Score: 4. The way out? A series of scary and dangerous trials, of course. With two particularly scary and dangerous trial already under his belt, Lester must now journey to the Labyrinth - a burning maze with an Oracle at its centre, who may just hold the key to a return to godly glory. But The Labyrinth holds a far more deadly threat - the third Roman emperor, part of a group of three, all bent on death and destruction.
The mortal and immortal worlds won't be safe whilst they live, and only Lester and his demigod friends have the power, bravery and luck to stop them. Until he was cast out his father, Zeus.
Now, he's an awkward teenager. Called Lester. The only way out is a series of scary and dangerous trials, of course. For his third trial, Apollo must journey through the Labyrinth to free an Oracle who only speaks in puzzles.
Then, defeat the most vicious of three very vicious Roman Emperors. All without the use of his godly powers. It looks like he will need all the help he can get - from some new and old friends. Clarisse, daughter of Ares, the Greek god of war, needs Percy Jackson's help. Her father's chariot has been stolen and she has to get it back by sunset. The only hitch? The chariot-jackers are none other than her terrifying immortal brothers Phobos and Deimos.
Can Percy and Clarisse get the chariot back before it's too late? Apollo bosan ketakutan juga, sebenarnya. Dia harus menyelamatkan Oracle ketiga yang disekap dalam kepungan Labirin Api yang membara dengan bantuan Grover, satir kesayangan Percy Jackson, serta Meg, majikan Apollo kini. Ya, tentu saja ada banyak rintangan.
Dan tidak ada yang lebih membuat Apollo gemetar daripada menghadapi si Kuda milik kaisar terkejam dalam sejarah. Kuda gagah yang bisa bicara, luar biasa pintar, dan sama liciknya dengan sang Tuan. Tarquin and his army of the undead have been defeated. Somehow Apollo has made it out alive, with a little bit of help from the Hunters of Artemis.
But though the battle may have been won, the war is far from over. Now Apollo and Meg must get ready for the final - and, let's face it, probably fatal - adventure.
They must face the last emperor, the terrifying Nero, and destroy him once and for all. Can Apollo find his godly form again? Will Meg be able to face up to her troubled past?
Destiny awaits. Semua orang mengenalnya sebagai dewa paling tampan, paling berbakat, dan paling populer. Namun, kini wujudnya yang mengagumkan berubah menjadi sesosok remaja culun berambut keriting, dengan muka berjerawat dan perut menggelambir bernama Lester Papadopoulos!
Sang Dewa Musik tidak lagi memiliki satu kekuatan dewata pun dan tanpa sengaja malah membuat dirinya terikat menjadi pesuruh seorang demigod remaja bernama Meg. Siapa yang membuat Apollo dikutuk menjadi manusia fana dan berakhir di dalam salah satu tong sampah di New York?
Apa yang harus dia lakukan demi mendapatkan kembali wujud dewatanya dan pulang ke Olympus? Now, he's a teenage boy called Lester. Apollo has angered his father Zeus for the last time. So, how do you punish an immortal? Cast down from Olympus, he's weak, disorientated and stuck in New York City as a teenage boy. It's the first time he's been without his powers, and he has to survive in the modern world. Which isn't an easy feat for a four-thousand-year old deity, especially one with as many enemies as he has.
Apollo needs help, and he can only think of one place to go. The only way Apollo can reclaim his rightful place on Mount Olympus is by restoring several Oracles that have gone dark. By making him human. After angering his father Zeus, the god Apollo is cast down from Olympus. Weak and disorientated, he lands in New York City as a regular teenage boy.
But Apollo has many enemies — gods, monsters and mortals who would love to see the former Olympian permanently destroyed. He was a harsh master. He even refused to pay us for our work! Meg nearly choked on her sandwich. I had a terrifying image of Meg McCaffrey trying to pay me in bottle caps, marbles, and pieces of colored string.
But as I was saying, the second time I became mortal, Zeus got mad because I killed some of his Cyclopes. My brother is a Cyclops. They made the lightning bolt that killed one of my sons!
Meg bounced on the arm of the sofa. I took a deep breath, trying to find my happy place. He was a kind master. I liked him so much, I made all his cows have twin calves. Possibly more.
I gritted my teeth. But if I suffer through them and prove I am worthy, Zeus will forgive me and allow me to become a god again. Percy did not look convinced—probably because I did not sound convincing. I had to believe my mortal punishment was temporary, as it had been the last two times.
I could only hope this would not apply to me. I can figure out which of my godly powers remain with me in this mortal form. Percy sat back in his armchair. Percy nodded gravely. Once we reach camp, the magical borders will protect me. You, too. The seven-layer dip began to churn in my stomach. I have to. Being a mortal was traumatic enough. The thought of being barred from camp, of being unimportant …No.
That simply could not be. I must have other abilities! Percy turned to Meg. I hear you throw a mean garbage bag.
Any other skills we should know about? Summoning lightning? Making toilets explode? Meg smiled hesitantly. Meg giggled. I did not like the way she was grinning at Percy. We might never get out of here. Percy glanced at the wall clock. Percy gestured with distaste at his test manuals. Got a lot of studying. The first two times I took the SAT—ugh.
