Resurrected
We Meet Cato
WARNING: THIS CHAPTER WILL EARN RESURRECTED AN "R" RATING. IT HAS EXTREME VIOLENCE AND GORE. Sorry if this is a spoiler, but with this chapter, I feel compelled to put this here. Enjoy.
Ethan's POV:
The next morning, I woke to the pounding of a single thought inside of my head.
She’s going to die. He’s going to kill her, no matter what we do.
I couldn’t get away from that thought. It startle me when I looked in my bathroom mirror; it plagued me during breakfast and the last time I thought about it before we got to Mt. Othrys was when Clarisse, Tommy and I held hands with Nico in a circle.
“You ready?” He asked, his voice steely and his brown eyes near black.
Wow. Nico would find a way to make this day more foreboding.
Then, the world became darkness. We fell into our own shadows and through whatever world Nico was guiding us through, and a moment and a half later, we opened our eyes on top of Mt. Tamaulipas. But we didn’t call it by its mortal name. We called it Othrys, ancestral home of the Titans.
As we passed one of the Natural Parks gates near the summit, the landscape started to change. Trees turned from natural brown to nightmare black, their leaves disappearing from their Mist disguise, and exposing their true form. The clouds turned grey with evil, not with rain and lightning. After five minutes of nervous walking, we put our go-packs from Camp down and unloaded. The palace was now in sight, and any mortals were now very far away. We were alone.
The palace’s black walls were darker than the trees, built of tall, jagged obsidian slabs that only a Titan (or something bigger) could have lifted. Its parapets and towers look intimidating, and the air that swirled around the tallest parts, obscuring their form, was so dripping with pure evil that it hurt to look at.
Yeah, the place was scary.
Tommy brought his sword out from his bag, tying it to his belt calmly. His face was stony, focused. I couldn’t say the same for myself. I probably looked nervous enough to throw up on the spot. As if on cue, Clarisse said gruffly,
“Nakamura, you going to be okay?”
“Yeah,” I said softly, too softly. I cleared my throat and said with emphasis, “Yeah, I’ll be fine.C’mon, we’re wasting time.”
So, we pressed on. Clarisse has unpacked a circular shield and a xiphos, a short sword that was perfect for a quick attacker. I had unpacked my normal xiphos, but I felt weighed down with a shield, so I had decided to bring my spare as well. It was a new move, especially with my
eye-patch, but I trusted myself as a swordsman.
By the time we got within five hundred yards of the palace, we encountered an entrenched barracks, of sorts. It looked like someone had dropped five boxes, each big enough for three people, into the ground so that they were mostly covered. I knew what they were called, but before my mind could find a name, Clarisse said,
“Why in Hades are there Roman pillboxes here? They’re not supposed to be so close.”
Pillboxes! I thought, That’s what they’re called!
Then, my mind drifted back to its earlier train of thought: Alex, and more specifically, Cato. He was going to kill her, or at least I thought. We had to move fast. These Romans probably weren’t going to help.
But, when we crept up to the pillboxes, the movement inside stopped. Then, a Roman officer popped out, decked in purple robes under gold armor. He had blonde hair and calm hazel eyes that seemed to know everything about you with one glance. He looked like a guy who could learn everything in a war textbook by looking at one battle map.
“What are you doing here?” He asked nervously. He motioned for us to crouch below the entrenchments so that we wouldn’t be seen. At least he wasn’t pompous.
“We’re trying to save the Greek camper they captured,” Tommy started to explain, but then Clarisse said, appalled,
“Did you guys do nothing when Cato hauled her in?”
“What do you think we could do?” the Roman said defensively, but not whining, “Risk ten Roman lives against fifteen of Kronos’ top men? We retreated down the mountainside. They destroyed everything.”
“When did they arrive?” I asked, confused because the pillboxes looked old.
“Yesterday,” the Roman replied, “we rebuilt these four hours ago. Here, let’s get you guys into the trench before they get suspicious.”
We crawled around to one of the sides covered by brambles and slipped inside. Once we were all under cover of the trenches, the Roman stretched out his hand.
“Patrick Varus,” He said, “Call me Varus.”
“Boss?” asked one of the other Romans, obviously confused and slightly miffed that there were Greeks in their trench.
“Moreau, shut it,” Varus said through gritted teeth, still smiling at us, “We’re supposed to be making friends with the Greeks, especially when they have impeccable timing.”
“Say that again,” Clarisse threatened, “I’d like for you to see what happens.”
“Both of you, shaddap!” Tommy said, exasperated.
I smiled, because I always found it funny when Tommy’s New York accent showed through, even though he grew up in Portland.
