The sound of the gunshot echoed through the ruin, alerting everyone that something was amiss. Soon after came a shrill scream. Selena dropped to the ground, hands pressed against the sudden wound that appeared on Malcolm's chest.
She tried to apply pressure, using her jacket, but the blood kept pouring out, worse still, the flesh around the wound gradually turned black, with it spreading and branching through Malcom's veins, turning his blood a sickly purple.
Clarisse roared, already whirling toward the location where the gunshot came from, her spear in hand, crackling in preparation for a battle. Lucas and Annabeth exchanged a glance and then split up. Annabeth went to tend to Malcolm and help defend him, while Lucas joined up with Ethan and followed Clarisse.
At the entrance of the ruin, three shapes emerged from the shadows.
One stood tall and broad, muscles bulging, bare-chested, with calloused fists twitching at his sides in anticipation of blood.
Beside him, a lean figure dressed in full Greek combat armor twirled a curved cutlass in one hand and balanced a flintlock in the other. A gorgon mask hid his face from view, but his eyes shone with playfulness and cruelty.
The last was armored only by his skin, which shimmered with a faint golden hue. He didn't radiate the danger of the second, nor the might of the first, but he was the one who led the three, standing in front. For one who seemed so weak and insignificant, Lucas believed there must be something dangerous about him to be able to command the other two.
It seemed the one with a flintlock wanted to say something, but before he could get his words out, Clarisse let out a cry as she charged her spear with electricity, the sound deafening in the enclosed space of the ruin, stopping him from speaking.
The demigods had no desire to speak to these strangers, or a desire to investigate why they attacked, since they had attacked, they just needed to be defeated; they were all reputable and powerful demigods, especially Lucas, they had expected a quick battle, especially since the strangers launched a sneak attack from the start, but it was soon proven otherwise.
Clarisse launched herself at the strangers, her spear thrust out, wanting to hit the leader with the full brunt of her charged spear, causing the largest to suddenly appear beside her, fist already mid-punch at her shoulder, sending her flying into the cave wall, stopping her attack.
Clarisse pulled herself out of the wall, wiping some blood from her mouth as she then popped her shoulder back into its socket. She shrugged it a few times to regain feeling before picking her spear back up and eating the brute who was calmly walking toward her, without caring about her recovery.
She once again tried to thrust with her spear, this time aiming for speed rather than strength, but he moved with grace, twisting around the spearhead and along the shaft, before swatting her aside with a backhand. Fortunately, while unexpected, Clarisse was experienced, twisting her spear to deflect the backhand and retaliating with a savage knee to the thigh, hoping to shake his balance, but the brute just shrugged it off and shouldered her, sending her once more skirting away. Like a bull, the man brute started charging, pressing his attacks as Clarisse was forced to bring out a shield and defend against his punches, his offense offering little opportunity to use her spear.
Watching as Clarisse was punched into the wall, Ethan charged forward, hoping to swiftly deal with one of them so he could return to help her. Like Clarisse, his opponent proved to be stronger than expected.
He tried to face the masked man, but with each clash of their swords, he realised he was outmatched. The man's cutless strikes struck at unpredictable angles, causing Ethan to consistently retreat against the strikes. The few he didn't dodge but parried and countered resulted in the cutless speeding up and parrying his strike. These moments let him know, even when he gave his best, the stranger wasn't giving it his all, merely playing with him. This caused Ethan to become enraged. While he kept himself calm, he channeled this anger into his strikes, making them stronger and faster.
Ethan sidestepped a slash, pivoting low to deliver a quick cut toward the knee, an angle designed to exploit even the fastest warrior's lagging guard. But the masked man flicked his cutlass downward in time to parry, the edge ringing as it met Ethan's bronze blade. Returning a strike of his own that opened a wound on Ethan's cheek, even with a mask on, Ethan could tell the stranger had a mocking sneer.
Watching as two great fighters were suppressed by their opponents, Lucas realized it was up to him to defeat his opponent quickly and support them. Perhaps this way, he could quickly return to Malcolm and heal him. He knew that while his physical might lacked compared to demigods of the big three, his powers allowed him to contest against even the strongest, so he didn't take his opponent seriously, until he threw his first throwing knife. One was thrown at the neck, aiming for a quick kill, but in fact, when it struck the flesh, it was like striking metal; the knife actually dented and dropped, never piercing the flesh.
Lucas' gut dropped.
He surged forward, launching a flurry of attacks with perfect rhythm. A dagger at the ribs, a slice at the tendon, he conjured some illusions to give him cover to launch some sharp rocks and even threw a fireball that directly impacted the man's chest.
None of it mattered.
Every attack hit the flesh, and it responded in the same way: failure. The man's skin was like a steel wall; nothing could get through it, no blood from the daggers, no blisters from the fire, even the rocks he sent out couldn't pierce through the defence.
This series of events worried Lucas; even with all his abilities and understanding of magic, he saw no way he could penetrate the skin. His abilities leaned more toward creating opportunities for attacking an opponent's weakness; he could even deal with stubborn defences with some effort, but invulnerability?
He had no idea how to defeat someone invulnerable to harm.
Worse still, he couldn't afford to wait, as the longer the fights raged on, the less chance he had of helping Malcolm.