![]() ![]() ![]() They were as pompous as their name suggested. But most of those who littered the floor below were pure-bloods. Good old, average mortals who’d gotten mixed up in the wrong thing lay dead among the offspring of the Olympians. Their sorry asses didn’t have a chance in Hades. This had to be, by far, one of my best Remediations-as in, search out hideouts and destroy the traitors who over a year ago had supported Ares when he’d attempted to take over the mortal world. My black boots were shiny the black tactical pants and Under Armour shirt, the standard uniform of a Sentinel, were free of the gore. However, there wasn’t a drop of blood on me. I’d never look at a can of Chef Boyardee the same way again. Everything was splattered with red and gunk, like a fleet of cannons had shot an endless stream of beef ravioli against the walls and ceilings-lots of chunks of lots of different types of matter that usually belonged inside a body. Truly blissful.įrom my vantage point at the top of the grand staircase, the opulent, open-floor design of the first level looked like a truck had backed up to the bronze double doors and dumped a load of SpaghettiOs all over the floor. No noise-not even a ragged inhale of breath or a whispered word. THE MANSION was as silent as I wished the inside of my head could be. “But these sons whom he begot himself great Heaven used to call Titans in reproach, for he said that they strained and did presumptuously a fearful deed, and that vengeance for it would come afterwards.” (ll. ![]()
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