
Asmund propped himself up against the wall and looked around once again, seeing his cellmate still passed out drunk after evidently pissing in a bush in front of the police station.
"Yeah, just keep sitting there all proud of yourself, bitch." One of the assholes in the opposite cell said, his eye swelled and face still covered in blood.
"I'm still picking bits of your boyfriend's teeth out my knuckles," He shot back, digging another shard of enamel out for emphasis and flicking it to the ground, "So keep on talking and I'll make sure you can turn tricks on the corner even better after I rip your teeth out."
There were four other guys in the cell, all of whom sported bruises, a couple broken bones, and a few black eyes. Bunch of biker pricks that jumped in after their bigmouth boss Wheler tried to talk shit.
A 5 on 1 as an 18 year old against jacked bikers was all well and good, but it didn't make him feel less worried about Anastasia finding out, because then it would lead to the reason for the fight and the very thought threatened to make him sick to his stomach.
Hopefully Eric got here and bailed him out instead of her after he called him.
"You're fucking dead, bitch!" The guy roared, hitting the bars with his palms and spitting at him.
"Oh yeah? Wanna fuckin go again?" Asmund asked, gesturing with both hands to come at him. "I'll make sure to break both your arms so your bitch next to you has to wipe for you."
He'd do it too. Nobody threw shade at his family and got away with it, and he'd go for round two.
And to think, he was having such a relaxing time just a couple hours ago.
Two hours ago, Dillon's Den Bar Grill
Asmund finished off another steak kebab and chased it down with the last bit of beer in his glass, signaling the bartender for another.
Rock music blasted from multiple speakers throughout the bar and the whole room was filled with the sounds of conversation, swearing, and laughter as a solid chunk of the adult population of their town spent the weekend here for the main source of entertainment in town.
"You know that'll kill you one day?" Eric asked jokingly, bright blue eyes flicking towards the bartender setting down another glass before going back to Asmund's own.
The man was probably half a foot taller than Asmund himself, nearly 40 years old, had close to 50 pounds more muscle on him, and had an even more stereotypical Viking look with a tawny mass of hair that went to the middle of his back and a beard with beads throughout it to shape it properly.
"Oh how hilarious." He rolled his eyes, taking a bite from another kebab while fidgeting with the used one absentmindedly. "Telling a Viking that drinking will kill them."
"You haven't gone a-viking yet, so you ain't one." Eric pointed out. "And robbing a McDonald's for burgers doesn't count."
"I was drunk and hungry, shut up." Asmund said irritably, flicking the kebab stick at his mentor, "But why'd you say you wanted to meet here?"
It wasn't that Asmund was complaining about the choice of scenery. He went here all the time on the weekends with a fake ID and nobody gave a damn. Granted, he might have also used some Mist manipulation he learned from his mom to smooth things along a bit, but that was just par for the course when drinking and breaking the law ran through your bloodline all the way back to at least the 9th century on your father's side.
"Well, the guys made a decision and I thought it fitting that this be the environment." He shrugged, stroking the center braid for his beard that ran down to his sternum. He then leaned a bit closer. "You can do the ritual next week and go on your hunt."
Asmund froze at that last part. Eric had switched to Norse when he said that, but it was the content of what he said that had his face splitting into a wide grin. Just like his dad, he was going to be an Úlfhéðinn. Slaying monsters and living gloriously would be his future since Camp Half-blood didn't exactly go out of their way and recruit Legacies, and he grabbed his now full glass of beer, eying Eric's with a silent question.
Eric seemed to read his mind and laughed, grabbing his own beer and with a loud clinking of the glasses, they both yelled 'Skal!' and downed the contents of their glasses like professionals.
Asmund shuddered a bit, but handled it well and slammed the glass down, laughing as Eric grinned at him. Nobody paid attention, because why the Hel would they in a bar packed with people drinking and yelling anyway.
"Proud of you, kid. You'll do fine and we'll have another member of the wolfpack, won't we?" Eric's grin widened, teeth gleaming as he wiped a few drops of beer from his beard. "Maybe that cousin of yours could joi-" Eric paused and straightened up, frowning as he reached at his upper chest and pulled his silver necklace in the form of Odin's spear up in sight. It was glowing a faint but visible red.
"What's red mean?" Asmund asked confusedly, having only seen the obvious blue and gray that symbolized a message sent or received.
"Monsters sighted." Eric said, tucking his necklace back under his shirt. "Probably a random wendigo stalking around a preschool or something."
"Need some gas to burn it?"
"Edgar has that covered."
"Didn't he catch an arson charge last week?" Asmund asked with a raised brow. He looked away from Eric and signaled for another beer, before looking back to him.
"Yeah, so?" Eric snorted. "Not like you're any cleaner. That one 'teacher' you had us hit seemed persona-"
"He was in the same room as Alex." Asmund interrupted, his teeth clenching. Eric meant nothing by it, but that fucking creature deserved to be butchered the way it was. Whitmire died screaming and crying after a few steak knives found a home in his flesh, and then had the audacity to slash open his arm after breaking loose from the chair he'd been literally nailed to.
That last thought though had Asmund cringing internally at the reminder of the wound reopening. Alexander was either the biggest dumbass in the world, or he did that shit on purpose. To be honest, he didn't know which one he preferred.
"Hey, chill out." Eric narrowed his eyes, darting forward and taking Asmund's third beer and starting to drink it.
Asmund smacked Eric's arm, but the blond just rolled his eyes before setting the plundered beer glass back down on the counter.
"See you in a few days. And that beer tasted like shit anyway."
"Yeah, yeah." Asmund waved his hand dismissively, watching as Eric turned to leave to go kill something while he finished up his steak and beer. Hell, he could probably snag that one girl that was subtly eying him ever since Eric had sat down.
Maybe he'd do that, but only after he finished a beer that Eric didn't steal from and his steak tips.
About a minute or so later and just as the bartender, attentive as he was, placed a new beer down, Asmund had his attention drawn to his left by a big, burly presence making itself known.
"Hey, Sorensen." Dennis Wheler sat down to his left, setting his gloved right hand on the counter. "Fancy seeing you here, aren't you 18?"
Wheler was a known troublemaker and criminal. 30 something years old, tall, and stoutly built, he cut an imposing figure for most people when in conjunction with the fact that he and his biker gang had a stretch of land that went hundreds of miles through the coastal tourist towns like Ketchikan and Juneau where they smuggled stolen goods and drugs without much resistance because of bribery and blackmail they had on several sheriffs and allegedly the state attorney general.
Asmund just ignored him, taking a drink of his beer.
"Now that's just rude, kid. Ignoring me like that. What would your aunt say about that?"
Asmund's attention now turned to him, his expression stony.
