Olympus Apocrypha

Disclaimer: I do not own Percy Jackson or Fate Stay Night or Fate Apocrypha

Chapter 5

In the cold north of the Americas, atop a high mountain peak, in the cold and snow, a figure looked to the south, seeing and sensing something that no other could.

"Hmmm," the cloak wrapped figure hummed to itself, stroking their cold flushed chin and cheek in thought, "so the Red Faction have all been summoned," the figure huffed a laugh, "it took them long enough. I was expecting them to have done so a week ago." The figure glanced back, "you seem to have gotten lazy and forgetful." The cloaked being said mockingly, even teeth set in a wicked smirk.

A rumbling growl shook the air, emerging from a hole in the peak, descending down into the interior of the vast mound of ice and snow and stone. Wisps of black mist, threaded with scarlet, flowed from the hole, rising like menacing snakes from the earth, the very air around them going dark as an atmosphere of horror and terror began to develop around the mountain top.

Only to seeming flinch as faint rays of sunlight, so weak and tepid as to be almost non-existent, struck it, making the headless serpents retreat grumpily back into the hole, angered and sulking.

"Now, now," the cloaked being chided, wagging a finger at the cave without turning around, "there is no need to be so sensitive." A winsome and devilish smirk crossed the hooded face, "I know your still a bit...damaged by that sea born child."

The growl became an echoing snarl, the tendrils writhing like a snake pit at the mention of the child, the one who had injured it so. Never before had the darkness felt the lash and pain of destruction, but that boy and his Servant Archer had managed to make it feel it.

"Just keep resting and recovering," the cloaked being assuaged the unholy shadows, "the time will come for you to take your complete vengeance, just have patience."

With a dull rumble and a final wordless snarl, the darkness retreated further back into it's den, marshalling more of it's strength, waiting for the right moment.

The cloaked figure relaxed minutely, taking their hand of their weapon, as the darkness that it served retreated to brood, letting the figure be able to enjoy the dull crimson face of the sun, like a blotch of blood on the canvas of the sky and firmament. Being in the presence of the darkness was trying, it's mere presence twisting the thoughts of those around it, inciting the darker aspects of humanity.

The figure, thankfully, had enough mental fortitude to weather that mental storm, and was further aided by the still present rays of the sun. Rays that the darkness could not bear.

"Red has summoned all their Servants," the figure mused to their self, pondering the possible effects this would have on the Great Game to come, "but Black has not." The figure smirked slightly as they glanced to the west, "looks like they are still trying to find some appropriate catalysts."

The strange figure sighed, slumping onto their butt in boredom.

"Guess all I can do is wait." The being murmured into the wind.

A figure seated idly before a warm fireplace snapped his head up, eyes of scarlet looking beyond the what normal eyes of mortals could see for a moment, before a rumbling chuckle of delight filled his throat and the room.

"What are you laughing about now, Caster?" An annoyed voice spoke from another room in the well kept log cabin mansion. Caster didn't cease chuckling as the owner of the annoyed voice entered a few moments, practically stamping in.

"I am trying to make some decent potions," the woman who entered the warm den said with clipped tones, a scowl on her gorgeous face and anger flashing in her green eyes as her long dark hair almost seemed to bristle, "I don't need your obscene hilarity to interrupt the delicate procedure."

"Oh, ease up Master," Caster said with an impish grin and a lazy wave of his hand once he got his breath back, utterly unfazed by the death glare his Master was giving him, "I'm just a little excited."

"Well," drawled the Master of Caster, "your excitement caused has caused more than a few problems for us," her emerald eyes narrowed in a glare as she crossed her shapely arms over her black dress clad breasts, the very picture of an offended female, "You had the Olympian King in your sights and you, somehow, managed to stuff it up." Her sneer upped itself a notch, "so much for the vaunted prowess of the Great Sage Equalling Heaven."

Caster abruptly lost his impish grin and gave his Master a hard stare, the flames they were born from burning in his eyes, and the atmosphere became more than a little tense and heavy.

He wasn't willing to take such disparagement of his great skills lying down, even if she did have those damned Command Seals. It wasn't like he hadn't been in a similar situation before.

"I would like to see you challenge the King," he said flatly, a soft golden glow next to his ear, "not to mention I wasn't expecting that sea smelling kid," he frowned slightly, "he was definitely different from the rest of that lot. He knew the score, he knew what I was with but a glance and he knew how to fight against the likes of us."

The sneer grew more pronounced on the woman's face but she, begrudgingly, nodded. The sea spawn child was proving to be more of an obstacle and an enigma than she had first perceived. Her visions while in her...previous residence...had only showed the child of Poseidon's triumph against his grandfather, a feat she couldn't help but be slightly impressed and somewhat annoyed with due to how he had succeeded.

