Celestial Monsters Quotes

New lesson, class. Most monsters will vaporize when sliced with a celestial bronze sword. This change is perfectly normal, and will happen to you right now if you don't BACK OFF!" - Percy

A demigod!" one snarled. "Eat it!" yelled another. But that's as far as they got before I slashed a wide arc with Riptide and vaporized the entire front row of monsters. "Back off!" I yelled at the rest, trying to sound fierce. Behind them stood their instructor--a six-foot tall telekhine with Doberman fangs snarling at me. I did my best to stare him down. "New lesson, class," I announced. "Most monsters will vaporize when sliced with a celestial bronze sword. This change is completely normal, and will happen to you right now if you don't BACK OFF!" To my surprise, it worked. The monsters backed off, but there was at least twenty of them. My fear factor wasn't going to last that long. I jumped out of the cart, yelled, "CLASS DISMISSED!" and ran for the exit.

If this were a book or movie, she thought, she'd be able to read the stars and get her bearings. Characters always had just the right random skill set to master the situation at hand. Like, Thank god for that summer on an uncle's smuggling boat and the handsome deckhand who taught me celestial navigation. Ha.

I slashed a wide arc with Riptide and vaporized the entire front row of monsters. Back off!” I yelled at the rest, trying to sound fierce. Behind them stood their instructor—a six-foot-tall telekhine with Doberman fangs snarling at me. I did my best to stare him down. New lesson, class,” I announced. “Most monsters will vaporize when sliced with a celestial bronze sword. This change is perfectly normal, and will happen to you right now if you don’t BACK OFF!

New lesson class... most monsters will vaporize when sliced with a celestial bronze sword.this change is perfectly normal, and will happen to you RIGHT NOW if you don't BACK OFF!.... CLASS DISMISSED!

Athena's jealousy made a monster of fair Medusa. I often wonder what beauty my own demons have destroyed.

Centaurs!” Annabeth yelled. The Party Pony army exploded into our midst in a riot of colors: tie-dyed shirts, rainbow Afro wigs, oversize sunglasses, and war-painted faces. Some had slogans scrawled across their flanks like HORSEZ PWN or KRONOS SUX. Hundreds of them filled the entire block. My brain couldn’t process everything I saw, but I knew if I were the enemy, I’d be running. “Percy!” Chiron shouted across the sea of wild centaurs. He was dressed in armor from the waist up, his bow in his hand, and he was grinning in satisfaction. “Sorry we’re late!” “DUDE!” Another centaur yelled. “Talk later. WASTE MONSTERS NOW!” He locked and loaded a double-barrel paint gun and blasted an enemy hellhound bright pink. The paint must’ve been mixed with Celestial bronze dust or something, because as soon as it splattered the hellhound, the monster yelped and dissolved into a pink-and-black puddle. “PARTY PONIES!” a centaur yelled. “SOUTH FLORIDA CHAPTER!” Somewhere across the battlefield, a twangy voice yelled back, “HEART OF TEXAS CHAPTER!” “HAWAII OWNS YOUR FACES!” a third one shouted. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. The entire Titan army turned and fled, pushed back by a flood of paintballs, arrows, swords, and NERF baseball bats. The centaurs trampled everything in their path. “Stop running, you fools!” Kronos yelled. “Stand and ACKK!” That last part was because a panicked Hyperborean giant stumbled backward and sat on top of him.

New lesson, class,” I announced. “Most monsters will vaporize when sliced with a celestial bronze sword. This change is perfectly normal, and will happen to you right now if you don’t BACK OFF!

How foolish I had been to think everything would work out, just like in the books I had read: the lost child found by his mother, the monster defeated by a valiant warrior, the princess saved by the prince. But I was no princess and fairy tales did not exist for the likes of me, not even in heaven.

