The Tower of Nero (The Trials of Apollo #5) - Rick Riordan Page 0,96
would have plowed through them.
The emperor stopped in front of me, his eyes flickering with power.
“You lose,” he said. “Give it to me.”
“Take it if you can.” I began to glow myself. Radiance intensified around me, as it had months ago in Indianapolis, but slower this time, building to a crescendo. The fasces pulsed in sympathy, beginning to superheat. Nero snarled and grabbed the handle of the ax.
To our mutual surprise, the strength of my grip was equal to his. We played tug-of-war, swinging the blade back and forth, trying to kill each other, but neither of us could win. The glow around us increased like a feedback loop—bleaching the carpet under our feet, whitening the black marble columns. Germani had to stop fighting just to shield their eyes. Trogs screamed and retreated, their dark goggles insufficient protection.
“You—cannot—take—it, Lester!” Nero said through clenched teeth, pulling with all his might.
“I am Apollo,” I said, tugging the other direction. “God of the sun. And I—revoke—your—divinity!”
The fasces cracked in two—the shaft shattering, the rods and golden blade exploding like a firebomb. A tsunami of flames washed over me, along with thousands of years of Nero’s pent-up rage, fear, and insatiable hunger—the twisted sources of his power. I stood my ground, but Nero hurtled backward and landed on the carpet, his clothes smoldering, his skin mottled with burns.
My glow started to fade. I was unharmed…or at least, no more harmed than I’d been before.
The fasces was broken, but Nero remained alive and intact. Had all this been for nothing, then?
At least he wasn’t gloating anymore. Instead, the emperor sobbed in despair. “What have you done? Don’t you see?”
Only then did he begin to crumble. His fingers disintegrated. His toga frayed into smoke. A glittery cloud plumed from his mouth and nose, as if he were exhaling his life-force along with his final breaths. Worst of all—this glitter didn’t simply vanish. It poured downward, seeping into the Persian rug, worming into cracks between the floor tiles, almost as if Nero were being pulled—clawed and dragged—into the depths, piece by piece.
“You’ve given him victory,” he whimpered. “You’ve—”
The last of his mortal form dissolved and soaked through the floor.
Everyone in the room stared at me. The Germani dropped their weapons.
Nero was finally gone.
I wanted to feel joy and relief, but all I felt was exhaustion.
“Is it over?” Lu asked.
Rachel stood next to me, but her voice seemed to come from very far away: “Not yet. Not even close.”
My consciousness was dimming, but I knew she was right. I understood the real threat now. I had to get going. There was no time to waste.
Instead, I toppled into Rachel’s arms and passed out.
I found myself hovering over a different throne room—the Council of the Gods on Mount Olympus. Thrones curved around Hestia’s great hearth, forming a U. My family, such as they were, sat watching a holographic image that floated above the flames. It was me, lying passed out in Rachel’s arms in Nero’s tower.
So…I was watching them watch me watch them.…Nope. Too meta.
“This is the most critical time,” Athena said. She was dressed in her usual armor and oversize helmet, which I’m pretty sure she stole from Marvin the Martian in Looney Tunes. “He is perilously close to failure.”
“Hmph.” Ares sat back and crossed his arms. “I wish he’d get on with it, then. I have twenty golden drachma riding on this.”
“That is so callous,” Hermes chided. “Besides, it’s thirty drachmas, and I gave you very good odds.” He pulled out a leather-bound notepad and a pencil. “Any final bets, people?”
“Stop,” Zeus rumbled. He was dressed in a somber black three-piece suit, as if on his way to my funeral. His shaggy black beard was freshly combed and oiled. His eyes flickered with subdued lightning. He almost looked concerned for my situation.
Then again, he was as good an actor as Nero.
“We must wait for the final battle,” he announced. “The worst is yet to come.”
“Hasn’t he proved himself already?” Artemis demanded. My heart ached, seeing my sister again. “He’s suffered more in these last few months than even you could have expected! Whatever lesson you were trying to teach him, dear Father, he’s learned it!”
Zeus glowered. “You do not understand all the forces at work here, Daughter. Apollo must face the final challenge, for all our sakes.”
Hephaestus sat forward in his mechanical recliner, adjusting his leg braces. “And if he fails, what then? Eleven Olympian gods? That’s a terribly unbalanced number.”