"What do you want, Wheler? I told you I wasn't interested." He'd been offered a 'job' right out of highschool. Most of the town knew his dad had been some badass soldier that died fighting, but no other information and Asmund himself was a damn good fighter by the standards of a full adult, let alone a guy just out of highschool. So of course the criminal gang presenting as bikers would want him as a part of their crew.
"It's good money," Wheler shrugged, his fingers tapping against the countertop lightly, "Money to help take care of your family."
"We get by just fine." Asmund said, taking another drink.
"Raising chickens and selling repaired scrap ain't gettin' by, kid. Making your pretty aunt walk into town or other cities on her own," Wheler spat to the side, "Sounds like a safety problem. Never know what's out there."
Asmund's grip around his beer glass tightened, almost cracking it as he stared at Wheler. In his peripheral, he saw that 4 others of Wheler's gang were floating around, acting as overwatch.
"I said I'm not interested and don't say shit about my aunt." Asmund settled on saying, struggling to keep his annoyance out of his tone. "Now fuck off, I want to enjoy my steak and beer in peace."
Wheler was known for his temper, but Asmund wasn't in a caring mood. He hated the guy and would rather go out into the wilderness bereft of clothing and equipment than be a criminal for that asshole.
Wheler didn't get up. Instead, he leaned closer.
"I will say whatever the fuck I want about Anastasia." He whispered sinisterly. "Heard she was going west and blowing truckers for extra cas-"
Asmund stood up abruptly, which Wheler mirrored and their chairs clattered to the ground loudly, cutting through the music and sounds of people speaking.
Probably half the bar stopped what they were doing when they realized what was going down and who was involved. The music was still on full blast, so nobody could hear what they were saying.
"Say that again and I'll tear your fucking throat out."
"Why, jealous that you ain't the only one she's fucking?" Wheler laughed.
Asmund's right hand darted forward, fingers wrapped around the still mostly full glass of beer. Wheler didn't get his arms up in time and the glass smashed into his temple, shattering and spilling shards of glass and beer all over the place.
Grunting in shock and pain at the impact, he stumbled back enough for Asmund to shoulder check him, ramming his shoulder into his solar plexus and driving his knee up between his legs.
The two hits had Wheler gasping before crumbling into a heap on the ground, the whole exchange lasting all of 3 or 4 seconds. Now everyone was staring, even Wheler's pissants looked shocked for a moment.
Then all hell broke loose.
A few more threats were made by the idiots and Asmund responded in kind, but one of the county cops walked up and smacked his beat stick against the bars, hollering at them to cut it out.
"Keep it up and I'll beat you out back with the hose!" He snapped, looking annoyed by the noise as he had just been at his desk reading a newspaper while babysitting them. "I don't care which of you idiots started it and I don't give a shit why, so shut the fuck up. And you, Sorensen, you made bail."
Asmund raised a brow in confusion. He wasn't expecting to get bailed out until morning, if he were perfectly honest.
"Yeah, I know." The cop shrugged, fiddling with his keys and getting the right one to open the cell door. He finally did, unlocked it, then pulled it up. "Now get your ass out."
Asmund just shrugged and walked out of the cell, indiscreetly flipping the other cell off as he walked past them and then left the jail through the front door after passing by the front desk where the guy manning it gave him a bored look.
It wasn't until he pushed the front door open and got to the sidewalk that he realized his luck had run out. It wasn't Eric or his beat up sedan out front, it was a very annoyed redhead with her arms crossed and a faded red Colorado currently running.
"Hi, uh, thanks for… picking me up?" Asmund said awkwardly, his aunt remaining unamused.
"Get in the truck."
"Yes, ma'am." He said quietly, walking to the truck and getting in the passenger seat. Any other woman his aunt's age would have gotten a laugh from him at that demand, but she had actually raised him throughout his teenage years where her being just 23 now didn't really mean much. She may as well have been in her 30s for how he mentally felt from her being his guardian for nearly 6 years.
Asmund sat down and put on his seatbelt, very much aware now of how much he stunk of beer and whiskey. A couple bottles were used as bludgeoning weapons and his shirt and hoodie were soaked in alcohol, and he was slightly buzzed at the moment. He was sure to get a lecture and he knew it.
The driver side door opened and Anastasia got in, closing the door and sitting silently for several seconds without saying a word or even looking at him.
After a sufficient silence, she shifted the truck into drive and started driving in the direction Asmund assumed to be home.
"Ozzy, I don't even care what you do in your free time so long as you don't make me a great aunt before I'm 25," Anastasia said tiredly, keeping her eyes on the road, "But are you like your dad or just a straight dumbass when you picked a fight with half a dozen men?"
Ow. That actually stung his pride in his dad. Yeah, he knew that one Harald Sorensen was a brawler and a fighter that joined the army to escape some people that he pissed off and that's how he and his mom met, but his aunt commenting about that in the context of what he'd just done now as a stupid escapade kind of hit close to home.
"Well, one of them was a chick." He added for clarification, which Anastasia didn't find funny.
"Why did you fight Wheler? I'd rather not have to kill mortal criminals to protect Alex from being killed in a shootout or if they blow up our house." She went straight to the point and slowed down to around 35mph so she could stare at him as she said that.
"I can take care of it myself." Asmund said, "And he threatened you by the way. That's why I kicked his ass."
"Really?" She deadpanned. "Why didn't you lead with that, because you know I wouldn't have lectured you about getting in a fight then."
"I…" Asmund paused, feeling uncomfortable about it. "It's kind of gross to think about and I was hoping I didn't need to bring it up."
Charles, socially inept but sarcastic ass that he was, made a joke months ago right after he'd turned 18 about some idiotic forbidden romance novel being almost exactly like his life as an orphan being raised by his single, attractive aunt. Everybody else in the fight group had found it funny because it made him uncomfortable and it wasn't until, and he would swear this upon all the gods, he accidentally knocked Charles unconscious with an upward hit that tore his helmet clean off that they stopped making comments about it.
"Just go ahead and say it." Anastasia said, rolling her eyes. "It can't be that bad."
Asmund just sighed and told her, feeling embarrassed repeating what was said.
Anastasia didn't actually seem annoyed or anything after he finished explaining. She was actually laughing and looked like that had made her day.
"I knew Wheler wanted to get into my pants from how he looked at me, but really? I've encountered men a lot scarier than him, Ozzy. You didn't need to cause thousands of dollars in damages to Dillon's bar though. He's actually not a total jerk and has good steak, so maybe do the smart thing and, I don't know, go to Wheler's house while wearing a mask instead. Or better yet, ignore him and tell me there might be a threat." Asmund felt more and more put on the spot as his aunt kept talking. "I know you go monster killing around Ketchikan wasn't it, with that Norse group, but I've killed things you could not imagine. I don't need protection from mortals, Ozzy, I'm protecting you because you're my nephew and are a Legacy."