Bob,” she said, “offerings burned in the mortal world appear on this altar, right?” Bob frowned uncomfortably, like he wasn’t ready for a pop quiz. “Yes?” “So what happens if I burn something on the altar here?” “Uh…” “That’s all right,” Annabeth said. “You don’t know. Nobody knows, because it’s never been done.” There was a chance, she thought, just the slimmest chance that an offering burned on this altar might appear at Camp Half-Blood. Doubtful, but if it did work… “Annabeth?” Percy said again. “You’re planning something. You’ve got that I’m-planning-something look.” “I don’t have an I’m-planning-something look.” “Yeah, you totally do. Your eyebrows knit and your lips press together and—” “Do you have a pen?” she asked him. “You’re kidding, right?” He brought out Riptide. “Yes, but can you actually write with it?” “I—I don’t know,” he admitted. “Never tried.” He uncapped the pen. As usual, it sprang into a full-sized sword. Annabeth had watched him do this hundreds of times. Normally when he fought, Percy simply discarded the cap. It always appeared in his pocket later, as needed. When he touched the cap to the point of the sword, it would turn back into a ballpoint pen. “What if you touch the cap to the other end of the sword?” Annabeth said. “Like where you’d put the cap if you were actually going to write with the pen.” “Uh…” Percy looked doubtful, but he touched the cap to the hilt of the sword. Riptide shrank back into a ballpoint pen, but now the writing point was exposed. “May I?” Annabeth plucked it from his hand. She flattened the napkin against the altar and began to write. Riptide’s ink glowed Celestial bronze. “What are you doing?” Percy asked. “Sending a message,” Annabeth said. “I just hope Rachel gets it.” “Rachel?” Percy asked. “You mean our Rachel? Oracle of Delphi Rachel?” “That’s the one.” Annabeth suppressed a smile. Whenever she brought up Rachel’s name, Percy got nervous. At one point, Rachel had been interested in dating Percy. That was ancient history. Rachel and Annabeth were good friends now. But Annabeth didn’t mind making Percy a little uneasy. You had to keep your boyfriend on his toes. Annabeth finished her note and folded the napkin. On the outside, she wrote: Connor, Give this to Rachel. Not a prank. Don’t be a moron. Love, Annabeth She took a deep breath. She was asking Rachel Dare to do something ridiculously dangerous, but it was the only way she could think of to communicate with the Romans—the only way that might avoid bloodshed. “Now I just need to burn it,” she said. “Anybody got a match?” The point of Bob’s spear shot from his broom handle. It sparked against the altar and erupted in silvery fire. “Uh, thanks.” Annabeth lit the napkin and set it on the altar. She watched it crumble to ash and wondered if she was crazy. Could the smoke really make it out of Tartarus? “We should go now,” Bob advised. “Really, really go. Before we are killed.” Annabeth stared at the wall of blackness in front of them. Somewhere in there was a lady who dispensed a Death Mist that might hide them from monsters—a plan recommended by a Titan, one of their bitterest enemies. Another dose of weirdness to explode her brain. “Right,” she said. “I’m ready.” ANNABETH LITERALLY STUMBLED over the second Titan.

LOOK, I’M ONLY IN THIS FOR THE PIZZA. The publisher was like, “Oh, you did such a great job writing about the Greek gods last year! We want you to write another book about the Ancient Greek heroes! It’ll be so cool!” And I was like, “Guys, I’m dyslexic. It’s hard enough for me to read books.” Then they promised me a year’s supply of free pepperoni pizza, plus all the blue jelly beans I could eat. I sold out. I guess it’s cool. If you’re looking to fight monsters yourself, these stories might help you avoid some common mistakes—like staring Medusa in the face, or buying a used mattress from any dude named Crusty. But the best reason to read about the old Greek heroes is to make yourself feel better. No matter how much you think your life sucks, these guys and gals had it worse. They totally got the short end of the Celestial stick. By the way, if you don’t know me, my name is Percy Jackson. I’m a modern-day demigod—the son of Poseidon. I’ve had some bad experiences in my time, but the heroes I’m going to tell you about were the original old-school hard-luck cases. They boldly screwed up where no one had screwed up before. Let’s pick twelve of them. That should be plenty. By the time you finish reading about how miserable their lives were—what with the poisonings, the betrayals, the mutilations, the murders, the psychopathic family members, and the flesh-eating barnyard animals—if that doesn’t make you feel better about your own existence, then I don’t know what will. So get your flaming spear. Put on your lion-skin cape. Polish your shield, and make sure you’ve got arrows in your quiver. We’re going back about four thousand years to decapitate monsters, save some kingdoms, shoot a few gods in the butt, raid the Underworld, and steal loot from evil people. Then, for dessert, we’ll die painful tragic deaths. Ready? Sweet. Let’s do this.