Meg frowned. I was glad there were no garbage bags nearby for her to throw. He rose just as Sally Jackson walked in with a plate of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies. For some reason, the cookies were blue, but they smelled heavenly—and I should know. Sally sighed.
Sally looked at me, then Meg. Her expression softened, her innate kindness perhaps overweighing her concern. Be careful. It was lovely meeting you both. Please try not to die. Percy kissed her on the cheek. He reached for the cookies, but she moved the plate away. And hurry, dear. It would be a shame if Paul ate them all when he gets home. He faced us. A batch of cookies is depending on me.
If you get me killed on the way to camp, I am gonna be ticked off. Aquaman driving. Oh, wait, now it is. Sally lent Meg and me some proper winter fleece jackets, however. Perhaps that was an arcane ward against evil spirits.
Hecate would have known. Once we reached the Prius, Meg called shotgun, which was yet another example of my unfair existence. Gods do not ride in the back. I again suggested following them in a Maserati or a Lamborghini, but Percy admitted he had neither. The Prius was the only car his family owned. I mean…wow. Just wow. Sitting in the backseat, I quickly became carsick. I was used to driving my sun chariot across the sky, where every lane was the fast lane.
I was not used to the Long Island Expressway. Believe me, even at midday in the middle of January, there is nothing express about your expressways. Percy braked and lurched forward. I sorely wished I could launch a fireball in front of us and melt cars to make way for our clearly more important journey. At least some Hephaestian bumper blades? What sort of cheap economy vehicle is this? Percy glanced in the rearview mirror. Meg tugged at her crescent moon rings. Again I wondered if she had some connection to Artemis.
Perhaps Artemis had sent Meg to look after me? Artemis had trouble sharing anything with me—demigods, arrows, nations, birthday parties.
Meg had another sort of aura…one I would have been able to recognize easily if I were a god. But, no. I had to rely on mortal intuition, which was like trying to pick up sewing needles while wearing oven mitts. Meg turned and gazed out the rear windshield, probably checking for any shiny blobs pursuing us.
Meg huffed. Neither of us answered. For a moment, I was too stunned to speak. And believe me, I have to be very stunned for that to happen. That was unjust. How was I to know that Gaea would take advantage of the chaos of war and raise my oldest, greatest enemy from the depths of Tartarus so he could take possession of his old lair in the cave of Delphi and cut off the source of my prophetic power? How could you not know that would happen? The next sound you hear will be me blowing you a giant Meg-McCaffrey-quality raspberry.
I swallowed back the taste of fear and seven-layer dip. Those are the rules. Meg threw a piece of lint at me. I felt as if I were floating in a warm bath and someone had pulled out the stopper. The water swirled around me, tugging me downward. Soon I would be left shivering and exposed, or else I would be sucked down the drain into the sewers of hopelessness. I was beginning to see what was in store for me during my mortal sojourn. The Oracle was held by hostile forces. My adversary lay coiled and waiting, growing stronger every day on the magical fumes of the Delphic caverns.
And I was a weak mortal bound to an untrained demigod who threw garbage and chewed her cuticles. Zeus could not possibly expect me to fix this. Not in my present condition. And yet… someone had sent those thugs to intercept me in the alley. Someone had known where I would land. Nobody can tell the future anymore, Percy had said. Where was she finding this lint? It had felt good while it lasted. She pointed behind us. Weaving through the traffic, closing in on us rapidly, were three glittery, vaguely humanoid apparitions—like billowing plumes from smoke grenades touched by King Midas.
I envisioned crossing an actual countryside. Instead, Percy shot down the nearest exit ramp, wove across the parking lot of a shopping mall, then blasted through the drive-through of a Mexican restaurant without even ordering anything. We swerved into an industrial area of dilapidated warehouses, the smoking apparitions still closing in behind us.
We sped north, the warehouses giving way to a hodgepodge of apartment buildings and abandoned strip malls. I fight better near water. Meg bounced up and down with excitement, which seemed pointless to me, since we were already bouncing quite a lot. I glanced out the rear window. The three glittering plumes were still gaining. One of them passed through a middle-aged man crossing the street.
The mortal pedestrian instantly collapsed. My brain clouded over. I hate being mortal! Meg yelped as her head hit the ceiling. Then she began giggling uncontrollably. The landscape opened into actual countryside—fallow fields, dormant vineyards, orchards of bare fruit trees.
We can do it. One of the shiny smoke clouds pulled a dirty trick, pluming from the pavement directly in front of us. Instinctively, Percy swerved. The Prius went off the road, straight through a barbed wire fence and into an orchard. Percy managed to avoid hitting any of the trees, but the car skidded in the icy mud and wedged itself between two trunks.
Miraculously, the air bags did not deploy. Percy popped his seat belt. Meg shoved against her passenger-side door. Get me out of here! Percy tried his own door. It was firmly jammed against the side of a peach tree. I kicked my door open and staggered out, my legs feeling like worn shock absorbers.