That had Asmund scowling. Yes, he wasn't as strong as most demigods, his aunt included, but that wasn't the point. Even if he was just a clear-sighted mortal, he'd still have an obligation as a man to protect his family.
In his defense though, his induction ritual in a week would change that where he could probably match his aunt without any issue. Not that she needed to know that though.
As he was thinking that, a random thought went through his head and he appraised his aunt.
"How did you know I got arrested?"
"Dillon gave me a call." She shrugged.
"We don't have a phone."
"Mist induced sleeper conditioning whenever something involving you occurs and an enchanted ring on his index to deliver a quick voice message." She responded without changing the pitch in her voice, like she had rehearsed it so she didn't need to get into the details too deeply. "Your mom was better with Mist stuff, but I'm pretty good too."
"And you didn't tell me about having spies in town, why?" Asmund was insulted by the lack of trust, or that he was still seen as a kid when he was a man in the eyes of the Greeks, Norse, and the US.
"It didn't matter much and there's a few others." Anastasia replied, speeding up to be at the speed limit. "There's stuff I don't tell you all the time, and you don't tell me everything either."
"Hmmm, yeah, sure." Asmund nodded quickly, playing up his agreement to an almost comical level that had his aunt glaring at him. "When did I hear that last time? Oh yeah, when you said you weren't going to tell Alex about why he can't know who his father is."
Asmund still strongly hated that decision. Yes, he understood the danger of Alex knowing that he was a son of Zeus came from a demigod's aura lighting up when they had self awareness. But he knew Alex, and he knew he would understand if he was bluntly and very clearly told that his mom put a scent dampener on him that made him roughly as noticeable as Asmund himself and that learning who his dad is would crack or outright break the mask.
"You know why he can't know." She said coldly.
"I still think it's stupid to not tell him about the dampener." Asmund shook his head, looking out the window at the trees by the side of the road.
"He would know he's a powerful demigod then, Ozzy." Anastasia's voice was raised now. "He'd ask if I have the same thing and probably realize I don't and that will make him start guessing. What don't you understand about that?"
"Oh I understand perfectly." Asmund kept his voice steady, but he was actually getting pissed now. "But I got a question and I want the truth. Do you just want to keep it a secret so Alex never asks how Zeus swept you off your feet?"
"Fuck you. Fuck you, Asmund."
And that ended their conversation for the rest of the drive home.
Asmund didn't say another word when the truck was parked, didn't even look at her as he unhooked his seatbelt and got out, and went straight to his room after unlocking the door.
"So, the Viking gods are called Aesir and they are real too?" I asked for 'clarification', continuing with the lessons Asmund was giving me.
Currently, we were in the backyard in the middle of the day where there was actually clear skies so it was pleasant enough where I only needed a long sleeve shirt and no jacket. Asmund though was shirtless and holding a bow as he brought it down to aim at a target.
"Yeah," Asmund nodded, loosing another arrow at the target set up 100 yards away and I heard the extremely loud clang of celestial bronze striking the AR500 plate, "A lot of gods are real and generally stay out of each other's hair so they don't fight. The Olympians and Aesir are like that, at least that's what my mom and dad told me."
I was already aware of that fact, but I also had been honestly wondering about the relationship between the Nords and the Greeks for Asmund to be able to hold allegiance to them in some way. He explained to me, just about a week ago, that he had done a ritual to become part of the Úlfhéðnar, which I had to feign ignorance about what that was. So I got a very bare bones explanation of what the Nordic variation of the wolf warriors were, a concept that dated back to the Indo-Europeans when they came crashing into Europe with the power of raw milk, steak, and chariots on their side millenia ago.
That last part was of course not explained to me by Asmund, but I already knew that from my old life as a bit of a history nerd.
"And that ritual you did made you stronger?" I asked, noting Asmund notching another arrow and sending it flying downrange with a loud crack as it actually broke the sound barrier.
The fact that the arrow didn't just straight up explode from the pressure and the fact that the draw weight to reach that velocity was inhuman went without comment. That thing probably had more penetrative power than the hot 9mm rounds that the Israelis loved to use in their PDWs.
"A lot stronger." Asmund grinned, kissing the bow and setting it on the table he brought out to set a couple of different bows with different draw strengths on. I also noticed how his canines looked slightly longer after the ritual, probably a side effect that resulted in some bleed over to give more lupine features.
It made me think of different enhancements a demigod might be able to do and I was hungry for that. Becoming stronger than any demigod in history was arguably the only way I was going to survive the storm of death and war that was on the horizon. It required demigods on the caliber of Heracles and Dionysus to fell the Giants and that doesn't even account for the damned Titans who will be making their moves in less than 10 years. Quite simply, I had to be my generation's Achilles if I wanted to triumph and save the West.
"Ozzy?" I asked abruptly, drawing his attention as he reached for his ax and sword that he had attached to his belt to test out some movements to get used to his extra speed and strength.
"Yeah, Lexi?"
"Don't call me that." I frowned, but continued with my question. "What's a drachma look like? Mom was kind of upset today and didn't tell me when I asked."
My mom had actually been upset for almost two weeks now. She was fine around me normally, but she was especially cold to Asmund lately and I had no clue why. I almost asked, but that felt like a whole can of worms that I did not want to open up. I have never seen either of them that closed off to each other.
Asmund sighed at what I said. He was probably upset by my mom and him being on bad terms, but he sheathed his sword after it was about halfway out of the sheath and reached into his pocket, pulling out a gold coin that he flicked to me and I caught it.
"That's a drachma. The ones in Greece were made of silver, but the ones used on Olympus are gold." He said, patting my shoulder once before he pulled out his weapons and dashed forward, blurring and I lost sight of him before his hand ax came smashing down into one of the several dozen posts he set up to hit, the top half exploding in a shower of splinters.
I didn't pay attention to the near manic laugh Asmund let out at his newfound strength, all my attention was on the drachma in my hand before I pocketed it and almost gave a prayer of thanks out of habit, but managed to not accidentally hurt myself. Now that I had a coin to offer Iris, I could save Thalia. Many people may call me an idiot for taking such a great risk if Fate could be denied and the tapestry's pattern readjusted with Thalia as the Child of Prophecy, but I had a very simple rationale in refraining from allowing things to carry out as they did in Canon…
Thalia was my sister. No nation, no race, and no person was worth the sacrifice of my family. She didn't know me and I didn't know her, but she was my sister and I would not willingly give her up. If the fate of the West rested on the sacrifice of just one young girl, then it was not worth saving. The Age of my people and all I knew could come crashing down around me, but I would not sacrifice my family. Myself? I'd open myself up from crotch to throat with a knife and dump my entrails upon a graven altar if it meant the West could be saved, but it was my life to give. No other sacrifice would ever be offered other than that.