“Look,” he said, “Cato and his goons are in there, probably torturing our friend, and you guys were brave enough to ‘retreat down the mountain’ when they showed up. So cut us some slack for our timing.”
Varus stepped forward to punch Tommy, but then the gate made a huge squealing sound, like rusted hinges opening. We all turned towards the palace, and saw that a solitary figure, dressed in black battle armor, his face covered in a black shield except for his mask.
“Cato,” Tommy muttered angrily.
“He only comes out once a day,” Varus told us, "but he comes out every day." Tommy and I shared a knowing glance.
We both hated him. He had been spotlighted by Kronos, been given the best training, the newest weapons, it was like Luke had something special planned for him. Up to that day, Ethan and I had had no idea why Kronos had favored him so. But what we did know was that because of that training, Cato had grown fanatical in his loyalty to the Lord of Time.
Cato drew two all black swords, just like mine, and pointed one of them towards the trench. Even though he was easily five hundred yards away, I could clearly hear him order,
“Come.”
Varus took that as a personal challenge. Definitely the wrong move. He started breathing rapidly, psyching himself up to fight the warrior.
“Let’s move,” he ordered, picking up his javelin and the classic square scutum shield. All ten warriors rushed out, following their leader. Only Tommy and I knew the doom that they were about to experience.
The formed a square of nine, with Varus leading them as the tenth. But, some of the warriors, obviously bored from not having to do anything but retreat whenever enemies are around, got a bit antsy. They broke formation, trying to get Cato to go one-on-one with them so that the Romans could prove their worth as a warrior.
Again, bad move, because if Ethan and I had learned anything by watching Cato train, we had learned never, ever, ever go one-on-one with Cato. He’d have you flat on your back in three seconds, and that was when we fought with bamboo kendo. We could only imagine what he could do with two swords.
The first Roman was probably the stupidest, or the most bored. He started his attack by thrusting his spear at Cato’s midsection. Cato crossed his swords downwards, blocking the strike and locking the Roman’s spear in his grip. He crossed his hands back the other direction, slicing the spear into two pieces while returning his hands to attack position. Then, before the Roman could draw his gladius, he sliced the Roman’s hand off, causing the kid to scream. While the Roman was clutching his arm in pain, he slashed at the poor kid’s calves, knocking him on the ground. Then, he stabbed both swords through the Roman’s armor, killing him.
That sent the rest of them into berserk mode, which was probably their worst and most fatal move. The next Roman charged at Cato. Cato charged right back, leaning into the Roman like a hockey check. He flew back, unconscious on the ground. Meanwhile, the next Roman threw his spear at Cato. He dodged it and sliced one of his swords downwards at the Roman. The Roman raised his sword to protect himself, and Cato stabbed him with his other sword.
Three down, I thought. Tommy and I knew that Cato was all-offense, the quickest of the bunch.
Two more Romans thrust their spears at Cato’s head, but he just ducked low, stabbing both their inside thighs at the same time. They both fell, screaming in pain.
Five down.
Cato dodged the sixth’s spear and blocked his quick gladius strike. He leaned on his square shield and somersaulted over, stabbing the Roman in the back on the way down. He then leapt into the air and threw one of his swords at the seventh, hitting the Roman in his unprotected neck. With the one sword he had left, Cato sliced downward with both hands, cutting clean through the eighth’s helmet.
Eight down.
He removed his sword from the Roman’s head and let that body slump to the ground, the blood now pooling together in a small lake. As he walked towards the seventh and pulled that sword out of his neck, the ninth tried to stab him with his spear while Cato’s back was turned. Without looking, Cato blocked the spear away and turned, slashing at the spear shaft again. The spear went flying, but the Roman was quick, retreating while drawing his gladius.
Cato stomped his foot towards his shield like he wanted to somersault again, feinting massively. But the Roman flinched in fear, transferring his weight to his shield side, which is when Cato switched directions, ending up on the Roman’s unprotected sword side. The Roman, off-balance, tried to stab at Cato, but Cato dodged it. Then, the warrior in black stabbed through the Roman’s unprotected ribcage. He pulled his sword out, letting the ninth dead Roman’s body slump to the ground.
Finally, Varus stepped up. He stabbed his spear into the ground, and drew his gladius, presenting it to Cato.
“I shall surrender my sword to you, warrior, in terms of peace. Let me go and our Camp will no longer trouble you.”
Varus’s voice was laden with confidence, and Cato could sense it. Cato, from our personal experience, hated confidence, especially when it wasn’t deserved. But nonetheless, Cato stabbed his black xiphoi into the ground and took Varus’s sword. He swung it experimentally.