The metal is called Celestial bronze. It’s deadly to monsters, like Imperial gold, but even rarer.

Annabeth liked that photo. It reminded her of the time she’d felt closest to him, when he’d strafed an army of monsters with Celestial bronze machine guns just to protect her—pretty much the best present a girl could hope for.

Big Bang, Shooting Star, Blazing Fire If this is darkness, then I will be the light. I will be the crashing supernova. If this is darkness, I will howl at it until the moon awakens. Until the stars roar back. Until the sun and the seas and everything in between scream to burn the skeletons away. I know there is ugliness hiding within the light. I know the monsters beneath my bed won’t disappear with the dawn. But it is enough to see them, wretched little beasts, to look them straight in the eyes and say, I will not run from my sins. I am more than my ghosts. I am better than the dark parts of me.

In my childhood, I had been terrified of the vicious monsters I read about in my books. Yet I was learning that as much to be feared was a scythe-like smile and words that cut deep. Never had I imagined people like this existed—those who took pride in treading on the dignity of another, those who thrived on the misery of others.

Niya took over the interrogation. "How do these Celestials keep finding us?" "Oh, don't know. probably because you're all cosplaying as glowsticks right now?" Xio said sarcastically. The trio looked down at their illuminated suits and then at one another. "Okay," Teo sighed, "That does seem like an obvious one we should've considered sooner.

Ouch," Teo groaned. Aurelio was at his side in a blink, pulling him to his feet. "Thanks," he grumbled, shaking out his wings. "You're the one I should be thanking," Aurelio replied with a self-conscious quirk of his lips. "OH, FINE! I see how it is!" Niya came stomping down the dock, dripping wet. "Aurelio gets an airlift but I gotta swim?!" she demanded, wringing out her braids. "We've got bigger problems, Niya!" Teo shot back.

The sight of celestial bronze is hateful to most monsters.

Getting It Right" Your ankles make me want to party, want to sit and beg and roll over under a pair of riding boots with your ankles hidden inside, sweating beneath the black tooled leather; they make me wish it was my birthday so I could blow out their candles, have them hung over my shoulders like two bags full of money. Your ankles are two monster-truck engines but smaller and lighter and sexier than a saucer with warm milk licking the outside edge; they make me want to sing, make me want to take them home and feed them pasta, I want to punish them for being bad and then hold them all night long and say I’m sorry, sugar, darling, it will never happen again, not in a million years. Your thighs make me quiet. Make me want to be hurled into the air like a cannonball and pulled down again like someone being pulled into a van. Your thighs are two boats burned out of redwood trees. I want to go sailing. Your thighs, the long breath of them under the blue denim of your high-end jeans, could starve me to death, could make me cry and cry. Your ass is a shopping mall at Christmas, a holy place, a hill I fell in love with once when I was falling in love with hills. Your ass is a string quartet, the northern lights tucked tightly into bed between a high-count-of-cotton sheets. Your back is the back of a river full of fish; I have my tackle and tackle box. You only have to say the word. Your back, a letter I have been writing for fifteen years, a smooth stone, a moan someone makes when his hair is pulled, your back like a warm tongue at rest, a tongue with a tab of acid on top; your spine is an alphabet, a ladder of celestial proportions. I am navigating the North and South of it. Your armpits are beehives, they make me want to spin wool, want to pour a glass of whiskey, your armpits dripping their honey, their heat, their inexhaustible love-making dark. I am bright yellow for them. I am always thinking about them, resting at your side or high in the air when I’m pulling off your shirt. Your arms of blue and ice with the blood running to make them believe in God. Your shoulders make me want to raise an arm and burn down the Capitol. They sing to each other underneath your turquoise slope-neck blouse. Each is a separate bowl of rice steaming and covered in soy sauce. Your neck is a skyscraper of erotic adult videos, a swan and a ballet and a throaty elevator made of light. Your neck is a scrim of wet silk that guides the dead into the hours of Heaven. It makes me want to die, your mouth, which is the mouth of everything worth saying. It’s abalone and coral reef. Your mouth, which opens like the legs of astronauts who disconnect their safety lines and ride their stars into the billion and one voting districts of the Milky Way. Darling, you’re my President; I want to get this right! Matthew Dickman, The New Yorker: Poems | August 29, 2011 Issue

