...
Hand in hand, Athena and Chrysaor made their way around the Acropolis. Charging across grassy gardens and marble pathways, she searched anxiously for the way up while half her mind ached for the fate of Lancer behind her. He and Archer had already faded from view, and, under the indigo fog which coated the city, a still silence had fallen, which was somehow worse than the sounds of battle and blood. Without the clashing of swords and cries of pain, there was, in its place, a squirming anticipation. The knowledge that, at any moment, this false tranquility would shatter over her head and rain a shower of violence when she least expected it. Each step across the crisp morning grass made her feel as if she were running across a sheet of ice that could collapse at any moment. She pushed ahead, knowing that breaking her stride would make it impossible for her to keep going.
"There!"
She pointed at a marble path which cut into the mountain's face, going steeply upward towards the Parthenon at its flat, table-esque seat. That hedge of clouds, crackling with purple lightning, still stood between them, rising like battlements around the peak.
"Right!"
She and Chrysaor charged up the steep path, and she led him as much as he led her. When she slipped on the slick, dew-covered stones, he slid his hand to her lower back and kept her aloft. They moved like mountain climbers, he supporting her, using her arm like a safety line so that she would never falter. In this way, they eventually reached the sheer stairway leading to the peak.
Not long ago, the path lined with columns was a grand gateway, where thousands would come and go on a daily basis. But Berserker, Heracles, in his fight with Rider and Lancer atop the Acropolis, had destroyed the overhang, leaving only the sides of the walkway. Rather than a welcoming foyer, the remaining columns made the appearance of guards standing at attention, and with no intention of letting them pass. It caused her to shiver, and she wasn't sure why at first, but she realized that, somewhere in her animal mind, the scene in front of her reminded her of a snake's gaping maw, its fangs looking to crush her, its gullet seeming to swallow her, and its toxic venom pooling out at her feet in the shape of clouds.
She had frozen in place without realizing it. Her exhaustion caught up with her before she knew it, stealing the air from her stomach and bringing her low.
Chrysaor crouched down to meet her, rubbing her back.
"Catch your breath. Gather your energy. We're almost there."
She felt sick, but swallowed her nausea and looked towards the jaws of the basilisk, "Is there a way around? Do we need to charge through? Maybe we make Geryon and fly over?"
She imagined the energy within it searing her the moment she entered. She didn't have a better idea, but just jumping headlong into the belly of the beast didn't seem like the best plan.
He looked the same way, but brought his gaze upwards, seeming to stare into the churning clouds overhead, spinning like a whirlpool around the tabernacle's golden pillar.
"There is no way around. The clouds are just smoke, the leftovers of burning mana, no different than a fire would make. The actual barrier is invisible and shaped more like a dome or a sphere. Like any smoke, you wouldn't want to breathe it in, but it's harmless otherwise."
She found her balance and he helped to bring her upright, allowing her to lean against him.
"The barrier... Can we get through it?"
"I doubt it's designed to keep people out; I don't think he had the time for that. It's more like the borders of a country. Inside, he is sovereign, and he's able to set the rules. If he set rules for entry, he wouldn't have been able to set the rules for his magecraft, and that's a lot more important."
"Can the rules be broken?"
He beamed at her, and she wasn't sure she had ever seen so much mischief in his eyes.
"Always. Provided you have the will to do it."
She welcomed the levity, "Should we form Geryon, then? Or should we wait?"
"I say there's a fifty-fifty shot that blows up in our face. For my part-" He narrowed his eyes, and she saw daggers gleam within them, "I'd like to see him first. If only to be sure we don't waste any energy."
She smirked knowingly, "The whites of his eyes, eh?"
He only smiled in response, though there was a note of pride there. She knew that he wouldn't understand the reference, but was perfectly alright letting him believe she was more clever than she was.
Still, levity could only last so long, and the danger which seeped out of the Acropolis's mouth burdened her with its fatal gravity.
"Chrysaor. If we don't make it out of here, I just want to say-"
He didn't let her finish. He pulled her close and kissed her atop her head.
"I know. I love you too. We'll have plenty of time to faun over one another after we kick Caster's ass."
She would've grinned ear-to-ear had her jaw not dropped at his sudden forwardness, not just in affection but in aggression. She nodded resolutely.
In the distance, a great explosion was heard, followed by a rumbling like an earthquake or the crumbling of a skyscraper.
The light in his eyes flickered out, replaced with sobriety.
"That's our cue."
"Right. Let's go."
Keeping their hands together as a matter of course, they charged up the stairs and into the abyss. Entering the cloud, she pulled her shirt up and over her nose with her free hand and wrenched her eyes shut, holding her breath and heeding the warnings of her Servant. As he had noted, the energy in the air, whether magical or material she wasn't wholly certain, buzzed around her. It tickled her skin and raised her hair, but was otherwise totally harmless.
It took only a few paces before another change overtook her, one which reminded her of when she had approached the destroyed Mount Lykabettos, as if she were running through a veil of static electricity. This, however, was far more profound than the one she had already experienced, and a certain stillness overtook the air, as if she had just gone indoors.
Cautiously, she opened her eyes and saw- nothing. She and Chrysaor continued to run through an empty abyss, a rectangle of light ahead of them, reminding them of the tabernacle. This was their destination, and they charged towards it without giving any heed to the strange circumstances around them. As they approached, the stone under her feet gained a certain hollow quality, but was soon replaced with the clacking of stone, or, more accurately, of stone against stone. She had no time to question: she knew enough to understand that the 'rules' of Caster's domain were establishing themselves, and if Chrysaor was undisturbed, then there was no reason to be afraid.
They rushed through the doorway- and were forced to come to a stop. Firstly by shock, but more importantly by the size of the space. Had they continued, they would've gone head-first into the far wall, which itself was covered with rose wallpaper decorated with flowered vines. Looking around, Athena recognized the place as a parlor with hardwood floors, and some vague memories of her parent's mountain manor were awakened within her. To her right was a sitting area in front of a fireplace: a green sofa across from two cream-colored armchairs set around a low coffee table. Beyond these was a wide window that looked out into an immaculate garden of blooming flowers and trimmed hedges. It was beautiful, and appealing especially to her woman's eye, but next to her Chrysaor took a battle stance, manifesting his blades.
-Chrysaor? He caught her attention for a brief and guilty moment. He was decked in a black suit with a rose handkerchief, golden buttons and a matching bolo tie. Looking down at herself, she saw a rose dress that exposed her shoulders and continued to her ankles. She saw something like dancing shoes on her feet, and realized that the 'clacking' she had heard was coming from these.
She wrenched her attention from their clothes and looked to her left. There was a bar made of mahogany wood and, attending to it- she pulled her hands over her chest- was Caster, although, in his violet suit and without his horns, he was recognized chiefly by his piercing, golden eyes. He had a bottle of whiskey, a small bucket of ice, and three shot glasses.
He began to pour the whiskey, turning only half his face towards them.
"Welcome. I was wondering when you'd come. Go on, have a seat."
Chrysaor wasted no time. Overcome with lethal determination, even to the point of half-forgetting the plan he and Athena had settled on, he leaped forward with both blades in front of him, one aiming for the neck and the other towards the small of Caster's back. But the distance never closed, and, with no change in Caster except a slight sharpening of his gaze, Chrysaor was left floating, frozen in the air, his blades an inch from their target.
"I said: Have a seat."
...