I just watched as Asmund became the sleep paralysis demon of all Ents in Arda in silence, impressed by how my cousin weaved through the posts and was doing Olympic gymnast level acrobatics as he flipped over one post, landing on another only to spin on his one leg and jump to bring his ax down with the assistance of his weight and gravity, and he split the post clean in half with a loud crunch.
"Gods, I feel so powerful." Asmund practically giggled, his face flushed and his eyes alight with a manic light as he raised his hands up to the sky and howled like a dog. "I am as mighty as Ragnar Genocide Odinsson!" 1
"Do I need to tell mom you ate sugar with your nose?" I asked innocently, drawing a glare from my cousin.
"Should've never let you watch that movie." He muttered. "And no I don't do that, Lex Luthor."
I just fumed at that comment. Fucker caused my hair to get cut short and I'd been hearing bald jokes and name jokes constantly.
"If you're going to pout and be mad, do something useful and start hitting a post." He said, walking up to the table and grabbing the seaxe that a kid like me used like a regular sized arming sword. "Get mad at it and destroy it."
One of these days, I was going to drop a lightning bolt down on top of Asmund. Close enough to scare him and maybe throw him several feet, but not kill obviously.
I didn't say anything though because I actually did want to get started on today's training and I went to my own section of posts, beginning my movements and attacks after having warmed up and done some light stretching. It wasn't long after I started though that the sound of steel crunching against wood behind me stopped, so I turned to look out of curiosity. Asmund had his necklace resting in his palm and it was glowing red, his eyes narrowed.
"Training's done for today." He said, hooking his ax back into his belt and sheathing his sword. "Monster attack and I'm needed."
This was probably the third or fourth attack in the last couple weeks. It was honestly kind of concerning because I didn't actually know how good I was as a fighter and if I could slay a monster at this point; not from a lack of will, mind you, but that they might be too strong or fast. I'd killed animals before and had fun, and a monster was just an animal that could speak and eat children better than a bull-headed weather god from the Levant.
"Uh, any idea how long you'll be?" I asked.
"Well," He said, walking past me and heading into the house, with me right behind him, "20 minute drive to the meet up point, another hour or so probably on killing the damn thing, then heading back." Asmund then busied himself with sliding on his gambeson hanging up in his bedroom, then grabbed his hauberk and slipped it over his head.
So it'd probably be a couple hours.
"I'll just eat the bologna in the fridge."
"Sounds good." Asmund said, not paying too much attention to me as he grabbed the shield he kept next to his bed and walked out of the house and to his car.
And just like that, I was on my lonesome for probably the next couple hours… without supervision.
I waited probably 15 or 20 minutes before enacting my plan and when that came, I walked towards the shed and pulled out one of the smaller sprinklers meant for when we would need to water the garden at times. I gathered up the garden hose, stretched it out to screw it into the outside spigot, and then I hooked it up while angling it towards where the sun peaked through a clearing in the clouds.
I turned on the sprinkler and twisted the stream handle to mist mode. Within seconds, I saw a rainbow begin to form in front of me from the misty cloud and I pulled the drachma from my pocket.
And so I made my decision.
"O Iris, goddess of the rainbow, please accept my offering." I tossed the coin forward and watched as it sank into the mist cloud and disappeared.
"Show me Thalia Grace."
The rainbow shimmered, but the image came up disjointed and crackling in and out as I caught a glimpse of Thalia for the first time.
Background wise, it looked like she was in a nondescript warehouse with the lamp above her casting a dirty light from the age of the bulb. She indeed looked like she was around 12, a splash of freckles across her nose, with her inky black hair cut to just around ear length, and had black jeans and a black leather jacket to go with the punk look.
She also had a bloodstain on her gray shirt that looked fresh. Other than her looks, which lined up with mine rather distressingly on our identical hair colour and her eyes being an identical blue to my right eye, she didn't stand out as anything other than an ordinary girl, albeit athletic like a gymnast.
A sandy haired boy a little older than her with his back turned to me was washing dust and what appeared to be greenish blood off of a very young girl with blonde hair and the realization made me shudder. It had been only weeks after they found Annabeth that Thalia had been killed.
"Hey!" I barked, trying to get their attention.
They didn't react.
"Hey, dumbass! Look up!" I shouted again, but they still didn't seem to hear.
I heard a garbled comment by Luke followed by Annabeth nodding silently, before she hopped off the storage box she'd been sitting on and went into a better lit area.
"Thalia Grace!" I roared, waving my hands in front of the message to try and get her attention.
Thalia sat up suddenly, eyes narrowed as she pulled a celestial bronze penknife from her boot heel and looked around, before settling on me. Her eyes widened in surprise, the blue almost glowing in the dim light.
"Who the hell are you?" She demanded. I only heard who and hell clearly, while the rest of was garbled. But I could read her lips well enough to understand the sentence.
"I'm…" I began to say, but paused as I almost said I was her brother. She would think it a trick, a cruel one at that since her only little brother in her mind was Jason and had been dead for years. "Alex, a demigod like you. I had a dream and you're Thalia, right?"
She didn't let down her guard, but she looked to her right then back to me.
"I didn't understand much of that, but you said you dreamed about me or something?"
"Yeah, but I need to say this quick." I said abruptly, not feeling secure in how long the disruption of the message would last. "You're in danger and need to get to Camp half-blood."
"What?" Thalia asked, looking confused. "you're crackling."
Goddamnit. I gritted my teeth.
"Camp half-blood. In New York. Get to it." I enunciated. "You're in danger and need to get to the cam-"
The entire screen of mist shuddered and everything went out of focus, before reasserting itself properly.
"Did you hear me?" I asked loudly.
"Wha-ghgcf-" anything else Thalia said was unintelligible as the image started shaking nonstop and got worse and worse until it collapsed into the formless mist of water that it originally was.
"Fuuucckk!" I snarled, kicking the sprinkler so hard that the aluminum frame bent from the impact as it went flying 30 yards directly into the side of the shed.
"Stupid fucking Iris. Fuck you Iris and fuck your goddamnit shitty signal!" I shouted, angrily pacing and I kept clenching my hands over and over again, before dragging my nails across my scalp and growling that then turned into a scream.
It didn't work. Months of worry, debating on trying to save her, then the weeks of planning and finally getting a drachma. All of it for nothing because it didn't fucking work anyway!
