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Chapter 3: The Wrath of the Pink Lace Underwear

Gracie's P.O.V


[Before you actually start reading this let me say one thing: pay no attention to the title of th chapter. All will be explained...eventually. >.>]


When the plane exploded, I had no idea what to do. First: Anthony was gone. Second: Matt's not someone you really want as the last person on Earth with you, much less the last person on the plane with you. And third:...I'd lost everyone.

As the airplane combusted and blew to pieces above us, I soared down to the ocean below, the water approaching fast. Now, as a daughter of Ares, I can withstand plenty of pain and rough surfaces. But this- water? Hell no. That's a whole different subject.

The blue waves flew up towards me fast, as I descended towards the waves. I braced myself for death, arms spread up above my forehead....and I crashed into a boat.

My body broke the wooden floorboards, sending me down hard into the bottom of the ship. A metallic taste filled my mouth as I felt blood surface. Wiping the scarlet substance from my lips, I stood, rubbing the newly appeared knot on my head.

I looked around, staring in all directions at my surrounding. I had crashed into a cargo ship, that was obvious. Large, wooden crates scattered the ship hangar around me. A few dim lights hung from the cileing but, other than that, there was no source of illuminaton anywhere.

I stretched out my elbow, working the muscels so that they wouldn't be too sore in the morning. I pivoted on my heel as a sudden sound came from behind me. It was a low, deep voice, something all too familiar.

Matt crawled out of the shadows, a large knot on his forehead, and blood streaming from his mouth. His arm was broken, and his large hammer hung at his side.

"Matt!" I screamed, racing over to him and propping him up on a crate. He groaned, shaking his head. Sweat poured down his cheeks, and his forehead was burning up. "Jeez Matt," I laughed, trying to cheer him up. "What peppers have you been eating?!"

This did not amuse him.

I ripped off a piece of my sleeve, wiping some of the blood from his face, and formed it into a sling around his arm.

"T-thanks," he muttered, holding his stomach with the other hand.

"Hungry, are we?" I asked, ruffling his hair.

He narrowed his eyes and groaned, "No. Just...my stomach hurts..."

I smirked and sat down next to him. "Why? We only fell...what, 300 feet? No big deal?" [Shut up Matt. I know how sarcastic I am >.>]

He smiled, for once, and rubbed his temples with his free hand. "Gracie...w-what happened up there?"

I rubbed my arms, the chilly air conditiong sliding down my back like a frosty, cold river. "I..I dunno...one second we were flying...then it was storming...then Anthony flew out the window to save Olivia...and the Stymphalians came...and then....they locked us in the cargo bay with the others.....then suddenly the plane exploded...I don't know why...but...it did..."

Matt nodded. "Yeah...that's what I recall too...but-" he rubbed his head "- I wonder why I'm so hot." [Shut up, Matt. It's not because you "have a smoking body and gorgeous complexion". -_-]

"I don't know," I replied, gripping his hand tight and standing. I helped him up, and then gestured towards the crates. "This looks like a cargo ship...should we take a look?"

Matthew nodded, and followed me as I entered the labryinth of cargo crates.


Yellow caution tape and blue FRAGILE stamps were posted everywhere. Small documents of what the products in the crates were, hung at the sides of the boxes. As I walked silentley infront of Matt, I noticed that each crate had smiliar products: underwear, bras, garter-belts, skirts, tank tops, daisy dukes, shorts, jeans, skinny jeans, dresses...even panty hose! [Shut up, Matt. -_- Those are not going back in style.]

I looked around and raised an eyebrow, grazing my fingers across a rigged, crate surface. "These crates...are they filled with women's clothing?"

Matt shrugged and yawned. "I dunno...and I don't care..c'mon Grace..do we have to go shopping in a cargo ship? I mean...lets just find a way back to New York-."

I cut Matt off, raising my hand in the air. "What the hell...?" I stammered, as a mysterious black crate appeared in my vision.