Her Mistress was working double time trying to find out more about the boy's past. Now wasn't the time to make anymore mistakes, especially when it was shown that their trump cards for the upcoming conflict had just been equalled by the other side.

Thankfully, their side still had a few aces left to play.

"Fine," she huffed, annoyed, before glaring back at her Servant, "that still doesn't mean you have to cackle like a madman-Ugggh!" She groaned in exasperation, "I get enough madness with my Aunt's Servant." She shivered as she remembered the primal, predatory and bloodthirsty eyes of that particular Servant.

Her Aunt (for lack of a better word, there relationship was a bit more distant than that.) had made a very big gamble in order to obtain that particular spirit. He was immensely powerful, even more so considering the time of the year in the north, there was no doubt about that, but he had to be kept constantly on a leash and under control. There was only one person that could control that Servant in his myth, and her Aunt certainly wasn't that person.

Hopefully they hadn't bit off more than they could chew or that particular weapon would turn in his wielder's hands quite easily.

"I don't just mindlessly cackle," her infuriating Servant said with mock offence, a hand over his heart as he faked swooning, "it wounds me that you would think I would do that-"

Thummp!

Caster gulped slightly as looked at the quivering knife that had just implanted itself in the cushion of the seat he sat on, having missed cutting off his jewels only because he had reacted to the suddenly appearing, and flying, dagger and lifted himself half out of it.

Servant or not, that would have hurt like hell and probably have succeeded in making him a (temporary) eunuch. His Master had more than enough magic to both supply him with sufficient Prana and to be able to inflict damage onto him, even if he was summoned in Lancer class with Magical Resistance.

It was one of the terrors of being summoned from the Throne by a witch that was of legendary power in her own right.

Caster was just happy that her counterpart in the Throne wasn't summoned as well. One version of the woman was bad enough. Another version, one that would have access to the manifested dreams called Noble Phantasms and vastly meaner would just be overkill.

"Quit your playing, Ape," she growled at him, her skin seeming to pale enough in anger that it looked like her skull was on the outside, "I have enough on my plate with keeping the rest of the unwholesome lot I am forced to bear with under control, I do not need more headaches from your foolishness. Just spit it out or I will rip them off!"

"It's the summoning," Caster quickly explained, not wanting to deal with more of the witch's ire, especially when she had the Command Seals and power to make his current existence more of a living hell than it already was. Damn his desire for a good fight for placing him under the heel of the witch. "My contact with the Grail allowed me to sense the summoning of more Servants. Three more in fact. And since we..." He trailed off as the witches skin on her head returned to the pale of flesh once more and her lips pursed and eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she finished his statement.

"And since we all agreed to summon the rest of our Servants in the next few days, it means that the Red Faction was the one to have summoned... and is now complete." She finished, tapping her lips with a long and fine fingernail in slight thought. "Interesting," Caster's master mused, "I had not thought that they would have moved so fast...or even could have." She frowned slightly while Caster held his peace. From experience, he knew it was a bad idea to interrupt this particular witch when she was thinking, "this complicates matters. Our plans revolved around having more time." She grumbled (Bitched, really. But only in his mind, he wasn't suicidal enough to say it out loud) to herself, before eying him again with her gimlet emerald orbs, more than slightly out of sorts. She wasn't one that liked surprises or plans not going the way they should. "Can you tell exactly where it came from?" She asked.

"Just a bit to the East of South. And a hell of a long ways away." He responded with a frown of his as he tried to remember. Considering the vast distances he knew to be involved, it could mean almost anywhere on the eastern side of the United States.

His Master 'hmmmed' in reply, her green eyes gaining a sudden light of understanding and surprise, almost shock.

"The Romans then," she said with a sigh of annoyance, making him quirk an eyebrow at her. He hadn't been given much in the way of information, from either the Grail or his Master, in regards to current events. It was rather irritating to be kept in the dark.

He had a sudden feeling he knew how his companions felt on his great Journey when he left them out of the loop in order to surprise enemies that he knew would attack them.

He would have to give his sincerest apologies for such things when he returned to the Throne. Maybe he could even get his more Divine counterpart to do so as well.

He wouldn't hold his breath though.

"Caster," she snapped out at him, drawing him from his introspection, "if you were to leave...would you be able to find them?"

Caster blinked at his master. "Easily," he said slowly and unsurely, not quite following the path of his Master's thoughts. Surely she couldn't be thinking of...

"Good," she huffed, "then go do so."

As those words left her mouth, Caster felt like a bolt of lightning hit him, in a good way. His body sang with power and surged with the unbridled strength that his legend was known for as his Master opened the channels of power between them wide.

It still surprised him how strong this woman actually was, especially since she was backed by a semi-dormant primordial entity.