I pulled my hands away from my head, feeling several pinpricks across my head that meant I probably drew blood, but I didn't care and stomped over to the shed and walked in, grabbing a training sword and running straight at a wooden post on the other side of the yard and started hitting it with a reckless abandon with no technique at all. I just wanted to destroy something because it dared exist in my presence.
Fuck fate if it denied me this chance to save a life. I hated it, I hated anything that would stop me from doing what was right. All three of those withered cunts deserve to be cast into the pit if Thalia was killed and I was relegated to the sidelines compared to Percy.
The post cracked under the fourth full force hit, jarring my arms as the spring steel of the training blade handled the impact decently enough.
My blood was rushing in my ears as I kept getting angrier by the second from thinking of everything that happened in Canon, things I may not be able to stop. It was no comfort that I knew what was coming even if I couldn't stop it. It was as welcome as a train that you knew was going to hit you.
I growled as I brought the training blade down in a wrath strike, but I failed to break the post like Asmund could and I only succeeded in bending the blade beyond the safety threshold.
Now with a useless weapon bent something like 30 degrees, I just practically fell onto the post, sinking to my knees and fighting back angry tears at not succeeding. It wasn't fair, none of it was. Why did I have to be a son of Zeus? Why couldn't I have been self aware after Thalia died so it wouldn't hurt this much that I probably failed to save her. And that thought, failing at something, made my skin itch and my head hurt from how angry it made me.
I just laid there, my forehead pressed into the wood post and I stewed over how I failed to get the message across. It had to have been because of Alaska being beyond the reach of the gods and being a wild place. Maybe if I was somewhere else, then maybe it might have worked better. But the chances of me convincing Asmund or my mom to get me to the continental US was so impossible that it was laughable, double say if I started rambling about seeing my sister and that I needed to get to Camp.
That last thought drew me from my almost manic anger and despair mix, but the spark of the idea fizzled and died right after I thought of it. Technically, I could bring up the Pact made by the three brothers including my father, something no young child like me would know. It would convince my mom that I did indeed have a demigod dream and also force her to acknowledge that my father was Zeus.
But, it had too many variables and I hated a lack of planning such drastic steps out. However, that preference was a flimsy shield against the overwhelming realization that if I didn't try and fire off another message to describe the location of Camp half-blood within the next couple weeks, Thalia was going to die.
Any replacement plan now that the previous one didn't work was discarded and replaced as the one before it and without even realizing it, I had been fidgeting my hands and rocking against the post rhythmically while my heart raced. I abruptly clenched my fists and stopped moving, my teeth grinding together while fighting the nervous tic I had done as a child and had failed to completely crush as an adult.
Refusing to move made me feel like a phantom itch was crawling through my head, so I brushed my elbows against my side at the same time at the same angle to try and get it out of my mind. It seemed to do the trick and I was able to stop myself from just straight punching the post in a state of rage.
"Fuck you." I muttered, not even knowing who was being addressed. It could've been Iris, Zeus, myself? I didn't care at this point and I just sat against the post, being helpless to the fact that I was 7 years old and unable to do the most basic of things that any hero was capable of and that was the saving of a child in distress. A fucking meter maid was more heroic than me!
I was honestly probably sitting on the ground for the better part of an hour before I picked myself up and took the now useless sword into the shed and set it back up, before walking back into my house with the weight of my failed attempt to save Thalia hanging over me like an unseen specter.
Unknown location.
The boy was in Alaska.
For 7 years, just a heartbeat to an immortal but still seeming like an eternity in this case, Anastasia Adamas had been missing from everywhere that could be monitored by both factions. The girl, even when a mere teen of around 16 and reeling from Zeus' tender gift in the form of a swelled belly and an eventual squalling infant, managed to evade all the goddess's agents and escaped with the help of her sister.
It was a betrayal! Abigail and Anastasia both studied under her, worthy apprentices for the arcane arts, and Abigail still helped Anastasia escape with what could have been a turning point in the entire future conflict with Olympus centuries in the making. A child, raised and trained from birth as the perfect weapon to enact the prophecy, stolen from them by a teenage girl whose greatest claim to fame was taking Zeus' cock. None of her prodigious skill in magic or her being a match for her full-blooded sister in being the greatest daughters of the great chthonic goddess mattered, all that mattered was the fruit of the unwanted defilement that she carried; that was her legacy.
And that stupid, traitorous, ungrateful whore evaded her anyway and the currently scheming goddess did not put it past the spiteful bitch to have killed the child to deny them a weapon; she was rather furious and promised that in her escape. With Zeus being more vengeful than any god on Olympus aside from perhaps his brother, a violent and fatal rape at the hands of 100 pegasi was not off the table for one of his dalliances if they had the audacity to murder one of his sons while still in the womb or right as he let out his first cries. So the Adamas child was written off as a total loss and Anastasia likely personally thrown into Tartarus through one of several chasms that led to it or her soul confined to a hellish existence of Zeus' own creation.
Everything else had gone as planned for the most part other than that. A possible solution for the deprived son of Zeus appeared in the form of Thalia Grace a mere couple of years later, with Zeus' inability to contain himself when a hole that struck his fancy presented itself, and monsters had been sent to capture her. It unfortunately failed repeatedly, but personal interference was too dangerous; secrecy was important to the utmost degree and the half a millenia of subterfuge mustn't be jeopardized.
The necessity for targeting Thalia Grace seemed absolute, until just a few months earlier when a disjointed flaring occurred in Alaska. With how wild that region was, it couldn't be traced other than likely being in the more populated coastal region to the south. Normally, it would have been written off as an adult demigod ripping a dampening spell off of themselves to attract monsters for hunting and ambush purposes, but what was seen just now changed that.
A temporary monitoring charm had been stained on the Grace girl that allowed for a few days of tracking before wearing off from one of her servants, and she had viewed a warehouse of some sort where her and her two friends were located.
And randomly, an Iris message came in of a boy around seven years of age and with two different coloured eyes, one being the almost trademark blue of Zeus' offspring and the other a rich emerald identical to the girl that denied her's eyes.
Anastasia's eyes.
Alex, he said his name was. He looked to be in the backyard of a home with blue siding and a chicken coop to its east side judging by the placement of the sunlight and the time of day in Alaska.
All of these calculations passed in an instance, no weakness of nerves, blood, and flesh that plagued mortals to hinder her thoughts as her presence split to work through the darkness, where nameless, dreaded things lurked. A quiet whisper, her voice sacherrine sweet, to one of her oldest and greatest servants she fashioned herself from blood and bronze had it stirring from the latest of its victims claimed whose remains were still being gnawed upon in the fanged maw.
"I have need of you." That section of her said within the mind of the servant, mist gathering around her as the air recognized the presence of divinity and seemingly shielded its gaze from the awesome display and essence of a higher being than just a crude beast of meat and sinews.
