“I know that we’re all in a lot of pain right now, but we don’t know how long this period of inaction on the part of our enemies will last,” said James, eyeing each of the faces gathered in the room. “The task ahead of us won’t be easy, but I’ve had people die in my arms and I don’t want that to happen again.” “What are you saying, James?” Bill interrupted, wanting clarification. He glanced around the room again. “I’m saying it’s time to fight. I’m saying the time for secrecy among us is over. We need to gather everyone together that can fight and train them to go to war. Mr. Blakeney once told me that during the World Wars there were thousands of swords, shields, armor, spears, and arrows made from metal mined from Olympus and forged by Hephaestus and his workers.” His eyes seemed to harden with resolve as if they were marbles. “We need to find this cache and build an army. Never again will we be caught unprepared, not ready.” James elevated his voice as he spoke. “It’s time to ta
James studied his appearance in the mirror and absentmindedly fixed his tie. He wore a black, custom tailored suit which Eliza’s father had purchased for him for the occasion. A white dress shirt, black tie, and black wingtips completed the ensemble-mourning clothes. He had been breathing a little easier ever since he and Eliza and the others had finished their goodbyes to their friends, but when he was alone, as he was now, the pressure in his chest returned. It felt as if a weight was pressing down on his heart; threatening to squeeze the life out of him. He closed his eyes, breathed deep and slow, and willed the pain to subside to an acceptable level. In just a short while, Bill Masters would speak on the events which had occurred earlier in the week- the cover story having been a last time. Though he knew with the passage of time the weight of grief would sail away like a ship on the ocean, the loss of so many lives would never truly leave him. With everything that is within him
At that, James and Eliza stood to lead the procession of surviving students. With a single white rose in each of their hands, the just over three-hundred walked down the aisles and passed before the table which held the framed pictures of the victims. Some wept, some simply said goodbye and moved on, but each of them laid their rose to rest in front of their fallen friends. It was significant of a promise to be kept: A promise to always remember their friends and classmates, a promise to never forget, and a promise that those who died would be carried in the hearts of the survivors for as long as they live. The last mourning student placed her rose on the cold earth, a tear falling from her cheeks and splashing onto the laid flowers, and the gathered assembly stood to move amongst each other. As everyone else began to comfort and converse with those they knew, James remained seated, his eyes searching the faces framed before him. He found the picture of Adonis and lifted on corner of
James sighed; frustration, reluctance, and pain closed themselves across his features. He searched for Eliza and found her. She was speaking with Tres and his family. Almost as if she could feel his eyes on her, she turned and smiled widely at him. “I understand that you do not want to leave her, James. You love her more than anything and yearn to be near her.” Zeus squeezed his shoulder to recapture his attention. “The choice, of course, is yours. I will never take away your free will. But know this, if you choose to stay, yes, you will be with your loved ones. However, it is almost certain then that you would lose this war. As I told you before, sometimes we have to leave the ones we love in order to protect them, even if our absence is only for a season. I can show you how to unlock the abilities which lie dormant within you and give you a chance to save those you love. More than anything, I wish for you to never feel pain again, but I’m afraid my children cannot always travel th
“Boom, boom, boom,” the bass blasted from the speakers drawing everybody in the room into a rhythmic trance. As the beat pulsed and vibrated through his bones like the strikes of a war drum, his turquoise-blue eyes raked the dance club hoping against hope to spot a new object of desire. Seeing a possibility, the young man put a hand up to ruffle his sandy blonde hair, swallowed back his nerves, took a deep breath, and made his way through the throng knowing that tonight was going to be a productive night. He saddled up to the bar and turned to his left. “Can I buy you a drink?” he asked the raven-haired beauty. She was resting against the polished metal countertop in a suggestive way: all hips and attitude; she wore a skin-tight black dress that came down to her knees and left little to the imagination. A slight smile broke across her face as her eyes took him in, but then slowly, sarcastic indulgence washed out all else from her expression. “Maybe next time, sweetheart,” she
The late afternoon sun blazed brutally overhead causing droplets of sweat to cascade down his forehead, hair spilling into his eyes. James crouched and stuck the sword of Achilles into the steamy ground. He reached up and swept back his medium-length dark hair out of his face and did his best to wipe the exertion from his brow. And here I thought the last few weeks were hot, he chided himself. The air was muggy and oppressive to the extreme, the humidity dense enough to slice through it like a warm stick of butter. He gripped the handle of the blade, slid it free from the ground, and took a deep breath. Ugh . . . tastes like swamp water. Suddenly, a gleaming bronze-like spear came whizzing toward him and as the sharp tip came within feet of his body, he took the force of it on the shield which he held aloft with his left arm. The metal on metal contact rang out, echoing around the granite stadium. James took off at a sprint, heading straight for his two oppo-nents. He
“James, I’d like you to meet Captain Mars Roberts, USMCR,” said Blakeney as he introduced the newest member of the team. Mars Roberts was of average height, dark-skinned with an ath-letic build, and was maybe in his young thirties. The man held out a hand in greeting, the morning sun glinting off his polished bald head. “Good to meet you James,” he said as James shook his hand. He had a slight New Englander accent. “You too, Captain Roberts,” said James. The man smiled warmly, his dark eyes crinkling. “Please, call me Mars.” “Eliza, I believe you’ve met Captain Roberts?” ventured Blak-eney. She nodded. “Yes, sir. Nice to see you again, Mars.” “Likewise,” Mars stated. “Alright, James,” Blakeney continued with all eyes on him, “as I’m sure you’ve noticed, we are going to change things up a bit. What with Eliza here as a new trainee and myself taking you as far as I can, it was time.” James nodded mutely in agreement. “C
James laughed out loud as he and Mars sparred under the high noon sun. Both wore only exercise shorts; the humidity and heat of the day being overbearing and brutal. Their shirtless torsos were glistening with sweat from the exertion of intense training, but James was clearly enjoying himself. He laughed once again as he easily deflected a strike from Mars. “You’ll have to do better than that!” he exulted tauntingly. Mars bristled at the remark and his eyes flashed. He drove for-ward with all his strength, aiming to deliver a forward thrust. James took it on the shield, but this was what Mars had hoped for. With his flank exposed, Mars brought his blade around and swept a strike at James’s legs. However, quick as a bounding gazelle, James leapt high into the air and crashed into his opponent. As shield met shield with a loud resounding clang, James used the energy to vault over Mars and landed lithely on his feet. Having been taken completely by surprise, Mars was at a lo