Slightly dizzy with the return of his power, power no longer restricted by his Master in order to conserve her own energy, he barely made out what she was saying.

"Go find them, Caster," she commanded, her seals glowing a stark bloody red but still unused, "I care not how or which manner you decide to do so, but see to it that the little troupe of heroes doesn't set foot in Alaska until at least three days have passed. Four would better and a week preferable. Do you understand your orders?"

As his faculties finally reasserted themselves, the only thing Caster could do as he comprehended the order was to grin widely, practically bouncing on his toes. Finally! A little more action! Much better than simply keeping a sourpuss of a sorceress company.

"As you say, Master," he said with a mockingly polite bow, "so shall it be done."

With those words, Caster moved, the world suddenly seeming to stop as he accelerated out of the lodge too fast for even the most powerful of mortals to see.

As soon as he placed a single sandalled foot out of the wide open door of the specially refurbished cabin, a now deceased soul's contribution to the Black cause, his leg muscles flexed...

And sent him soaring.

One hundred. Three hundred. Seven. A thousand.

The deceptively massive leap sent him high and far, a smile of delight spreading over his simian lips as the wind, an old and playful friend, tugged at his clothes, making them snap and flare.

Buddha above it felt good to be outside again!

His swift ascent slowed as the cabin far below looked more like a bread crumb on a dark plate, the lights within shedding their glow even with the darkness and the white snow that surrounded his current Master's lodging, before halting completely, leaving him to hang in the air for a moment.

From there, normal science and natural laws said that he should plummet, fall swiftly to the earth below.

Not so here.

His sandals glowed for a moment as he channeled a portion of the vast reserves of prana he now had access to, in order to activate their abilities.

Instead of falling, he felt the familiar sensation of solid earth through his footwear, at it seemed to be. He knew better.

"Now where are you?" Caster murmured as he opened up his mystical senses to full, trying to trace that small burst of power that he had sensed, as he stood in the open sky like it was flat ground, not even having the decency to use a cloud.

Caster idly thought that if one of the mundane had seen him they might have a small breakdown. People these days were so fragile, mentally and physically, not Iike the people of yesteryear, in centuries long past where it truly was survival of the fittest.

Even the half-bloods had dropped in quality and strength, mostly due to the widespread disease that was the Abrahamic faiths weakening the beliefs and believers of the true Pantheons.

It was galling to have such a hypocritical and wasteful set of faiths be dominant, especially considering they had been, originally, the ravings of lunatics and the pipe dreams of fools.

But now wasn't the time for such thoughts. Caster shook his head briefly. More important things take precedence.

A slight change in the air, a note out of place in the orchestra of the wind and air had him focusing on that spot. He smiled in realisation and triumph. That was it. He had a direction and a starting point now.

He leaned forward, azure nimbuses of light surging underneath his sandals, like a drag car on a slow burn before launch.

"It seems we will meet again earlier than I thought, kid" Caster chuckled in delight, his red eyes alight with fires of passion and battlelust, his heart pounding out the beats to the Warrior's Joy. "Hope you laid out the welcome mat."

Another flex of his massive power and there was nothing but a blue streak of light in the dark skies of Northern Alaska, as he flew with great speed towards the origin point of the wave he had felt, a grin of feral delight on his lips as his roars of laughter shattered the sky like thunder.

Caster's scarlet eyes gleamed like bloody lamps against the darkness and the stars as he flew South toward his destination. His sour bitch of a mistress wanted him to delay them eh?

He chuckled mirthfully. He would be glad to oblige.

The former princess of Colchis scowled at the now empty spot that had once been occupied by her Servant, faintly hearing the double slam of the door to the lodge opening an closing, the brief surge of cold air doing noting to her pale skin. Her Servant was almost more trouble than he was worth, despite the raw power, skill and versatility he brought to the table. She almost thought a weaker, yet more compatible and less unruly Servant would be better than that particular jackanapes.

However, the former Princess of Colchis couldn't deny that the unruly ape was a powerful force and was far more capable of close ranged combat than probably any other Caster Class Servant she could have summoned. Along with his own powerful magics, however alien they were to her, and the wild monkey was diamond amongst the dross in terms of Servants.

'Not to mention that there were other unexpected...positives...to his summoning,' she thought with a malevolent smirk, toying with the handle of an iridescent athame thrust into the belt of her robes, a wash of rainbow colours gleaming from it's crooked and jagged edge as the light of the fire from the hearth touched it.

The smirk widened further. Even if this child of the Sea God was more than she had originally anticipated, she didn't think that he could possibly expect her own little surprises and improvements.

A momentary shiver of the earth, like a light rumble and shifting of stone and dirt, making the cabin creak and groan momentarily, brought her back to herself rather than letting her dwell in her macabre musings, as her patron brought her to task.