Her creation dropped to a knee, bowing in reverence.
"My lady." She acknowledged. "How may I serve you?"
"You will find this child and location, my dear." The image of Alex Adamas, the Iris message, and all the details gleaned were slowly projected into the lesser mind to be more digestible. "The child must be alive, his guardians are not necessary."
"I will not fail you."
"No, you shan't." She agreed gently, her fingers brushing against the chocolate brown locks of her kneeling agent. "Do not let the huntress find you, this is of great importance. Travel by day only and attack none save for your food. If she finds you, reveal nothing and escape. Die if you must."
"I promise."
With that, the connection ended and the sliver of her self rejoined the greater whole, sharpening the experiences and her mind just a little bit greater than before.
Raven locks of hair cascaded down her back as the goddess lounged on a throne of obsidian, inky black smoke rippling in her outstretched palm until it took the form of a young woman, standing straight and rotating in her palm.
"You could have stayed my apprentice, Anastasia." She mused, eying the familiar face but in miniature form as she look up as one of her trusted companions bounded up to her, to which she offered an assuring headpat and a smile before the expression melted back to neutrality as she looked back at the slowly spinning figurine in her other hand. "I am not like Artemis who would have banished you for her father's indiscretion. Were you weak to your instincts as a mother and went back on your word to carve the… abomination from your womb?"
It was a sight to behold when her favorite student, for that was the only title she'd ever be referred to henceforth, wept angry tears as she threatened to kill what she had called a disgusting bastard before allowing it to destroy Olympus. She'd never witnessed such anger before and made so little sense to her, who had given Anastasia and her sister everything.
Loyal to Olympus, ascending to a leadership position among her sisters and even Camp half-blood, only to be rewarded by Zeus forcing himself on her. It had made perfect sense that an enraged and violated girl would be poisoned against the gods after that, but yet she was loyal in spite of that.
Or perhaps… her anger was from guilt that she enjoyed her defilement? Zeus always had a rather innate talent for that and was probably, at least as the rumour mill of immortals had thought for thousands of years, why Demeter loved Persephone over her daughter with Poseidon. It would not be a surprise if she were to be honest.
"Motherhood has likely changed you, Anastasia." She murmured, bringing the smoky statue to her lips. "You will not part with your child willingly." She whispered, the ghost of a smile on her face.
Then the pale fist closed shut, shattering the statue in an explosion of black shards.
75 miles outside of Ketchikan, Alaska.
The blood filled, retching keen of the hellhound was abruptly cut short as Anastasia sent a jet of purple flame at it with a gesture of her hand, disintegrating it into a pile of smoking golden dust and burnt fur. The redhead then turned on her heel and slid under a pounce from another of the beasts as it aimed for her throat and her right arm with dagger clutched in her fist shot upward to impale the exposed underbelly of the canine that let out a loud whine before exploding into dust.
She had been driving from Ketchikan back home after selling a few trinkets to tourists when the hellhounds had rammed her truck off the road and she'd smashed into an electric pole that ripped the front left wheel completely off and flipped the vehicle. The door had to get kicked off its hinges for her to crawl out, but she managed and was now facing off the hounds of the dark.
"Come on you mutt, hit me!" She snarled at the remaining one, matching its movements as it circled around her with a more conservative strategy compared to its now dead packmates.
Anastasia may not have her preferred armour on, much to her annoyance, but she still had her bracelets that unfurled into a pair of celestial bronze bracers so her forearms were at least protected.
A shouting of an incantation in Khoine Greek had another stream of purple flame chased with black flying towards the hellhound, which avoided it by diving to the side and Anastasia charged, dagger and xiphos in each hand raised as she closed the distance at a blistering pace.
The hellhound howled and dashed forward, meeting her as they clashed. A clawed paw smacked against her xiphos as she slashed forward, the claws screeching against the bronze in a shower of sparks as it failed to meet flesh and her shoulder was jarred, but the hellhound was unable to take advantage as she pivoted and slashed with her knife as the monster went to bite her. It pulled away and barely avoided a slash across the snout and brow that would have been lethal.
Anastasia adjusted her footing again and bared her teeth in fury, clenching her fist and incanting once again, her preferred offensive spell being modified so her blade was wreathed in the purple, corrosive flames only she and her siblings were capable of calling forth.
The hellhound took a long look at the sword, crimson eyes burning with animal rage and a spark of intelligence rarely seen in beasts, then took off running in the opposite direction to the north.
She glared at the rapidly retreating animal, noticing that the trees to the north were casting shadows that the hellhound could sink into to disappear.
Or get more friends.
Mentally grasping the still active spell on her sword, she sheathed her dagger and gripped the blade with both hands, feeding even more of her energy into flames and hissing out another incantation invoking the power that was her inheritance as a daughter of Hecate.
The flames exploded outward as she brought the blade up in a high guard position before slashing down in a wrath strike with a grunt of exertion as the flame shot forward at the hellhound that was nearing the trees.
The shimmering purple-black flames shot forward in a jet of heat nearly 40 feet wide and 20 feet tall that took the form of a fierce stallion, any noise from the semi sentient flame drowned out in the roar of the air getting violently pushed aside by the extreme heat. The flame struck its target right as the overgrown dog reached the treeline and exploded in a colossal blast that carried over to several trees and levelled or snapped 100 yards of trees from left to right, and Anastasia threw up her left hand to protect her face as burning debris that included chunks of wood, glassed dirt, and other things came falling down all the way to her after the explosion.
Then her knees buckled and she stumbled forward.
"Damnit." She gasped, trying to catch her breath as she looked around for other threats. That was the fastest AoE spell she could cast, but it was exhausting, even more since she had not trained in her more destructive magic for the last few years to remain covert about her heritage as Hecate's daughter in particular.
After standing there for long enough, she straightened up and ran to the truck, inspecting it to see if it could be repaired enough to limp back home or back to Ketchikan where she could steal a car and get home that way. Hellhounds weren't supposed to be this far up north, but something attracted them up here and she needed to get to her boys now.
She inspected the damage for all of two seconds and cursed. The ball joint was completely ripped apart and the tire, with a decent chunk of the axel, was 30 feet away from the wreckage. Not like the spare that was previously in the back of the truck would change anything, so she went to the passenger side, slashed the door apart with a sword like it were a hot knife through butter, and ripped open the glove compartment to get the small baggy of ambrosia and 5 oz bottle of nectar she'd had with her for nearly 8 years now.
Taking out one of the yellowish squares from the bag, she took a bite of it and shuddered at the familiar taste. The small cuts and bruises from the wreck completely healed and she was filled with a burning energy she hadn't felt in so long, and she barely put the bag back up before she ran in a dead sprint back to Ketchikan, hellbent on acquiring a new vehicle.