The crate was sleek and black, reflecting the cargo hold's lights back towards Matt and I. There was a single, silver lock on it, and right below that....the symbol of a demonic looking pair of pink, lace panties with horns...

I was fumbled. "What the hell...?" Matt said, repeating my words. "Does...does that underwear have..have horns?"

I nodded, as confused as he. Moving closer, I ran my fingers across the top of the crate. The surface was as smooth as water, and as slick as oil.

"Open it!" Matt whipsered, looking over my shoulder.

I rolled my eyes. "Yes Matt. Because I know you're not asking just for the underwear." [SHUT UP MATT! I TOLD YOU THAT I KNOW HOW SARCASTIC I AM! >.> *cough* *cough* Sorry....-_- Ugh. Yes...I do realize how many times I've said shut up.......fine....stop talking. There. That better?....UGH! SHUT IT BOY!]

He shook his head, "No...I mean...I just..."

"And because something with horns is always a good sign," I adding, chuckeling to myself. Despite my instinct to not open it, I lifted up the lid of the casket. Why? Well for one reason....doesn't everyone want to see a pair of demonic underwear?! [-_- Don't even start with me tonight.]

As the lid flipped open, a bright, shining pink light flooded into the room. When the spotlight faded, I peered over the edge of the crate...and found what I was look for (or rather what Matt was looking for). [;D Yeah. I went there, Matt.]

Sitting a the bottom of the crate, where a pair of bright, pink lace underwear with large, black ram horns curling out from the brim. I don't know how you fit giant ram horns onto a lingerie...but whoever made this had succeeded in doing so. A small, heart like shape was implanted in the center, and smoke seemed to be curling off of the undergarment piece...

"Wow," Matt laughed. "That's...fasionable."

"Yeah," I chuckeled. "Looks like something our step-mom would wear."

Matt nodded, remembering that our step-mother was the almight Aphrodite.

As we laughed...the underwear attacked.

[What? You think I should've made it more dramatic? -_- Ugh. Fine.]

The underwear hissed, spit flying out from the heart shape in the center of it's frame. The heart contracted and contorted, sharp, small razor teeth errecting out from the brim. It leaped out of the box like a kangroo, latching onto Matt's face. He screamed, clawing at the lingerie that was tearing at his flesh.

"Hold still, Matt!" I screamed, trying with all my might to yank the thing off.

Bad idea.

When I touched it, my daughter-of-Ares powers must have kicked in. You see, when I touch something I can turn it into a weapon. This ability, however only happens at the randomest of times [-_-]...such as this.

When my fingers grazed across the fabric, the underwear hissed, leaped off Matt's face, and morphed into a glistening, steel tomahawk in mid air.

I groaned in frustration, and tackeled Matt- who was still clutching his face in horror- to the ground. Just in time too, as the tomahawk few the opposite wall and began to richochet off the walls and crates.

I knew that I only had a few seconds to live, before the weapon ricocheted off a wall and into my back. With all the confidence and power I could muster up, I slammed my fist into the ground, and forced the metal of the cargo ship to absorb into my skin. Turning my marrowy, bone into iron, and smoothing over my skin with metallic steel, my body was now iron.

Substance mimicry it's called- the ability to absorb a controlled substance, and turn into that substance through physical contact. This was a gift given to me by my father, the god of war.

I outstretched my hand and, with one clean swipe, snatched the tomahawk out of the air. It wriggled in my hand, alive like a worm. However, it would not be like that for long. I brought the tomahawk down over my knee, and it snapped in half, splinters flying everywhere. To my surprise, black blood spilled out of the broken hilt, creating a puddel of goop at my feet.

As I tossed the dead tomahawk-underwear-beast thingie into its own blood, I turned to Matt. He lay on the ground, unconcious. Sweat vilontley rolled down his head, his heast heaving up and down. I breathed slowly then quickly, sitting down on the floor next to him.

I stroked his head and sighed. "Don't worry brother...we'll be home soon enough..."


Previous: Chatper 2: Word of Advice: Never Buy Gas Station Sushi

Next: Chapter 4: Silver Bullets

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