The three smoky figures had stopped at the edge of the orchard. Now they advanced slowly, taking on solid shapes. They grew arms and legs. Their faces formed eyes and wide, hungry mouths. I knew instinctively that I had dealt with these spirits before. I was a panicky sixteen-year-old. My palms sweated. My teeth chattered. Percy and Meg struggled to get out of the Prius. They needed time, which meant I had to run interference.
To my pleasant surprise, the three spirits stopped. They hovered in place about forty feet away. I heard Meg grunt as she tumbled out of the backseat. Percy scrambled after her.
I advanced toward the spirits, the frosty mud crunching under my shoes. My breath steamed in the cold air. I raised my hand in an ancient three-fingered gesture for warding off evil. The smoky shapes trembled. My hopes lifted. I waited for them to dissipate or flee in terror. Instead, they solidified into ghoulish corpses with yellow eyes. Their clothes were tattered rags, their limbs covered with gaping wounds and running sores. Percy and Meg stepped to either side of me.
Tag with plague spirits. Have fun with that, LOL. But the list never seems to end. The three nosoi shuffled forward. Their cadaverous mouths gaped. Their tongues lolled. Their eyes glistened with a film of yellow mucus.
Except for that story about how I flayed the satyr Marsyas alive. That was a total lie. Percy glanced at me. The middle plague spirit spoke. Difficult for me, but I managed. Once I was born, spreading illnesses became part of my job. The spirit on the left gurgled. Stop interrupting! I will strike you down!
Perhaps you are wondering how I could act so confident and calm. In fact, I was terrified. My sixteen-year-old mortal instincts were screaming, RUN! My knees were knocking together, and my right eye had developed a nasty twitch. But the secret to dealing with plague spirits was to keep talking so as to appear in charge and unafraid.
I trusted that this would allow my demigod companions time to come up with a clever plan to save me. I certainly hoped Meg and Percy were working on such a plan. The spirit on the right bared his rotten teeth. Where is your booow? The nosoi shuffled nervously. Percy cleared his throat. I thought. The middle spirit chortled, his yellow eyes gleaming. It does not have the pooooetry of a good epidemic. The three corpses shambled forward. I thrust out my arms, hoping to blast them to dust.
Nothing happened. The branch stuck. Glittering smoke began swirling down the length of the wood. Meg released the branch and scampered away. Meanwhile, Percy Jackson charged into battle. Whenever his blade connected with the nosoi, their bodies simply dissolved into glittery mist, then resolidified. A spirit lunged to grab him. I knew running would not help. I took one century off to lie around the beach in Cabo, and came back and found that the nosoi had gotten loose and a third of the continent was dead.
Gods , I was so irritated. But I was too terrified to argue. Meg and Percy sprinted off through the orchard, and I followed. Percy pointed to a line of hills about a mile ahead. We passed an irrigation tank on a tractor-trailer.
With a casual flick of his hand, Percy caused the side of the tank to rupture. A wall of water crashed into the three nosoi behind us. My chest ached. Each breath was a ragged wheeze. I resented that these two demigods could carry on a conversation while running for their lives while I, the immortal Apollo, was reduced to gasping like a catfish.
Before I could finish, three glittering pillars of smoke plumed from the ground in front of us. Two of the nosoi solidified into cadavers—one with a peach for a third eye, the other with a tree branch sticking out of his chest. He ran straight into the plume of smoke. He fell to his knees, clawing at his throat. Meg picked up another withered peach from the field, but it would offer her little defense against the forces of darkness. I tried to figure out how to help Percy—because I am all about helping—but the branch-impaled nosos charged at me.
I turned and fled, running face-first into a tree. I found myself flat on my back, spots dancing in my eyes, the cadaverous visage of the plague spirit looming over me. He dissolved into smoke and settled over me like a glittering blanket. Peaches in combat. I am hanging it up now. My brain exploded. I wish it had. Instead, my regrets passed before my eyes. Despite being a gloriously perfect being, I do have a few regrets. I remembered that day at Abbey Road Studios, when my envy led me to set rancor in the hearts of John and Paul and break up the Beatles.
I remembered Achilles falling on the plains of Troy, cut down by an unworthy archer because of my wrath. I saw Hyacinthus, his bronze shoulders and dark ringlets gleaming in the sunlight. Standing on the sideline of the discus field, he gave me a brilliant smile. Watch me, I said. And of course I saw her —the other love of my life—her fair skin transforming into bark, her hair sprouting green leaves, her eyes hardening into rivulets of sap.
Those memories brought back so much pain, you might think I would welcome the glittering plague mist descending over me. Yet my new mortal self rebelled. I was too young to die! Yes, my godly catalogue of exes was filled with more beautiful people than a Kardashian party guest list, but none of that seemed real to me. That may seem silly. We are immortal.
In my case, three stinking times. Gods know about fading. They know about being forgotten over the centuries. The idea of ceasing to exist altogether terrifies us. In fact—well, Zeus would not like me sharing this information, and if you tell anyone, I will deny I ever said it—but the truth is we gods are a little in awe of you mortals. You spend your whole lives knowing you will die. No matter how many friends and relatives you have, your puny existence will quickly be forgotten.
How do you cope with it? Why are you not running around constantly screaming and pulling your hair out?
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