“You know,” he said, his voice cold and efficient, “they say ‘ending wars is very simple if you surrender.’ They also say that ‘a true coward is one who surrenders after watching all of his soldiers die.’ So, son of Michael Varus, I deem it necessary to carry on the tradition your family has had of dying…painfully.”
“But—” Patrick Varus started to protest, but Cato cut him off. Literally.
Cato swung Varus’s own sword and cut off his head. Then, he looked straight at us.
“When you go running to your homes tonight, Greeks, make sure you drop off this little present at Camp Jupiter.”
Then, Cato pulled his black swords out of the ground and sheathed them, walking back to the palace.
We were silent for five minutes as Cato slowly examined the dead corpses, walking at his won leisure through the maze of carnage he had wrought. The Roman he hadn't killed on his first one, which was the second Roman to attack him, Cato picked up. He put the Roman on his feet, and, turning to us, said,
"How rude of me! Why send a Greek to do a Roman's job, eh? Isn't that what you rodents say?"
He directed the last question to the Roman whose jaw he was squeezing. He pushed the Roman away, saying,
"Tell your precious camp to quiver in their beds, knowing that the of their best couldn't scratch me, the shadow hanging over them. Tell them sorry for me. I'm sorry to have to make the Imperial Loom sew nine more burial shawls."
Then, he drew one of his swords, quicker than thought itself, and sliced into the Roman's calf.
"Make that ten, because you'll never make it to a hospital in time. But be quick to tell your camp, young soldier. You'll have to make and Iris Message at the bottom of the mountain. Here's a drachma."
Cato stuffed a gold coin into the Roman's mouth and pushed him down the hill.
"There's a fountain at the Ranger station at the bottom of the mountain. Go, young soldier, go!"
And with that, the Roman began stumbling down the hill, past us, moaning in pain as he kept moving, his bleeding calf slowly killing him, draining his energy.
“Alex is in there,” Tommy reminded us, breaking the unbearable silence between us, “which means we’ll have to be quick about this. Especially if he only comes out once a day.”
“Screw it,” Clarisse said, “If you guys want to die, I’m with you. But I’m not dying tomorrow. Let’s go.”
Ethan's POV:
The next morning, I woke to the pounding of a single thought inside of my head.
She’s going to die. He’s going to kill her, no matter what we do.
I couldn’t get away from that thought. It startle me when I looked in my bathroom mirror; it plagued me during breakfast and the last time I thought about it before we got to Mt. Othrys was when Clarisse, Tommy and I held hands with Nico in a circle.
“You ready?” He asked, his voice steely and his brown eyes near black.
Wow. Nico would find a way to make this day more foreboding.
Then, the world became darkness. We fell into our own shadows and through whatever world Nico was guiding us through, and a moment and a half later, we opened our eyes on top of Mt. Tamaulipas. But we didn’t call it by its mortal name. We called it Othrys, ancestral home of the Titans.
As we passed one of the Natural Parks gates near the summit, the landscape started to change. Trees turned from natural brown to nightmare black, their leaves disappearing from their Mist disguise, and exposing their true form. The clouds turned grey with evil, not with rain and lightning. After five minutes of nervous walking, we put our go-packs from Camp down and unloaded. The palace was now in sight, and any mortals were now very far away. We were alone.
The palace’s black walls were darker than the trees, built of tall, jagged obsidian slabs that only a Titan (or something bigger) could have lifted. Its parapets and towers look intimidating, and the air that swirled around the tallest parts, obscuring their form, was so dripping with pure evil that it hurt to look at.
Yeah, the place was scary.
Tommy brought his sword out from his bag, tying it to his belt calmly. His face was stony, focused. I couldn’t say the same for myself. I probably looked nervous enough to throw up on the spot. As if on cue, Clarisse said gruffly,
“Nakamura, you going to be okay?”
“Yeah,” I said softly, too softly. I cleared my throat and said with emphasis, “Yeah, I’ll be fine.C’mon, we’re wasting time.”
So, we pressed on. Clarisse has unpacked a circular shield and a xiphos, a short sword that was perfect for a quick attacker. I had unpacked my normal xiphos, but I felt weighed down with a shield, so I had decided to bring my spare as well. It was a new move, especially with my
eye-patch, but I trusted myself as a swordsman.
By the time we got within five hundred yards of the palace, we encountered an entrenched barracks, of sorts. It looked like someone had dropped five boxes, each big enough for three people, into the ground so that they were mostly covered. I knew what they were called, but before my mind could find a name, Clarisse said,
“Why in Hades are there Roman pillboxes here? They’re not supposed to be so close.”