"I'm going, I'm going," she muttered to the ground as she spun on her heel to troop back to workshop and finish up the next batch of potions and elixirs which would aid their efforts in the coming conflicts.

'For someone who can sleep for millennia, she can get really pushy and impatient,' The scorned wife of the Argo's Captain thought, her hands flicking out in well practiced movements stirring liquids in small cauldrons and adding powders and herbs to various concoctions.

All the while, a part of her mind, unconstrained by the limits of mortality due to her resurrection and contract of service to her Mistress, kept an eye on her Servant's progress as he made his way south.

Blue eyes looked down at her amberish gold ones in question after the owner of those deep blue eyes (wonderful and beautiful, like moonlight on the water of a lake) had inquired of her.

She was, however, too transfixed by the man, by the legend, that stood before her to say anything coherent, her mind and tongue frozen. Never in her life could she have imagined that she would somehow meet this person.

Those deep blue eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of annoyance entering those orbs, and his tongue snapped out sharply, "Well, girl!" He barked, making her jump and return to her senses, "are you or are you not my Master?!"

Hazel couldn't help but flinch slightly, the words seeming to be more powerful than any she had met, like a verbal lash becoming a real whip, and manage to voice out her answer.

"I am," she said quietly, glancing down at her branded hand, the fragmented out line of what seemed to be a horseshoe glowing a dark crimson, standing out starkly from her dark chocolate coloured skin.

Those dark blue eyes flickered down to follow her gaze, noting the Command Seals. "Very well," her Servant said calmly, before taking a small bow while offering a hand to her in order to help her up, "then my sword is yours to command, my lady."

Hazel accepted the offered hand, the slightly tanned flesh free from the imperfections of calluses but still exuding great strength and no weakness, and allowed him to pull her to her feet. She stumbled slightly as the strength behind the lift surprised her and made her stagger slightly.

"An impressive place," her Servant, Rider, said as he looked around, his blue eyes taking in the architecture and decorations, a small quirk on his lips and wistfulness in his eyes as he ignored any living being in the room and focused only on the craftsmanship of the chamber, "it reminds me of home."

"Well it doesn't for me, brah!" A hearty voice laughed, making a recovered Hazel and her Servant look to the source.

Hazel couldn't help but flinch slightly back before she recovered and stiffened her spine ('a Roman never surrenders. A Roman doesn't know fear. As a legionnaire, this goes double for you.' The words of Lupa roared in her mind.) at the unexpected sight of the massive man that had spoken as his bare feet slapped against the hard stone floor of the Council Chamber. His tribal tattoos that bedecked almost every inch of his deeply tanned skin giving him a frightening appearance that was belied by the wide white smile and grin he bore.

"Too much stone and almost no windows," the massive man laughed, the spear on his shoulder bouncing against his flesh, "my brothers and I would have cooked ourselves if we lived in this back on the island."

"Lancer," Hazel heard her Servant say coolly, a degree of acknowledgement, if not respect, in that single word, making her realize who, or rather what, this strange man was. A realization helped by the form of her friend, Frank, standing next to him, looking small next to the towering man.

The tall man, clearly over six and a half feet (reaching over her Servant's stature), just grinned at Rider, "Good to see ya too, Rider." the man laughed, his deep green, almost black, eyes twinkling in mirth, as he extended a hand to her Servant, "here's to hoping we can get along, Ya?"

Hazel noticed the pursed and tight lips of Rider, his eyes narrowed and gleaming with a slight distaste, maybe even contempt, at Lancer, but nonetheless extended his own hand, clasping the thick arm of Lancer in a warrior's clasp, both of them gripping the other's forearm, rather than clasping hands. "For now we can," her Servant acknowledged, his handsome face slightly scowling, "it will remain to be seen in the future if we can, as you say, 'get along'." Rider specifically eyed the thick grass skirt that Lancer wore as his only clothing, a vast contrast to Rider's own finely polished and masterfully crafted armour as well as the fine clothing he wore underneath and the sky blue cloak that sat above.

Hazel could definitely see that there would personality clashes between them, their ways of life being vastly different from one another.

She could only hope that it wouldn't come to blows.

"You feel like the storm," Jason heard his Servant (and hadn't that been a shock! The supposed Throne of Heroes sounded like some cross between Elysium and Olympus. Not something he had been expecting to exist.) rumble deeply from high above, the son of Jupiter having to crane his head back to look him in the eye.

His Servant, Saber, was easily one of the tallest humanoid beings he had ever seen, easily over seven foot, and was mightily thewed, but not grotesquely bulging like some body builders, behind the simple rough woollen cloak of the shepherds of old. His green eyes, reminding the son of Jupiter of a combination of emerald gems and the sea's waves, looked down at his kneeling form with a slow methodical gaze. Not assessing him as an enemy, like many a warrior would do, but trying to accept and understand him, his face otherwise blank like a goat chewing aimlessly on it's food.

