The trials of apollo pdf download

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? Your bravery, I must admit, is quite admirable. Now where was I?

I was dying. I rolled around in the mud, holding my breath. I tried to brush off the disease cloud, but it was not as easy as swatting a fly or an uppity mortal.

I caught a glimpse of Meg, playing a deadly game of tag with the third nosos, trying to keep a peach tree between herself and the spirit. She yelled something to me, but her voice seemed tinny and far away. Somewhere to my left, the ground shook. A miniature geyser erupted from the field.

Percy crawled toward it desperately. He thrust his face in the water, washing away the smoke. My eyesight began to dim. Percy struggled to his feet. He ripped out the source of the geyser—an irrigation pipe—and turned the water on me. Normally I do not like being doused. Every time I go camping with Artemis, she likes to wake me up with a bucket of ice-cold water. The water disrupted the smoke, allowing me to roll away and gasp for air.

Nearby, our two gaseous enemies re-formed as dripping wet corpses, their yellow eyes glowing with annoyance. Meg yelled again. This time I understood her words. All around the orchard, the frozen blackened remnants of the harvest were beginning to levitate. Believe me, in four thousand years I have seen some strange things. I have seen the dreaming face of Ouranos etched in stars across the heavens, and the full fury of Typhon as he raged across the earth.

But never before had I seen an uprising of frozen fruit. If I had been standing up, I would have been killed, but Meg simply stood there, unfazed and unhurt, as frozen dead fruit zinged around her. All three nosoi collapsed, riddled with holes. Every piece of fruit dropped to the ground. Percy looked up, his eyes red and puffy. That was generally a good sign.

She was staring in amazement at the carnage of fruit, mangled corpses, and broken tree limbs. Meg looked horrified. I just knew it would happen. One of the cadavers began to stir. It got up, wobbling on its heavily perforated legs.

The other two corpses rose. The third spirit bared his rotten teeth. Perhaps the spirit meant me. When in doubt, I usually assumed the conversation was about me. Her face paled. Her arms trembled. More peaches swirled into the air. This time the fruit blurred together in a fructose dust devil, until standing in front of Meg was a creature like a pudgy human toddler wearing only a linen diaper.

Protruding from his back were wings made of leafy branches. His babyish face might have been cute except for the glowing green eyes and pointy fangs. The creature snarled and snapped at the air. The three nosoi also did not look pleased. They edged away from the snarling baby. I stared at her in disbelief. She had to be the cause of this fruit-based strangeness, but she looked as shocked as we were. The peach baby turned toward the nosoi. For a moment, I feared he would make some hellish alliance—an axis of evil between illnesses and fruits.

The middle corpse, the one with the peach in his forehead, inched backward. The peach baby launched himself at the nosos and bit his head off. That is not a figure of speech. In a matter of seconds, the nosos had been torn to shreds and devoured. Understandably, the other two nosoi retreated, but the karpos crouched and sprang. He landed on the second corpse and proceeded to rip it into plague-flavored Cream of Wheat.

The last spirit dissolved into glittering smoke and tried to fly away, but the peach baby spread his leafy wings and launched himself in pursuit. He opened his mouth and inhaled the sickness, snapping and swallowing until every wisp of smoke was gone.

He landed in front of Meg and belched. His green eyes gleamed. Instead, even after eating three whole nosoi, the little fellow looked hungry. He howled and beat his small chest.

Slowly, Percy raised his sword. His nose was still red and runny, and his face was puffy. I was certain Meg had summoned him, intentionally or unintentionally. This brings to mind an expression I coined ages ago: A peach a day keeps the plague spirits away! Percy sneezed. The karpos hissed. Percy wiped his nose. Instead of getting a deadly illness, you got a head cold.

Meg shook her head. Percy stared at me as if waiting for something. After an awkward moment, it occurred to me that if he was a god and I was a worshipper, he might expect gratitude. He nodded. I relaxed a little. A police cruiser was pulling over on the side of the road. My mom and Paul need thah car. The western border is wilder—hills and woods, all heavily enchanted.