Pillboxes! I thought, That’s what they’re called!
Then, my mind drifted back to its earlier train of thought: Alex, and more specifically, Cato. He was going to kill her, or at least I thought. We had to move fast. These Romans probably weren’t going to help.
But, when we crept up to the pillboxes, the movement inside stopped. Then, a Roman officer popped out, decked in purple robes under gold armor. He had blonde hair and calm hazel eyes that seemed to know everything about you with one glance. He looked like a guy who could learn everything in a war textbook by looking at one battle map.
“What are you doing here?” He asked nervously. He motioned for us to crouch below the entrenchments so that we wouldn’t be seen. At least he wasn’t pompous.
“We’re trying to save the Greek camper they captured,” Tommy started to explain, but then Clarisse said, appalled,
“Did you guys do nothing when Cato hauled her in?”
“What do you think we could do?” the Roman said defensively, but not whining, “Risk ten Roman lives against fifteen of Kronos’ top men? We retreated down the mountainside. They destroyed everything.”
“When did they arrive?” I asked, confused because the pillboxes looked old.
“Yesterday,” the Roman replied, “we rebuilt these four hours ago. Here, let’s get you guys into the trench before they get suspicious.”
We crawled around to one of the sides covered by brambles and slipped inside. Once we were all under cover of the trenches, the Roman stretched out his hand.
“Patrick Varus,” He said, “Call me Varus.”
“Boss?” asked one of the other Romans, obviously confused and slightly miffed that there were Greeks in their trench.
“Moreau, shut it,” Varus said through gritted teeth, still smiling at us, “We’re supposed to be making friends with the Greeks, especially when they have impeccable timing.”
“Say that again,” Clarisse threatened, “I’d like for you to see what happens.”
“Both of you, shaddap!” Tommy said, exasperated.
I smiled, because I always found it funny when Tommy’s New York accent showed through, even though he grew up in Portland.
“Look,” he said, “Cato and his goons are in there, probably torturing our friend, and you guys were brave enough to ‘retreat down the mountain’ when they showed up. So cut us some slack for our timing.”
Varus stepped forward to punch Tommy, but then the gate made a huge squealing sound, like rusted hinges opening. We all turned towards the palace, and saw that a solitary figure, dressed in black battle armor, his face covered in a black shield except for his mask.
“Cato,” Tommy muttered angrily.
“He only comes out once a day,” Varus told us, "but he comes out every day." Tommy and I shared a knowing glance.
We both hated him. He had been spotlighted by Kronos, been given the best training, the newest weapons, it was like Luke had something special planned for him. Up to that day, Ethan and I had had no idea why Kronos had favored him so. But what we did know was that because of that training, Cato had grown fanatical in his loyalty to the Lord of Time.
Cato drew two all black swords, just like mine, and pointed one of them towards the trench. Even though he was easily five hundred yards away, I could clearly hear him order,
“Come.”
Varus took that as a personal challenge. Definitely the wrong move. He started breathing rapidly, psyching himself up to fight the warrior.
“Let’s move,” he ordered, picking up his javelin and the classic square scutum shield. All ten warriors rushed out, following their leader. Only Tommy and I knew the doom that they were about to experience.
The formed a square of nine, with Varus leading them as the tenth. But, some of the warriors, obviously bored from not having to do anything but retreat whenever enemies are around, got a bit antsy. They broke formation, trying to get Cato to go one-on-one with them so that the Romans could prove their worth as a warrior.
Again, bad move, because if Ethan and I had learned anything by watching Cato train, we had learned never, ever, ever go one-on-one with Cato. He’d have you flat on your back in three seconds, and that was when we fought with bamboo kendo. We could only imagine what he could do with two swords.
The first Roman was probably the stupidest, or the most bored. He started his attack by thrusting his spear at Cato’s midsection. Cato crossed his swords downwards, blocking the strike and locking the Roman’s spear in his grip. He crossed his hands back the other direction, slicing the spear into two pieces while returning his hands to attack position. Then, before the Roman could draw his gladius, he sliced the Roman’s hand off, causing the kid to scream. While the Roman was clutching his arm in pain, he slashed at the poor kid’s calves, knocking him on the ground. Then, he stabbed both swords through the Roman’s armor, killing him.
That sent the rest of them into berserk mode, which was probably their worst and most fatal move. The next Roman charged at Cato. Cato charged right back, leaning into the Roman like a hockey check. He flew back, unconscious on the ground. Meanwhile, the next Roman threw his spear at Cato. He dodged it and sliced one of his swords downwards at the Roman. The Roman raised his sword to protect himself, and Cato stabbed him with his other sword.