The sheer size of this being was intimidating, but the calm and blank manner with which he gazed at the kneeling Praetor belied any possible threat that his size would otherwise give him.

This was a man would only Attack when he needed to, who would not be the one to draw his weapons first.

"With good reason," he answered Saber, rising to his sandalled feet as he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, the meeting between his legionnaires' own Servants (his eyes narrowed slightly as he tried to properly make out the figure with vivid red hair and polished armour similar to his own. Something screamed familiar about that particular Servant but he couldn't quite place it.)

A dark eyebrow was slowly raised in question.

Smiling slightly (not exactly the most Roman of actions, but Jason could easily feel the raw power that dwelled within the simply clothed man. Power that dwarfed his own by orders of magnitude. He may not be very fond of politics but, as a Praetor who had to deal with the Council many times, he knew the value of pleasantries and making friends with those on a higher level than he. And this beings power alone told enough about where he stood on the food chain against the massive man.) he extended a hand. "Jason Grace, demigod son of Jupiter, the chieftain God of the Dii Consentes. The Roman Pantheon." He added the last few words belatedly at the incomprehension in the large man's face.

A large hand, one that looked like it could wrap around a whole roast ham, engulfed his much smaller one and the greater portion of his forearm, a small smile on the owner of the hand's rough and craggy features. "Well met then, my Master," the mountain of a man that he now called Saber rumbled, "it is...rare to see one of such lineage."

"You will see many more of such people before this War is done, Saber," Jason heard a voice from the side, he and his Servant each turning to look at the approaching owner of the voice.

Jason couldn't help but slightly tense as he saw that it was the child of Poseidon that was doing so.

Jason was a confident teen. He knew his heritage, his knew his own power. He could call the storm and thunder, ride and command the very winds, all stemming from the blood of his father. He could also say, without any lie, that he was one of the strongest legionnaires in the Camp, something that was made evident by his current occupancy of one of the Praetor seats, the position of which was never held by the weak.

He had destroyed the Trojan Sea Monster and had torn apart the Titan Lord of the South with his own bare hands.

And yet, for all his strength, for all his power and accomplishments, this Greek halfblood had rendered him unable to fight back, had him completely at his mercy, in less than a second.

And it hadn't only been him. The entirety of the Council, the lares, his fellow Praetor and even Lupa herself had also been forced to beneath the weight of the half-blood's power.

It should have been impossible. No one should have been able to do what he did.

But he had done it nonetheless, and had made it look like it was easy, as if he was just brushing lint from his shirt.

It rankled the Praetor. To see someone with that much power, power that he wasn't able to either fight against or, perhaps, obtain. He didn't like the fact that his instincts, his battle experienced instincts, likened to a wolf's ability to see the weakness in their prey and distinguish between the strong and the sick in the herds their prey lived in, practically screamed at him that this otherwise unassuming person was on a whole level compared to him, a predator of predators, an emperor among kings.

They made him want to bow his head in submission to this more powerful force, something that his pride would not allow.

Those emerald eyes, hard as the gems they were coloured like, looked him over, scanning him critically, much to his annoyance, before nodding, respect and approval flashing in those hard orbs.

"It's good to see that you are on your feet and not exhausted," the child of Poseidon, Perseus, said with a quirk of his lip.

Jason said nothing, despite his confusion at the comment, and his face was the stern stony mask that he had perfected over his reign as Praetor, giving nothing away to someone he could only see as, at most, an uneasy ally.

His Servant, however, obviously knew what the Greek spokesman was referring to as Saber's own green eyes narrowed slightly and his massive brow furrowed before he answered, almost scowling at the Greek, "My Master has more than enough power to supply my existence," Saber rumbled, sounding like a falling mountain as he did so, curtly, "both in and out of combat," the eyes narrowed further, "not that it is any concern of yours."

There was sudden sense of dread in the air, charging the atmosphere, as if violence was only a moment away from erupting, blood a second away from being spilled. Jason felt himself break into a small sweat. Even without this dread force being focused on him, he couldn't help but feel light headed, small and unworthy, like a mouse before the hypnotic serpent, knowing that he had no chance against the origin of this power.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his fellow Romans, ones that had also been chosen for this 'Grail War', flinch and look in his direction, their dark faces lightening in their version of pale, sweating beading on their brows. They looked nervous, maybe even scared, having never felt this type of force before, a sentiment he shared. If they were armed, their trembling hands would have been on their weapons.

By contrast, their Servants looked over at him with alertness but not worry or nervousness. They were ready to move at a moments notice but otherwise were unaffected by what they saw of felt. It hammered home to Jason how these beings, these Servants, for all their human appearance, were most certainly not that.

