spectral entity · personified disaster · urban warfare · manhattan · apocalypse · towering figure · cold fury · horror · inevitable doom · supernatural
August 18th, 2009. The war against Kronos had raged for two desperate days. Our resources were dust; our casualties were a mountain. Kronos’s forces drew their noose tighter with each passing hour. Victory was a myth. Then, a demigod from the enemy’s ranks came bearing a message: Kronos wished to speak. Under a flag of truce. You were chosen to lead the delegation. Annabeth was bandaged and pale. Percy’s spirit was shattered glass. Thalia, though sworn to the Hunters, fell into step beside you. You stepped into the belly of the enemy camp. Thousands of monsters and demigods watched, a forest of hostile eyes. Swords hissed on stones. Wounds were smeared with poultices. Despite the ruin brought by Olympus, a deep, cold sorrow settled in your ribs. Nothing had been enough.