Three down, I thought. Tommy and I knew that Cato was all-offense, the quickest of the bunch.
Two more Romans thrust their spears at Cato’s head, but he just ducked low, stabbing both their inside thighs at the same time. They both fell, screaming in pain.
Five down.
Cato dodged the sixth’s spear and blocked his quick gladius strike. He leaned on his square shield and somersaulted over, stabbing the Roman in the back on the way down. He then leapt into the air and threw one of his swords at the seventh, hitting the Roman in his unprotected neck. With the one sword he had left, Cato sliced downward with both hands, cutting clean through the eighth’s helmet.
Eight down.
He removed his sword from the Roman’s head and let that body slump to the ground, the blood now pooling together in a small lake. As he walked towards the seventh and pulled that sword out of his neck, the ninth tried to stab him with his spear while Cato’s back was turned. Without looking, Cato blocked the spear away and turned, slashing at the spear shaft again. The spear went flying, but the Roman was quick, retreating while drawing his gladius.
Cato stomped his foot towards his shield like he wanted to somersault again, feinting massively. But the Roman flinched in fear, transferring his weight to his shield side, which is when Cato switched directions, ending up on the Roman’s unprotected sword side. The Roman, off-balance, tried to stab at Cato, but Cato dodged it. Then, the warrior in black stabbed through the Roman’s unprotected ribcage. He pulled his sword out, letting the ninth dead Roman’s body slump to the ground.
Finally, Varus stepped up. He stabbed his spear into the ground, and drew his gladius, presenting it to Cato.
“I shall surrender my sword to you, warrior, in terms of peace. Let me go and our Camp will no longer trouble you.”
Varus’s voice was laden with confidence, and Cato could sense it. Cato, from our personal experience, hated confidence, especially when it wasn’t deserved. But nonetheless, Cato stabbed his black xiphoi into the ground and took Varus’s sword. He swung it experimentally.
“You know,” he said, his voice cold and efficient, “they say ‘ending wars is very simple if you surrender.’ They also say that ‘a true coward is one who surrenders after watching all of his soldiers die.’ So, son of Michael Varus, I deem it necessary to carry on the tradition your family has had of dying…painfully.”
“But—” Patrick Varus started to protest, but Cato cut him off. Literally.
Cato swung Varus’s own sword and cut off his head. Then, he looked straight at us.
“When you go running to your homes tonight, Greeks, make sure you drop off this little present at Camp Jupiter.”
Then, Cato pulled his black swords out of the ground and sheathed them, walking back to the palace.
We were silent for five minutes as Cato slowly examined the dead corpses, walking at his won leisure through the maze of carnage he had wrought. The Roman he hadn't killed on his first one, which was the second Roman to attack him, Cato picked up. He put the Roman on his feet, and, turning to us, said,
"How rude of me! Why send a Greek to do a Roman's job, eh? Isn't that what you rodents say?"
He directed the last question to the Roman whose jaw he was squeezing. He pushed the Roman away, saying,
"Tell your precious camp to quiver in their beds, knowing that the of their best couldn't scratch me, the shadow hanging over them. Tell them sorry for me. I'm sorry to have to make the Imperial Loom sew nine more burial shawls."
Then, he drew one of his swords, quicker than thought itself, and sliced into the Roman's calf.
"Make that ten, because you'll never make it to a hospital in time. But be quick to tell your camp, young soldier. You'll have to make and Iris Message at the bottom of the mountain. Here's a drachma."
Cato stuffed a gold coin into the Roman's mouth and pushed him down the hill.
"There's a fountain at the Ranger station at the bottom of the mountain. Go, young soldier, go!"
And with that, the Roman began stumbling down the hill, past us, moaning in pain as he kept moving, his bleeding calf slowly killing him, draining his energy.
“Alex is in there,” Tommy reminded us, breaking the unbearable silence between us, “which means we’ll have to be quick about this. Especially if he only comes out once a day.”
“Screw it,” Clarisse said, “If you guys want to die, I’m with you. But I’m not dying tomorrow. Let’s go.”
Notes
Wow. Violent one, eh? IDK. I watched "Immortals" with Henry Cavill and Mickey O'Rourke today, so I was in that mood. Also, this Cato dude is completely badass, isn't he? And just think, Ethan, Tommy and Clarisse are going to have to fight him next chapter. MUAHAHAHA.
Enjoy,
Grafon
Love it :)
3/18/15