Even the Council, even Lupa for his Father's sake, were affected by the atmosphere created by just Saber's disapproval. What could have his rage or anger have done to them, how could his desire to kill or torture have affected them?

However the son of Poseidon was unfazed, not even shifting a muscle in the face of a higher existence's ire.

"I meant no insult to your Master by my comment, Saber," the green eyed Greek said calmly, his green orbs still lakes, "in fact I meant it as a compliment." The Greek turned his head from Saber to look Jason in his stormy eyes. "Few are they who have the strength of soul to be able to anchor the existence of a Servant to this earthly plane, aided by the Grail or not, despite the lofty heritage you have." A crooked smile graced the Greek son of the Seas, "you do your Father proud."

Jason couldn't help but flush slightly at the comment, his cheeks slightly hot with either anger, embarassment, shame or some mixture of the three, even as the heavy ire of his Servant faded away, Saber's own green eyes showing a jot of surprise and confusion at the words from the honeyed tongue of the Greek teen.

'You do your Father proud.'

How he had longed to here those words passing the lips of his divine parent. A recognition of the sacrifices he had made and the feats he had achieved. It was something he shared with all the members of the Legion. By Ancient Law, their parents, or progenitors in the case of legacies, were forced to take a distant handed type of parenting to the point that the halfblood that was able to meet their parent, face to face, was amongst the rarest of the rare. The furthest some got to the recognition of their sweat and toil for their parents was a claiming, and for many not even that.

It was a childish thing, a simple phrase, but how he longed to hear it from his Father's lips with a gleam of pride the stormy crackling blue eyes that they share.

To Hear it come a Greek child of Poseidon, the Greek rival of his Father, smacked of condescension, as if this undisciplined oaf of a drunken fisherman stood higher than he, was stronger than he, Praetor Jason Grace, son of Jupiter.

It angered him greatly.

Even more so because, the fact was, it was quite true and he was unable to refute it at all. More over, considering the Greek's greater experience in this type of endeavour, he would have to follow the ocean boy's lead, even his pride wasn't big enough to waste an advantage as great as that.

Still, he didn't say a word as his mask slipped back into place, the small smile of a politician, bright but insincere, crossed his visage as he gave a slight nod to the, unfortunately, stronger being, falsely accepting the high handed praise that crossed the seaborn's tongue.

He would deal with issues with this Greek at a later date, the mission came first.

Jason looked around once more, seeing the Greek troupe, his legionnaires, and all of their Servants begin to gather around them, even as the Council, recovering from their stunned state at what they had just witnessed happen, finally begin to recover their tongues.

From murmuring, to muttering, to a hubbub, to talking loudly until finally reaching bellowing and roaring commands to explain.

"Silentium!" A voice roared, a surge of power accompanying that voice, filled with the iron strength of command, a leader's voice that commanded obedience from all that were within earshot of that powerful voice.

Silence came swiftly, all the Romans understanding the Latin word and reacting to the familiar call, straightening in their seats and stiffening their backs, almost at parade rest while seated.

Even Jason couldn't help but respond to the call, his time with the Legion before he became an officer, his training, making him snap to attention out of instinct. He did, however, retain the presence of mind to actually look at the source of the commanding voice.

It was the red haired Servant that had summoned by the daughter of Pluto and, now that he was closer, Jason was easily able to make the features of the man and, more importantly, recognise him for who he was almost instantly.

"You are the children of Rome!" Barked Aeneas, his handsome features stern and contemptuous as he glared his icy blue eyes at the surrounding Council, making the mortal Romans feel small and unworthy and insignificant despite being seated in the stands above the one who bore the title of 'Blood of the Empire'. "I brought the sacred gods of my home to found a new land, to build a new empire, that would outstrip the one that came before, that would grow beyond the ashes of the old, of Troy! After centuries- nay, millennia have passed, this empire still stands. Perhaps no longer as powerful, nor as mighty, but it. Still. Stands!" his voice thundered, making the very walls shake beneath the sheer volume. "And I am shown the glories of this empire, the reknowned gens who lead it, and I am greeted with barking of wild dogs!" He roared, his voice like a thousand lions, making the mortals who heard his voice quail and cower, filled with a sudden shame at having disappointed such a larger than life figure.

"You. Are. Romans!" The former resident of Troy spoke, enunciating and emphasising every word as he stared around at the Council, mortal member or Lares alike, "Not barbarians. So act like it and show some respect!"

There was a ringing silence after the first Roman demigod's last words, spreading through the chamber as many of those seated or floating above shifted uncomfortably, their cheeks flushed with shame at the admonishment of their behaviour. Something that made the male Praetor smirk inwardly.

He would have loved to have that ability in the past. The Council, despite it's vaunted reputation outside of these chambers, were very different to the dignified persona they portrayed out on the streets of New Rome.

