The Tower of Nero (The Trials of Apollo #5) - Rick Riordan Page 0,101
mortal body combusting.
I managed to maneuver my bow into my hands, draw an arrow, and nock it—no easy task while lying flat on your belly in a crawlspace. I even managed to avoid whanging my ukulele against the rocks and giving away my position with a rousing open chord.
So far, so good.
Deep breath. This was for Meg. This was for Jason. This was for everyone who had fought and sacrificed to drag my sorry mortal butt from quest to quest for the last six months, just to get me this chance at redemption.
I kicked forward, spilling headfirst out of the crack in the ceiling. I flipped in midair, aimed…and fired my arrow at Python’s head.
I MISSED.
Don’t even pretend you’re surprised.
Rather than piercing the monster’s skull as I’d hoped, my arrow shattered on the rocks a few feet from his head. Splinters skittered harmlessly across the cavern floor. Python’s lamp-like eyes snapped open.
I landed in the center of the room, ankle-deep in a bed of old snakeskin. At least I didn’t break my legs on impact. I could save that disaster for my big finale.
Python studied me, his gaze cutting like headlights through the volcanic fumes. The shimmering haze that surrounded him was snuffed out. Whether he had finished digesting its power, or whether I had interrupted him, I couldn’t be sure.
I hoped he might roar in frustration. Instead, he laughed—a deep rumble that liquefied my courage. It’s unnerving to watch a reptile laugh. Their faces are simply not designed for showing humor. Python didn’t smile, per se, but he bared his fangs, pulled back his Tootsie-roll-segmented lips and let his forked tongue lash the air, probably savoring the scent of my fear.
“And here we are.” His voice came from all around me, each word a drill bit set against my joints. “I have not quite finished digesting Nero’s power, but I suppose it will have to do. He tastes like dried rat anyway.”
I was relieved to hear I’d interrupted Python’s emperor-tasting. Perhaps this would make him slightly less impossible to defeat. On the other hand, I didn’t like how unperturbed he sounded, how utterly confident.
Of course, I didn’t look like much of a threat.
I nocked another arrow. “Slither away, snake. While you still can.”
Python’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Amazing. You still haven’t learned humility? I wonder how you will taste. Like rat? Like god? They are similar enough, I suppose.”
He was so wrong. Not about gods tasting like rats…I wouldn’t know. But I had learned plenty of humility. So much humility that now, facing my old nemesis, I was racked with self-doubt. I could not do this. What had I been thinking?
And yet, along with humility, I’d learned something else: getting humiliated is only the beginning, not the end. Sometimes you need a second shot, and a third, and a fourth.
I fired my arrow. This one hit Python in the face, skittering across his left eyelid and making him blink.
He hissed, raising his head until it towered twenty feet above me. “Stop embarrassing yourself, Lester. I control Delphi. I would have been content to rule the world through my puppets, the emperors, but you have helpfully cut out the middlemen. I have digested the power of the Triumvirate! Now I will digest—”
My third shot throat-punched him. It didn’t pierce the skin. That would’ve been too much to hope for. But it hit with sufficient force to make him gag.
I sidestepped around piles of scales and bones. I jumped a narrow fissure so hot it steam-baked my crotch. I nocked another arrow as Python’s form began to change. Rows of tiny leathery wings sprouted from his back. Two massive legs grew from his belly, lifting him up until he resembled a giant Komodo dragon.
“I see,” he grumbled. “Won’t go quietly. That’s fine. We can make this hurt.”
He tilted his head, like a dog listening—an image that made me never want to own a dog. “Ah…Delphi speaks. Would you like to know your future, Lester? It’s very short.”
Green luminescent fumes thickened and swirled around him, filling the air with the acrid scent of rot. I watched, too horrified to move, as Python breathed in the spirit of Delphi, twisting and poisoning its ancient power until he spoke in a booming voice, his words carrying the inescapable weight of destiny: “Apollo will fall—”
“NO!” Rage filled my body. My arms steamed. My hands glowed. I fired my fourth arrow and pierced Python’s hide just above his new right leg.