The temple of Gaia shook with flames and screams. On the various floors of the high ziggurat, Percy was hunting down every last one of the Whitemoon grunts with his golem bodies.
The previous army of golems were easy to kill. They were too slow and uncoordinated, and as long as you killed thirty of them in four minutes you had time to run to the stairs.
But the Percy golems were a terror.
Smoke licked along the columns. All around, a chorus of metal and flesh continued its slow arithmetic: one golem falls, two more take its place.
They were far more organised and strategic, each casting spells from a distance and fighting up close with copies of Cloudeater.
And there were so many of them.
Almost a hundred were being created every two minutes. With Percy at the center of the circle, serving as the interface between the generator circle and the leyline, he could draw on an immense amount of power.
On the ground floor hallway, in the wide entrance hall to the temple.