There incessant squabbling and infighting had almost driven him either insane or to deep cups at times. He was almost positive that, if it wasn't for the complete ban on weapons within the chamber, there would have been blood spilled in every meeting.

Either way, the admonishment of their legendary progenitor had been enough to cow and silence them.

Aeneas glared around, none of the Council having the temerity or guts to raise their heads and meet his fiery blue eyes. Only Jason's Praetor counterpart and Lupa were able to match the Servant's gaze, astonished respect and a smirking grin on their respective faces.

"It seems you can learn," Aeneas scoffed lightly before turning away from the Council entirely and looked directly into the eyes of Praetor Reyna, "Lady Praetor," Aeneas said with what seemed to be honest respect, "with your permission, we," he gestured to include all of those on the open floor below the Council, the Greek contingent of both Servant and Master as well as Jason's fellow Romans and their partners, "would like to retire to a more private location. Plans to be made, information shared, and many other things to discuss, you understand." A small and wry smile crossed the face of the handsome Roman, one that was mirrored by Reyna after she regained control of herself, though hers had a trifle bit more amusement.

Jason nodded in agreement, as did the others, both Master and Servant. It was never a good idea to go on a mission without intel, it was just asking to get bushwhacked by a cyclops with a tyre iron with your pants down.

"Of course, Lord Aeneas," Reyna said respectfully as she rose to her feet at the same time as a wolfishly grinning Lupa, her words making a few of the...slower (read: completely stupid) members of the Council pale heavily in realisation at in front of whom they had shown deplorable behaviour. Jason couldn't help but smile slightly. Perhaps some of the complete idiots would get kicked out, which would make his job much easier when he returned to it. "If you and your companions would follow me?"

In the complete shocked silence of the Council Chamber, Jason and his Servant followed the others as they followed his fellow Praetor through to a small antechamber attached to the Council's main one, shutting the great carved oaken door behind them, cutting off the slowly rising roar and din from the Council left behind.

And leaving all within the room to look at each other warily, the Roman and Greek contingent, save for the son of Poseidon, who had managed to somehow stand between the two groups, the silvery bearded man, his Servant no doubt, standing behind him protectively and watching all with eyes sharp and experienced, on opposite sides of the antechamber.

Jason could feel the tension, as did his Servant who stood straight beside him, his green eyes narrowed at the bronze skinned giant beside the elfin midget of the Greeks. None of them knew each other well and Jason wasn't entirely sure he could trust these Greeks, feelings that were shared by his fellow Romans. Yet the Praetor knew that at some point in this Quest, it would be necessary to trust them, as the Greeks would also find it necessary to return that trust.

Yet he was unsure how to take the first step.

"I see that Rome hasn't really changed too much," a silky feminine voice spoke out of the grating silence, breaking the tension between all that now stood in the dim chamber, making many cut their eyes to the speaker, the female Servant from the Greek contingent if Jason remembered correctly. Her beautiful lips in a slight pout and her dark eyes wickedly gleaming.

"How do you mean?" Reyna responded with a frown, her spine stiffening as she addressed the woman, the Hispanic girls eyes flashed with irritation as they raked over the Servant, briefly lingering on her...healthy torso.

Jason felt his hairs rise on the back of his neck, his eyes widen and his stomach grow cold, a response shared by many of the other males, both Servant and Master. He could sense the impending fight about to break out as the wickedly grinning and scantily dressed woman went to respond only to yelp slightly and jump forward a little as the loud crack of flesh on flesh was clearly heard by all within.

Jason couldn't help but stare in astonishment. Being across the room, he had been able to clearly see what had caused the Servant to jump...but he couldn't believe that...

"Master!" Whined the seductive woman as she shamelessly rubbed her sore backside caused by the crash of her Master/Mistress' open hand against one of the plump cheeks.

"Consider that payback, Lil- Assassin," the kaleidoscopic eyed girl corrected herself, her face slightly flushed in hidden embarrassment but trying to appear somewhat stern. "And please don't make any trouble. We're all on the same side here."

Jason rose an eyebrow at the Greek girl, somewhat impressed, and quietly raked an assessing eye over her even as the rest of the room chuckled slightly at the girl's action and the Servant's whining reaction and pout.

Those rainbow eyes were the first thing that drew his attention. Shifting colours endlessly and never staying one colour for long. Those two orbs were a kaleidoscope of swirling colours that drew any that looked at her in. They shifted so swiftly that, even if he stared into them all day, he would never be able to decide what colour they were.

Even excluding from that prominent and bedazzling feature, he had to admit she was very beautiful, even if it didn't she was trying to be.

