The Last Olympian - Fear

By the time we got to the street, it was too late.

Campers and Hunters lay wounded on the ground. Clarisse must’ve lost a fight with a Hyperborean giant, because she and her chariot were frozen in a block of ice. The centaurs were nowhere to be seen. Either they’d panicked and ran or they’d been disintegrated.

The Titan army ringed the building, standing maybe twenty feet from the doors. Kronos’s vanguard was in the lead: Ethan Nakamura, the dracaena queen in her green armor, and two Hyperboreans. I didn’t see Prometheus. The slimy weasel was probably hiding back at their headquarters. But Kronos himself stood right in front with his scythe in hand.

The only thing standing in his way was . . .

[...]

Kronos laughed. “So much spirit. I can see why Luke wanted to spare you. Unfortunately, that won’t be possible.”

He raised his scythe. I got ready to defend, but before Kronos could strike, a dog’s howl pierced the air somewhere behind the Titan’s army. “Arroooooooo!”

It was too much to hope, but I called, “Mrs. O’Leary?”

The enemy forces stirred uneasily. Then the strangest thing happened. They began to part, clearing a path through the street like something behind them was forcing them to.

Soon there was a free aisle down the center of Fifth Avenue. Standing at the end of the block was my giant dog and a small figure in black armor.

“Nico?” I called.

“ROWWF!” Mrs. O’Leary bounded toward me, ignoring the growling monsters on either side. Nico strode forward. The enemy army fell back before him like he radiated death, which of course he did.

Through the face guard of his skull-shaped helmet, he smiled. “Got your message. Is it too late to join the party?”

“Son of Hades.” Kronos spit on the ground. “Do you love death so much you wish to experience it?”

“Your death,” Nico said, “would be great for me.”

“I’m immortal, you fool! I have escaped Tartarus. You have no business here, and no chance to live.”

Nico drew his sword—three feet of wicked sharp Stygian iron, black as a nightmare. “I don’t agree.”

The ground rumbled. Cracks appeared in the road, the sidewalks, the sides of the buildings. Skeletal hands grasped the air as the dead clawed their way into the world of the living. There were thousands of them, and as they emerged, the Titan’s monsters got jumpy and started to back up.

“HOLD YOUR GROUND!” Kronos demanded. “The dead are no match for us.”

The sky turned dark and cold. Shadows thickened. A harsh war horn sounded, and as the dead soldiers formed up ranks with their guns and swords and spears, an enormous chariot roared down Fifth Avenue. It came to a stop next to Nico. The horses were living shadows, fashioned from darkness. The chariot was inlaid with obsidian and gold, decorated with scenes of painful death. Holding the reins was Hades himself, Lord of the Dead, with Demeter and Persephone riding behind him.

Hades wore black armor and a cloak the color of fresh blood. On top of his pale head was the helm of darkness: a crown that radiated pure terror. It changed shape as I watched—from a dragon’s head to a circle of black flames to a wreath of human bones. But that wasn’t the scary part. The helm reached into my mind and ignited my worst nightmares, my most secret fears. I wanted to crawl into a hole and hide, and I could tell the enemy army felt the same way. Only Kronos’s power and authority kept his ranks from fleeing.

Hades smiled coldly. “Hello, Father. You’re looking . . . young.”

“Hades,” Kronos growled. “I hope you and the ladies have come to pledge your allegiance.”


- The Last Olympian, Chapter 18