I had no alternative. There was no plan B that would keep me alive. Percy laughed. Cops love me almost as much as teachers do. Peaches growled. Get lots of fluids. Okay, just try to survive until the weekend, will you? Muttering unhappily, he touched the cap of his pen to his sword, turning it back into a simple ballpoint.

A wise precaution before approaching law enforcement. 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. Score: 5. 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? The battle for Camp Jupiter is over. New Rome is safe. 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. The only way Apollo can reclaim his rightful place on Mount Olympus is by restoring several Oracles that have gone dark.

After experiencing a series of dangerous--and frankly, humiliating--trials at Camp Half-Blood, Lester must now leave the relative safety of the demigod training ground and embark on a hair-raising journey across North America.

Somewhere in the American Midwest, he and his companions must find the most dangerous Oracle from ancient times: a haunted cave that may hold answers for Apollo in his quest to become a god again--if it doesn't kill him or drive him insane first. The camp is not run with superior efficiency.

Prophecies do not flow forth with great regularity. Sprinkled throughout are stories from heroes who have called Camp Half-Blood home or just passed through on their way to places unknown. All five books in the Trials of Apollo series -- in a hardcover boxed set of heroic proportions. From The Hidden Oracle to the long awaited The Tower of Nero, this collection will thrill loyal readers and be a go-to gift for new fans of the bestselling series. With five books in one package, no one will miss a minute of the excitement.

Zeus has punished his son Apollo--god of the sun, music, archery, poetry, and more--by casting him down to earth in the form of a gawky, acne-covered sixteen-year-old mortal named Lester. The only way Apollo can reclaim his rightful place on Mount Olympus is by restoring several Oracles that have gone dark.

After experiencing a series of dangerous--and frankly, humiliating--trials at Camp Half-Blood, Lester must now leave the relative safety of the demigod training ground and embark on a hair-raising journey across North America. Somewhere in the American Midwest, he and his companions must find the most dangerous Oracle from ancient times: a haunted cave that may hold answers for Apollo in his quest to become a god again--if it doesn't kill him or drive him insane first. Standing in Apollo's way is the second member of the evil Triumvirate, a Roman emperor whose love of bloodshed and spectacle makes even Nero look tame.

To survive the encounter, Apollo will need the help of son of Hephaestus Leo Valdez, the now-mortal sorceress Calypso, the bronze dragon Festus, and other unexpected allies--some familiar, some new--from the world of demigods.

Come along for what promises to be a harrowing, hilarious, and haiku-filled ride. The formerly glorious god Apollo, cast down to earth in punishment by Zeus, is now an awkward mortal teenager named Lester Papadopoulos.

In order to regain his place on Mount Olympus, Lester must restore five Oracles that have gone dark. But he has to achieve this impossible task without having any godly powers and while being duty-bound to a confounding young daughter of Demeter named Meg.

Thanks a lot, Dad. With the help of some demigod friends, Lester managed to survive his first two trials, one at Camp Half-Blood, and one in Indianapolis, where Meg received the Dark Prophecy. The words she uttered while seated on the Throne of Memory revealed that an evil triumvirate of Roman emperors plans to attack Camp Jupiter. While Leo flies ahead on Festus to warn the Roman camp, Lester and Meg must go through the Labyrinth to find the third emperor--and an Oracle who speaks in word puzzles--somewhere in the American Southwest.

There is one glimmer of hope in the gloom-filled prophecy: The cloven guide alone the way does know. They will have a satyr companion, and Meg knows just who to call upon.

All five books in the best-selling Trials of Apollo series are now available in a paperback boxed set complete with a bonus poster. Apollo's fast-paced, monster-filled quest brings the Percy Jackson chronicles to an end. Now readers from 8 to 80 can enjoy it from start to finish and then keep the handsome box on their shelf for posterity.

Also included is a bonus poster of the key locations and characters in the series. From The Hidden Oracle to the long awaited The Tower of Nero, this collection will thrill loyal readers and be a go-to gift for new fans of the best-selling series. Apollo tidak pernah merasa seterhina ini selama empat ribu tahun kehidupannya! 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?