It was the day after my coronation. My father was off handling council business. I remember that the halls were decorated for the festival. It was to be a massive celebration, and I was looking forward to all the fun.” He placed his hands back on the table, folding his fingers together and leaning toward me as if he were afraid the mortals in the cafe would overhear. “One of Goddess Kryella’s celestials found me at the gathering and told me Kryella wished to see me. I was already slightly inebriated and assumed she just wanted to spend time with me. I was wrong.

It’s not Victoria,” I whispered. Liam shook his head. “No, it’s not. When celestials or gods die, the energy that makes us returns to where it came from. There is no body to bury. This must be one of her trusted subjects.” I stepped a little to his left as he peered further inside. In the tomb lay the remains of what could possibly be a man. The wear and tear of time had left a grayish hulk covered in a white shawl. Beads and jewels lined the neck, and it held a worn and tattered book in its hands. It was thick, at least a thousand pages, but was not made of any type of paper I had ever seen. Various symbols were engraved deeply into the brown leather cover, and silver latches held it closed. The Book of Azrael. We’d finally found it. Not only had we found it, but we’d found it before Kaden and Tobias.

You found it. That’s it, isn’t it?” Ava asked, stepping forward. Liam lifted it in the air slightly. “Yes, and it seems your mother had a seal on the tomb, so only I could open it.” Geraldo nodded. Ava sighed, placing her hands on her hips as she smiled. “Well, that explains why we couldn’t get it open the last few times we tried. I mean, we burned through a lot of celestials.” My eyes widened as her words clicked. “What did you say?” Ava didn’t move or respond. Her body was frozen in place, that sweet face of hers stuck in a permanent half smile. Geraldo’s gaze stayed fixated on the book Liam held. We stood there like that for about half a second before I realized we were fucked. So fucked.

I stepped back, grabbing Liam’s arm as he stared in shock. “We need to go. Now!” I snapped. “What is this?” “Death. And only one person has power over it.” Ava’s and Geraldo’s heads snapped back, their broken jaws opening obscenely wide. Only one creature had enough control over the dead to keep a celestial bound to their flesh, and I knew it was too late. A hollow howl echoed out of their throats, filling the mausoleum and calling their master forward. The ghastly wail was piercing, and I covered my ears. Liam winced, and I saw the brief flash of silver as he slashed his silver blade through Geraldo’s neck. His head bounced and rolled on the ground, but his body stayed upright. I pulled on Liam’s arm. “That won’t work. They’re already dead, and what’s controlling them is only using them as a beacon.

Now it’s time to take back what is ours, what was stolen from us. We had no choice before they sealed the realms. None. How many of your people are beyond those doors? Hmm?” He pointed towards Santiago, then the others. “Or yours, or yours? Do you wonder if they still live?” Those words hit their target. “And this book? You have it?” the leader of the shades asked. Kaden clicked his tongue. “That’s the next part. I do not have it yet, but soon. Elijah,” he pointed toward the mortal and his council, “has been kind enough to provide intel on the celestials. We have infiltrated their ranks, which is the reason I called you all here. We need to be united. Once I start the process of opening the realms, we can’t be seen as weak.” He looked pointedly at the empty seats of the vampires. “Not even for a second. I need you all with me, and if you’re not…” He glanced at the center of the table, letting the threat hang above them. One by one, they all agreed by saying yes in their native tongue. The werewolves were the last to speak, and I knew I wasn’t the only one who noticed.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m sorry. Ava.” A snort escaped him. “She is Azrael’s daughter. Which means she is a higher-ranking celestial by blood. I am going to play it off as you being my second, for appearance’s sake. Please be respectful and nonthreatening,” he said, narrowing his eyes at me.