Her curly and bushy hair framed her face well, though his eyes the rough and uneven cuts. Completely clear darkly tanned skin, not a mole or pimple or other blemish to be seen, yet he could also see it was completely natural, not a hint of make-up of any variety to be seen. Her skin tone reminded him of one of the legionnaires in the Third Cohort, even if his name escaped him, who was of Native American descent, Cherokee if he recalled correctly. Her body was slim and limber, but not truly muscled like many of the legion, a possible byproduct of only being recently inducted into the world behind the Mist and had only just begun her training. This was borne out by the slightly uncertain way she held herself, seeming ill at ease.

A 'greenhorn' then, albeit a very beautiful one.

He wondered at the wisdom of such a clearly newly 'instated', for a lack of a better word, and unexperienced demigod being chosen for this very serious endeavour, but there was little he could do about it. Prophecies never liked being messed with and would hammer down any fool that tried to twist them with extreme prejudice.

"Alright," a stern voice interrupted, bringing the son of Jupiter from his thoughts and halting the mild bickering and chuckling from among the rest and bringing all their attention to the speaking son of Poseidon, "enough of the horse play," the boy, Perseus, continued his green eyes raking over all of them as they all fell silent.

"Right now, time is both with us and against us," Perseus said flatly, his eyes roaming the room, pinning them all with the flat glare of a serious man. He wasn't messing around, nor would he permit any others to do so. "As far as I can tell, we, the Red Faction, are the first to have summoned all of their respective Servants in this war. Don't ask me how," he interrupted the short Greek boy before the elfin kid could completely open his mouth, the kid closing his mouth with a click, "just accept it as true." His eyes then went back to scanning the room, "This means that, currently, we outnumber our opponents." His eyes narrowed in harsh glare, "however, the Black Faction would know this also...it won't stay that way forever...and the Black Faction has the home field advantage."

Jason and the other Romans tensed at those words, as did the blond Greek girl and the Servant behind her. One of the basic tenets of warfare, hell combat in general, was to never let your opponent dictate the field of battle. By making yourself go to the opponent, it allows the enemy to create traps and other nasty surprises that would bleed your forces. Sometimes though, you didn't have a choice but to do so, your other options already exhausted. You could still win in those circumstances, indeed many Roman victories in the past had been from such situations, but it was never bloodless or easy and there were always casualties. Casualties that were disproportional to what the victory had gained or achieved.

Jason was already hating this campaign.

"While we were the first to be completely assembled, we were not the first to summon allies to our side. A point made abundantly clear by the attempted assassination of the Olympian King by the Servant, Caster Black, whose true identity is unknown for certain at this point in time."

Jason couldn't help but grit his teeth. Distant though his Father was, he was still his Father and moreover his ruler. For someone to dare to threaten the life of his divine sire and King...

There would be blood for this blasphemy!

He forced himself to continue to listen to the Greek boy's words with a clear mind, venting now would do nothing.

"Whoever summoned first, you can bet that they are waiting for us on the chosen battlefield which," he turned to the Romans and their Servants, "for those of us who don't know, is the state of Alaska."

Jason drew a sharp breath. Alaska. The place that was 'beyond the gods', where their hands weakened and powers fell short. It was an ill omen for the Legion and Camp Jupiter. Especially for the Fifth Cohort due to the loss of the Eagle there long ago by one of their own.

And they would be going there.

Opportunity and wariness clashed within him. It may be possible to retrieve that Eagle, to restore the Fifth Cohort, his cohort, to the Glory and Honour it should have. At the same time, it was almost Monster Central, and it was now a war zone between divine entities. Chances are he would be too busy trying to stay alive and fighting to be able to track down and get a hold of the Eagle.

Yes, he decided, he really really hated this campaign/mission/pain-in-his-Father's-arse.

"So," the Water Boy continued, "we will have to plan our insertion into the chosen arena very carefully. How will we get there? Where should we set up base? How would we start searching for our enemies? Who are our enemies?" He spat out the questions rapidly as he looked around at them all.

"All of these questions, and more besides, need to answered before we take a foot out of New Rome or we. Will. Die." He looked around sternly and sharply, shutting off any who was about to interject, "Make no mistake, this is not a normal prophecy or Quest. The stakes are higher and the enemies make the monsters you faced before look like half-dead puppies on the threat scale in comparison."

His green eyes burned within an inner fire even shadows lingered in the depths. Of despair and pain, rage and anger and hate and sorrow and grief, making many look away from those horrible eyes. His next words brought home the reality of the situation.

"We are going to war."

I am terribly sorry for how late this chapter came out and the lack of action within it. I promise you the next chapter will have battle in it.

The reason it was so late was because I have recently got hooked on the worldwide sensation that is World of Warcraft. Incidentally, if any of you are on the Norgrand Oceania server, watch out for a night elf rogue in Ashenvale. You might just see me.

Please leave a review.

Best wishes,

Kujikiri21