Outskirts of Skagway, Alaska
"Sam!" Asmund shouted in vain since he was too far back to be heard, loosing an arrow at the wendigo's knee that had the tall and slender monster snarling and staggering to the side, its clawed slash at Sam's helmless face missing and their comrade got back on his feet and scrambled back into the loose formation the 12 of them were helping to maintain alongside the other two chapters of Norsemen that they were reinforcing that operated in Skagway and further south.
The wendigo was currently trying to sweep aside the line so the mass of hundreds behind it could rush forward to reach the town, but they held for now.
Asmund shifted his attention for a moment and fired off another arrow at one of the other middling monsters native to Alaska 150 yards to his left, some sort of canine, and it exploded in a shower of dust. Another followed, and the 5 other archers next to him kept firing too.
"Edgar, you're up for the wendy! Plan 6!" Eric barked over the sound of combat as he and a few others were occupied with the wendigo personally, the burly leader of their group of Úlfhéðnar at the front of the formation currently engaging in melee. "With me!"
Eric rushed forward out of formation first, flaming Dane axe in hand whose runic carvings burned with a silvery fire and clad from head to knees in a shirt of mail and plates covering his arms and legs as he howled out a battle cry that ended as he crashed into the 9 foot tall wendigo. The bonesteel ax cleaved straight through the forearm of the wendigo and a spurt of sizzling, blackish blood sprayed from the stump and it howled angrily, lunging forward with its other hand at Eric. The Viking pivoted, bringing the handle of his ax up to smack aside the slash at his chest and he shoved forward with the butt of the axe, shouting in Norse and the small amount of flames on the stump of the Wendigo's limb fully ignited.
The wendigo screeched an ungodly wail as it flailed its arm as the crimson spell-flame chewed hungrily into its flesh up to its shoulder, collapsing to its knees and the reduced height had Eric lunging forward again from the side and took its other arm clean off with an upward swing, followed by him twirling the ax to take off the head with the downswing in a smooth transition.
Plan 6 would have involved Edgar flinging a Molotov cocktail if Eric's fire rune didn't work, but it worked magnificently.
The head hadn't even slid off the stump of the neck before Eric spun around, shouting orders to continue firing into the horde of monsters they intercepted enroute to the town from the south.
It was supposed to be a fucking routine dungeon crawl where they killed a few monsters until they scurried down into their hole in a mountain and Edgar would light the place up with whatever crackhead concoction he thought of in his shack, not an hours long slog through hundreds of monsters that got stirred up by gods know what.
Thankfully, the lunatic managed to line the woods to their west and north with explosives when the size of the enemy force was known so it funnelled the less suicidal monsters into a better killzone and they wouldn't be surrounded. Yet that meant it was a massive tide in one direction and they had locked themselves in a cage as well.
But Asmund wouldn't budge, because this was everything he ever wanted once he had gotten a taste of the small squad, kill quests he'd participated in for the last several months. His blood sang with each monster he killed and was grinning under his helmet like a lunatic, everyone else likely seeing the glint of battle madness in his eyes as he rained arrows down on the crowd of monsters that crashed into the nearly 2 dozen men in a flurry of claws, teeth, and screams.
Scores of monsters fell, crumbling into dust and leaving behind stray claws, chunks of skin and fur, and other such things as the air began to stink with the rank aroma of sulphur and copper. Attacks were parried, steel met flesh, and the dust stacked high, but the men began to give way. A swipe glanced off a shield and struck the man next to the shield, his helmet saving his life but he fell bonelessly forward.
Asmund redirected his aim and loosed a bodkin wrapped in enchanted fire into the gap of the line, killing a cyclops, with a throat shot, that had tried to swing his club down onto the fallen man, who was dragged away by another Úlfhéðinn and set higher up on the hill they had occupied.
"Úlfhéðnar!" Eric howled in Norse, lunging forward and flailing his ax around him to close the gap in the line and carving through a handful of dracaene that were moving slower from the cold and were too late to capitalize on the breech. "Up the hill... three steps!"
In lockstep, the Úlfhéðnar took three steps back and resettled, spears and axes lashing out again to reap a bloody harvest as the creatures of the dark threw themselves once again at the line to try and break through from the sheer weight of the mob.
Asmund loosed his final arrow and tossed his quiver aside, drawing his sword and hand ax.
"Wilkins, I'm going in!" He shouted to the only other archer of their specific chapter and went racing down the hill, hearing a distant, "Don't die, dumbass!" behind him.
Asmund got his first taste of mass combat outside of tournaments that moment as he dashed to the left flank that was currently trying to prevent them from being encircled and he jumped forward at Olympic runner speeds, over 250 pounds of steel and flesh crashing armoured knees first into the chest of a cyclops and he, with his axe, knocked aside the monster's blade as it was knocked back violently. Before the cyclops could be out of range of his blade, his sword made contact as he stabbed forward at the cyclops, his blade parting flesh and sinking into its chest.
It couldn't even bellow in pain before his ax buried itself into the jaw of the 8 foot tall monster when his feet hit the ground and it crumbled into a pile of dust. He didn't stop there and moved like a madman, free of any formation as he swung chaotically around him, killing all that he could and throwing everything that he was into preventing the flank from turning.
A hyperborean giant that was probably close to 15 feet tall came forth and swung widely with an ice spear longer by half at him to sweep him. But he had raw strength on par with a full fledged demigod now and he ducked partially, his armoured knee hitting the ground as he caught the swing on his blade and ax handle at an angle where he stood up sharply and redirected it upward to avoid him and another hirdsman just a meter or two from him, his ax coming down first and striking the right knee of the giant and a torrent of glacial blue blood shot from the wound, sizzling in the air and smoking like dry ice.
There was no bellow of pain, but the giant fell forward and it's reaching hand was severed neatly by his sword and his ax struck the crown of the giant's head, splitting down to the teeth and its entire body went rigid like ice, before crumbling in a pile of shards that sounded like glass shattering.
Monsters continued to rush forward against them and screamed, exploded, and his breath went ragged from the foul scent of their remains being cast around by the wind, but he didn't hesitate. Enchanted bonesteel he had inherited from his father and added his own runic patterns continued to make victims of the monsters, dozens having already fallen to him. Another parry with his ax and stab with his sword had another lightly armoured dracaene dying with a hissing squall, but that was when it went wrong for Asmund.
Everything twisted and his feet left the ground as what felt like a truck struck his side and he went flying, the air forced from his lungs from both the initial hit and when he hit the ground hard.