I’d cobbled this planet together from the remains of Rashearim that had floated past the veil of the Netherworld before the realms had sealed. Once it had settled, the Council of Hadramiel returned, settling halfway across the world from me. I wanted to be alone, and they did not question their king. I had instituted the proper procedures so that they and the celestials could run things without me. What was the point? The realms were sealed for eternity, and anything that might have been a threat had died with Rashearim.

What are you going to do to me?” Alistair stepped forward, standing in front of Peter. He raised his hands, his palms hovering inches from either side of Peter’s head. “Just relax. The more you struggle, the more it hurts,” Alistair murmured. Alistair’s eyes glowed the same blood red as mine as a black mist formed between his hands, connecting his palms. It rippled and danced between his fingers, passing through the celestial’s head. The screams were my least favorite part; they were always so loud. But I guess it was to be expected when someone was having their brain ripped apart and put back together again. Granted, Alistair had a few celestials under his control, but none with a rank as high as this, and none that had been this close to that damned city. Kaden would be happy for once. The screams abruptly stopped, and I raised my head. “You always look away,” Alistair said, a smirk twisting his lips. “I don’t like it.” I didn’t mean for that to slip. Kaden did not accept weakness, but I had been mortal before I had given up my life. I had been mortal, with mortal feelings, mortal views, and a mortal life. No matter how far I’d gone or what I’d done, my mortality sometimes snuck back in. Many would say it was a failing of my mortal heart. It was just another reason I had to be stronger, faster, meaner. There is a line you cross for survival—one I’d crossed centuries ago.

We wished for you here. Once we learned what Kaden was really searching for and that the legends were not just legends, we planned to secede from his legion. I began to research you on my own, pulling from sources long buried by my people. Drake took my place at meetings, gathering any information he could get. Then something changed, and Kaden became obsessed with this book, committing dark acts in his desire to obtain it. He is holding meetings, slaughtering and torturing celestials, all to find this book.” “I am aware,” Liam said finally. “The only issue is that the Book of Azrael is not real.” “He is killing because he believes it is.

You knew my father, and you are familiar with the weapons and machines he designed. Azrael created a manual, so to speak. Inside this book, there are a thousand plus secrets from Rashearim. It was a contingency plan, made for the celestials should you ever turn. It holds the secrets to a lot of things—but most importantly, how to kill you.” “What?!” I stepped forward. “Liam can’t die. He is immortal. Truly immortal.” “No, he’s not.” Ava looked at me, her eyes soft and kind. “He can. That’s why Kaden wants it. It’s a book to open realms and end worlds. And it all starts with his death.” She nodded toward Liam.

I see a few celestials holding them back. Wait . . . I know that guy. I told Vincent to fire him.

So, back to The Hand and the celestials. They weren’t born? How do they feel like they do? Neverra and Logan are married. The joy and laughter I saw in Logan’s memories were true love.” “The celestials are sentient beings created by my father and the other gods. Their primary purpose is to serve. As you saw, they can love true. Their high metabolism requires that they eat a lot. They are highly sexual and have the same passion for fighting. They are brave, quick to adapt, and very good at war, making them the perfect killing machines. It made them invaluable during battle.

Kaden is trying to open the realms, Drake. It means freedom for us, for our kind. No more worrying about the celestials or The Hand. Why are you and Ethan suddenly so against that?” His eyes roamed mine for a second, searching for some sign that I was joking, but only pain edged my voice. “He has a point. I would like to not be hunted—my family or me—but his beliefs are clouded.” He stood, unbuttoning his jacket and carefully taking it off. “Ethan won’t follow, nor will I. He’s a tyrant, Dianna. No matter what pretty picture he paints.

