At 1300 feet underwater, heat and light had trouble penetrating the depths. Hannah Vandimion was meditating here. In a full lotus, her feet were on her thighs, her hands on her knees, and her head lay on the benthic sediment. The algal bloom of cyanobacteria turned the water green and surrounded her in thick scum.

For anyone else, the algae would be toxic, but for Hannah, it only added to her concentration.

She released her legs and swung upright. One punch blew apart the scum and lit up the dark with scattered sparks. She punched again. And again. And again. Her blows made tempestuous waves on the lake’s surface. She replayed the scene from that day. Her finale was a palm that struck lightning across the length of the lake. Bubbles from the boiled water rose from it.

She used to dance in depths like these. She had twirled with the precision and grace of ballet; stepped to the intense pace of pasodoble; and told stories to the benthos through the harmony of kathak. Moving under the water pressure was one of the few times she felt the exhilaration of strain. She wished she could enjoy it again. Trying to do so now felt like an empty waste of time.

All that was on her mind was defeat. No matter how much she recited, she could not imagine the battle going any differently as it had gone the same way as the thousands of sparrings before it. She had never been able to touch him before and it was no different now.

“If you don’t plan to destroy everything to kill me, save your people the false hope and give up.”

No. There was only one other time she had struck him. It was when her lightning had split the mountains that endured centuries. Even then, he stood back up.

The air traffic controllers in the control tower watched the lake churn for miles around. A burst in the water sent a jet that sprayed the windows of the tower. Hannah landed on the runway without a drop on her. She made her way down to the first level under the airport. The soldiers gave her a wide berth as she passed but she had no attention to spare to it. She came up to the door to the fitness center. She smacked her cheeks and forced a smile before she flung upon the door and poked her head inside.

“Hope everyone’s having a great workout!” she said.

On the treadmills, Aaliyah jogged at an even space while Kenny sprinted to the groan of the machine under him. WhiteOut tended to Garrick. He had a resistance band in his hand which he used to get his legs moving even in his wheelchair. He used one hand to slowly pull the strap towards himself and the other hand to bend the knee into his chest. He held that position then slowly brought that leg back down and repeated the process with the other leg.

Paraplegic exercise helps maintain blood circulation to stave off muscle atrophy. From what they knew of the hex, however, recovery was impossible without Aaliyah.

Hannah crossed her arms over the control panel of Aaliyah’s treadmill.

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“We could feel your swim from in here,” said Aaliyah

“Sorry, did I rock the boat too much?”

“Not enough to stop him,” she bobbed her head to Kenny. He had been training like that ever since that day. It was a little worrying yet a little inspiring. At least he did not vomit anymore.

Garrick let go of the band, letting it fall to the rubber floor. That got Kenny to slow down.

“What’s the point of this?” Garrick asked.

“This is part of your physical therapy recovery plan. Doing this will help you get your legs back—” started WhiteOut.

“I can’t get my legs back!” snapped Garrick. “I can’t do anything like this. I did all I could to protect the world and none of it made a difference. Everything I did was pointless. I’m useless.“

The treadmills beeped off. The air conditioning hummed. All eyes were on him. WhiteOut picked up the band and handed it to him so that he could continue when he got over his little tantrum. Hannah wanted to help keep spirits up but she had nothing to say to this. A part of her was having the same thoughts. What was all this strength for if she couldn’t protect anyone?

What broke the ambiance was a chuckle. They turned to Kenny who covered his mouth to muffle his giggling, then let go to bang his fist on the treadmill panel as he snorted with laughter.

“Oh man! Is that what I looked like? It’s ridiculous,” said Kenny.

“What’s so funny?” asked Aaliyah.

“I mean losing your legs is pretty bad, but, he’s still, like a gazillionaire.”

“Money doesn’t stop personal problems, Kenny,” said Hannah.

“I know, that’s not what I meant. Before I was brought to Olympus, I never saw the FatMan in person. I saw his inventions through a screen. I saw his drones in the sky. I saw his Pantheon respond to every disaster it could.

Now, I see soldiers given a fighting chance thanks to his gear. I see that we are still standing together because he brought us together. The hero I looked up to was so much more than a man in a suit. Even from this chair, you’re the one who gives everyone hope.”

“Even with all that, I still lost to one man,” said Garrick.

“After stopping how many guys that day alone?! He’s, like, a god slayer or chosen one or something. The whole reason he fought you is because he was the only one that could. Losing to someone strong doesn’t make you weak.”

“I… thank you, Kenny. I needed to hear that…” said Garrick.

“Great, now that you’ve had you’re pep talk—” started WhiteOut.

“But still,” continued Garrick, “I’m not sure cardio is going to close the gap in strength. In martial ability and technology, we are outmatched. Our enemy has a lifetime of experience whereas we fumble in the dark.”

“Well we’ll find another way. Of course we can’t beat him at his own game but that just means trying to play on his terms is the problem.”

WhiteOut’s walkie-talkie beeped. She pulled it out of her head for everyone to hear. Prisons across California were being attacked by immortals. Batons, tasers, pistols, shotguns, and pepper spray were all useless against the gargoyle armor. The inmates turned on each other along ganglines, with those supported by the immortals slaughtering the rest. Prisoners who were latent mutants were taken by the immortals while the rest were sent back to their original group. This had been done in other countries, but not since Tartarus had the immortals targeted prisons in America.

Being on the other side of the country should have put them outside of the Pantheon’s immediate operational range, but WhiteOut had an idea for just such an occasion. That idea would be put to the test now.