He coughed weakly, his eyes looking up at the rapidly darkening sky and he struggled to find the strength to get up. He'd been hit like this before by his aunt, but it still was almost impossible to force himself up. He managed to weakly shift his head and saw an entire tree next to him, roots still covered in dirt. The… roots were still there, looking freshly pulled meaning it wasn't a precut log.
Someone… threw a fucking tree at him.
Moments later, a cyclops about 11 or so feet tall and skin the colour of wet clay stood over him with another wailing monster in its hand, wielding it like a weapon.
Thankfully, Asmund wasn't alone in this battle. A singular arrow tore shaft deep into the cyclops' singular eye and it exploded into dust just as its knees hit the dirt.
"Fuck." Asmund wheezed, blinking away the bits of dust that got in his eyes and rolling to his side, and seeing his sword next to him. He reached out, plucked it from the ground, and rose unsteadily to his feet.
His ax was somewhere he couldn't tell, but he could live without it for now. The newest Úlfhéðninn stayed back until he gathered his bearings, then dove back into the fray.
The fighting lasted for another half hour and they had retreated three fourths of the way up the hill by the time the waves had abated, and the remaining monsters fled into the rapidly approaching night.
A collective cheer would have been what Asmund would have wanted to celebrate his first true battle, but he was too tired and in pain to care. He was sure he cracked a rib from the hit that would have pulped the insides of a mortal, and he had taken hits in the final desperate push for survival, including a slash across his left hand that broke a few rings on his mail and he was currently trying to stem the bleeding from.
Eric issued out more orders along with Estridsen, the other chapter þegn, to maintain guard and for several to grab the wounded and determine who was dead.
Asmund busied himself with ensuring he was able to be ready to fight, but the ointment soaked bandages weren't wanting to stay together as he kept shaking as he had come down from the adrenaline high. So focused was he that he didn't realize Eric was in front of him until a pair of well practiced hands took hold of his.
"It's alright, son." He said gently, blood and grime staining his beard a dark orange compared to its normal dark blond; his helmet did not cover the bottom half of his facial hair. Eric then wrapped the bandage himself, tying it in place and then patting him on the shoulder. "Glad you're alive, kid."
Asmund just nodded mutely, taking a shuddering breath.
That had been so much more than he had ever dreamed.
"You up for helping me?" Eric asked, hitting his armoured shoulder gently by his standards.
"Aye, I can."
Eric gestured for him to follow, and they went down the hill to check the fallen men, around 11 of them, to see if they were dead while most of the other standing men that numbered around 30 or so maintained a ready position.
At Eric's instruction, Asmund checked the bodies of the men, noting that the first 4 he checked were certainly dead. One was almost bisected, another was missing his head, while the other two looked to have bled out from the myriad of wounds covering them.
Number 5, one of the Skagway men, was still alive so Eric silently knelt down and began treating the man, requesting that Asmund keep a lookout at the moment.
Now that the fighting had ended, Asmund was now feeling a growing sense of apprehension. Alex had never been alone this long and this was a freak invasion of monsters that was almost unprecedented, a once in a few decades event. Aunt Ana said something like monsters hating to group up unless they were targeting a big target or if they had a sort of alpha guiding them, so he had no idea. Plus, there were dracaene here too, in Alaska. So something had them coming up north.
If they caught Anastasia or Alex's scent… the very thought made him shiver.
Eric finished stabilizing the wounded man and whistled for Estridsen to come over. The seasoned warrior Asmund had only met once before came over, being around Eric's height but leaner and probably ten years older with steel gray hair.
"Any ideas on our next course?" Eric asked, resting his head against his interlocked fingers currently on top of his rune carved axe. "This is your turf and know the lay of the land better."
"Word is out from the town itself." The man grunted, eying Asmund for a moment and nodding respectfully. "There's another group around the size of the one we just killed that's sniffing around the town."
"Rest an hour and down some brew before hoofing it?" Eric asked, but it didn't exactly sound like a question and more like a statement of what was certainly going to happen.
"Aye. The survivors of the horde we killed will either panic them, and they'll flee, or we'll be seeing a rushed attack on the town."
"Think it will attract some demigods to sail up north to assist?" Eric asked, shooting Asmund a look. Asmund had confided in him that Anastasia was a demigod and so was Alex, but obviously not who his cousin's dad was. That was a secret entire cities could be sacrificed to keep.
"Not soon enough to save our arses and we know what the Latins think of our little icebox ever since that fuckup 15 years ago." Estridsen scowled, turning his head and he spat on the ground. "They won't set foot here again in our lifetime."
Asmund wanted to request to leave to get home because he was scared now. Not for himself, no, but that a monster could get to his house. The runic defense was only meant to delay weaker monsters or stop mundane animals like bears, not an actual shield. And as much as his cousin was progressing in knowing how to fight, he wasn't even 7 years old and had never been in an actual fight.
Eric and Estridsen continued to talk for a minute or so longer to plan out the protecting of Skagway before they clasped hands and nodded to each other, with the latter turning back to go to his men and ordered the mandatory rest before the forced march north.
With just the two of them now, Eric looked at him.
"Something troubling you?"
Asmund nodded. "I thought this was a routine fight and I would've been back home. My aunt's out of tow-"
Eric tilted his head, stepping closer to him.
"Your cousin's home alone then?" He whispered so the others couldn't hear.
Asmund nodded.
"Then I'm telling you," Eric said, the hand wrapped around the shaft of his axe tightening and he fixed him with a sharp look. "Head home to protect him and gods willing, we will meet again in a few days."
"I can still fight though." Asmund pointed out, but he was desperately hoping that Eric would tell him otherwise. "You'll need every able man possible."
"Kid, you might be the best prospect seen since I came up here, but you won't make a colossal difference." Eric stated, glancing towards the rest of the men that were resting and taking swigs of the preferred draught for fortifying the body and nerves. "None here will fault you. The gods themselves will not. I don't know what your aunt was running from when bringing a kid up here, but I can assume a demigod with a demigod mother would be something any monster would want to sink their teeth into. So this is an order, pup, get home and make sure your family is alright."
Well, since it was an order…
"I will." He replied.
"Good. Go once you've rested."
Asmund did as he was bid and rested with the men until the time came. Then, he bade farewell and made his way to where their vehicles had been parked and got in his own while they piled up in what was affectionately called the Berserker Bus by their Skagway comrades meant for aggressive attacking and looked like something straight out of Mad Max with jagged armour, a grinning steel face at the front, and runes on the sides.
He took a final, long look at his comrades, men he had just bled beside and had forged a bond with that would last in this life and the next. Then, he started up his car and left, feeling a tear fall down his face at having to leave them to be there for the cousin he had already killed for.
It was a silent trip.
1: If you understand the reference, you know what type of content I watch.