So, from what I hear, Logan is your best friend, but also works for you? You call them The Hand, but they’re celestials, right? What’s that mean?” I did not understand how this was to help me, but I answered her question. “My father made Logan, but he was not conceived. All the celestials were created by one god or another. The celestials are not born, and they have a shadow of our powers.

There are no gods left,” Liam said. “Even if one had erased the archives, there would be a trace. Azrael died on Rashearim long before I destroyed it. How did Victoria even get her hands on it without dying, too?” “Secrets are long buried in your family, World Ender. Long before your creation. The celestial of death had a master—a master who foretold of the great demise. The texts you seek were written and hidden to maintain balance, for if the realms bleed, chaos will return.” “Because of her resurrection?” I watched his throat bob as he spoke. Those floating heads danced to the right and then back, spinning toward the left. “No.

Where are we needed now?” Alistair rubbed his hands together slowly. “Oh, you’ll love it. We’re going back to El Donuma.” My stomach dropped. “Ophanium, to be exact. Our little celestial friend Peter finally came through.” “El Donuma? But that’s Camilla’s territory. You know she hates me.” Alistair only shrugged. “She fears Kaden a lot more.

As you said, several of the celestials Alistair had control over have died. He had completely destroyed their minds. I have funerals to prepare and staff unavailable as they mourn. Thanks to your efforts, Logan is going to live, but he will remain in the med wing until the end of the week.

She swallowed before changing the subject back. “Why make something so similar? Weren’t they afraid they would rebel?” “The celestials don’t have the power to rebel successfully. I always thought they made them because they were bored and wanted something to rule over, since they could not control each other.” She smirked, the corners of her mouth turning up and her eyes sparkling. “How do you not know?” “I know it is difficult to believe, but growing up there, I mostly did not care. I got what I wanted, who I wanted, and barely had to lift a finger. That was the benefit of being king. So, I did not care about politics, which was a mistake on my part. As you said, I was spoiled and self-righteous.

Another beep sounded before a shimmering, imperfect silhouette formed in front of me. “Message request from the Council of Hadramiel,” the robotic monotone voice echoed. I’d never get any peace. “Allow.” “Samkiel.” My fists clenched, pure energy dancing across my knuckles. I hated that name. The once shapeless silhouette vibrated out of focus before returning as the embodiment of a tall, curvaceous woman. Her long blonde hair was loosely braided and ran down her side. Imogen. She resembled the Goddess Athos who had made her. The only difference was that Imogen was pure celestial and one of The Hand—my Hand.

What if it does? What does it do?” I shrugged, moving past her once more to grab the cups she’d set out. I poured us each some coffee and said, “Honestly, I don’t know. Kaden says it holds the key to opening realms. He wants normalcy for us. He wants us to live in a world where we are no longer burdened by the celestials or live in fear of The Hand.

That was odd, but not considering the other questions she had asked. “Unfortunately, that power is only available to the gods created from Chaos. Why do you ask?” Dianna sighed softly, and I felt the bed dip a little as she moved closer to me. Her fingers slid through my hair again as she said, “Gabby. I spoke to her earlier, and it seems she really likes Logan and Neverra. It’s the first time in a long time I’ve heard her so happy. She kept going on and on about them. I don’t know. I think she would have loved to be a celestial, and if she were, she wouldn’t be tied to Kaden or me any longer. She could have a semi-real, normal, happy life.” “If she truly desires it, she could stay and work for me. There are more than enough jobs, and besides, we have a deal. She will get her normal life however she sees fit.

Father. You’re unnerved.” Another stab of his staff, and the floor vibrated as he moved closer. “Unnerved? I would be less unnerved if you did not parade yourself in such a manner. The realms have slowly been devolving into chaos. I need you more focused than ever. The Ig’Morruthens seek power over any realm they can claim, and if they grow in numbers, even we will not be prepared to stop them. I need you to be focused.” My breath left me in a sigh, knowing far too well what followed. “I am focused.” I swayed on my feet before correcting myself. “Did I not cease Namur? I have earned the name World Ender from the realms we have taken back. I deserve a moment of peace, without blood and politics. Are we not supposed to indulge after victorious battles, be amongst our people?” He sneered, shaking his head. “Our people can indulge. You cannot. You will be king. Do you not comprehend that? You have to show your face, not sway upon your feet or dip your cock in any celestial or goddess that shows you a sliver of attention.” He paused, a single hand rubbing his brow. “You have so much potential, my son, yet you squander it.

He is a celestial? We have seen plenty of them, Dianna,” Alistair said as he rubbed one hand across his face. Blood stained his skin and clothing from the destruction he’d wreaked downstairs. His normally perfectly combed silver hair had a few strands out of place and was streaked with crimson. “I saw Arariel. He was there. They spoke of Vincent, which means he,” I shook the chair with our bound friend slightly, “works with The Hand.” A grin, sharp and deadly, caressed his features. “You’re lying.” “I’m not,” I said, shaking my head and pushing the chair toward him. “I’ve tasted it. This is Peter McBridge, twenty-seven, second-tier celestial. His parents are retired, and he has no other connections to the mortal world. The fortress is in Arariel. His colleagues talked about us and what we’ve done so far. They spoke about The Hand of Rashearim and even mentioned Vincent.” The guy in the chair stuttered as he craned his head, looking from me to Alistair and back. “How did you see that? How can you know?

smile, cold and deadly, lit up his face. Alistair reminded me of ice, from his hard, chiseled cheekbones to his empty stare. He had never been mortal, and serving Kaden was all he knew. He raised his hand in a silent demand, and the celestial stood. No words were needed. Alistair owned his mind and body. “You will remember nothing that happened here today. You belong to me now. You will be my eyes and ears. What you see, I see. What you hear, I hear. What you speak, I speak.

What do you think the world will look like in ten years?” “Huh?” She glanced at me. “What do you mean?” I shifted in my seat, folding my arms as I looked at her. “The celestials. They have impacted Onuna so much. I wonder how much more they will change our world.” “You really hate them, don’t you?” I snorted. “Don’t you? They’re the reason Mom and Dad are gone, and why our home is practically nonexistent.” “D, they didn’t kill Mom and Dad. The plague did.” “The plague was caused by whatever bacteria they brought down with them.” She sighed. “That was just a coincidence. There is no proof that was the cause. Besides, I work with a few celestials. They’re nice.

I thought I’d heard Vincent say this convoy had twelve rooms. It seemed like a lot, but when they could go anywhere in the world, it made sense they would have space. The convoys had replaced trains once celestial magic and technology became one. “You know, I’d always wondered if the celestials’ convoys were nicer than the public ones used in the cities,” I said as I popped another small piece of chocolate into my mouth. “I can definitively say that they are.

The celestial led me out of the great hall and to a temple across the city. It was the one Kryella used for her rituals. I believe Logan spoke of witches there. Well, Kryella was the first of her kind to wield what you all consider magic. Her power frightened even my father—not that she would have ever betrayed him. She, along with a few others, were the only true allies my father had.” Our waitress stopped by then, pulling Liam from his thoughts and the next part of the story. Liam continued after she had refilled our drinks and cleared our plates. Liam’s fingers tapped absently against the side of his mug, but his expression remained flat. “My father and Kryella were there, standing around a massive cauldron set over green flames. They looked to be in deep debate until they saw me. They wore their council garb, and their expressions told me the meeting had not gone well. I asked, but they refused to speak of it. Instead, they explained they needed me to seal the realms.” “Did they say why? I mean, this was before the Gods War, right?

New lesson, class,’ I announced. ‘Most monsters will vaporize when sliced with a celestial bronze sword. This change is perfectly normal, and will happen to you right now if you don’t BACK OFF!

New lesson, class," I announced. "Most monsters will vaporize when sliced with a celestial bronze sword. This change is perfectly normal, and will happen to you right now if you don't BACK OFF!" To my surprise, it worked. The monsters backed up, but there were at least twenty of them. My fear factor wasn't going to last long. I jumped out of the cart, yelled, "CLASS DISMISSED!" and ran for the exit