The next three years were a study in efficiency. Nicholas beca a political force. In the Senate chamber, his voice carried weight. He built coalitions, brokered deals, and amassed a quiet power that made senior senators wary.
His network is solidified. Julian, his insights on Europe now considered vital, was appointed Ambassador to Britain. From that lofty post, he directed a web of information, his magical senses attuned to every tremor in the coming storm.
Marcus, using his potent blend of charm and subtle emotional magic, orchestrated his own ascent.
He navigated the labyrinthine politics of the House, forging alliances and calling in favors until he held the gavel as Speaker the highest position in Congress. He now controlled the legislative agenda.
The final piece was his father. Jonathan Aldridge, using the Order's vast resources for strategic bribes and the Book's knowledge for precise blackmail, they engineered his confirmation as Secretary of State under President Hoover.
Jonathan now held the nation's top diplomatic post, which he then used to install diplomats from the Order into every strategic post around the world.
They were in place. A his instrunts of mortal power, the trinity: the Speaker, the Ambassador, the Secretary. And Nicholas, the hand that held them.
But his real work was darker, hidden beneath the cloak of politics. Night after night, he would consult the Book of Probability. "Show a child of the Zeus," he would command. The silver script would swirl, revealing a na, a location. A general in Texas. A socialite in New York. A union boss in Chicago.
Then, Nicholas would go hunting.
The Kapre cloak made him a ghost. He would walk into secure military bases, past bustling parties, through crowded factories, unseen. He used no flashy magic. A whispered spell to stop a heart. A subtle push in front of a moving streetcar. Each death was clean, untraceable, and more importantly looked like a bizarre accident.
With Nicholas' each manipulation of fate being hidden by the full powers of the cloaks domains.
He was systematic in his approach. He started with the least powerful, the least prominent of Zeus's other mortal offspring and climbed his way up. The socialite succumbed to a sudden, car accident. The union boss died from a mugging. The general was found dead of an apparent stroke.
He worked his way down the list. A promising congressman. A wealthy industrialist. A celebrated artist. One by one. The powerful pawns of Zeus's mortal influence were being snipped, the potential rivals and tools eliminated.
He left Roosevelt for last as to avoid Zeus' suspicions.
Throughout it all, he played his public part perfectly. He was Franklin Roosevelt's most vocal supporter in the Senate. He fundraised for him, defended him in the press, used his political machine to clear Roosevelt's primary obstacles. He was the picture of loyal fealty, the future successor diligently preparing the way for his king.
Roosevelt, sensing the shifting winds and the strange, fortunate misfortunes that befell potential rivals, accepted the support gladly.
He never suspected the man helping him into the presidency was thodically exterminating his divine half-siblings to make himself the only viable option.
The cold rage that had ignited in Olympus now fueled a silent, three-year killing spree. He wasn't just killing demigods. He was burning Zeus's options.
He was ensuring that when the ti ca, the King of Olympus would have no other mortal son to call upon. No other piece to play. Roosevelt would be the last. And Nicholas would be the only one left standing.
In his sanctuary, Nicholas would update his maps. Pins representing Zeus's children were removed, one by one, until only one remained. He watched Roosevelt's rise in the polls, his path to the presidency becoming inevitable. He had made it so.
The political world saw a master strategist positioning his ally for the highest office. They saw a man securing his own future. They did not see the long, bloody knife in the dark, ensuring that future would have no other claimants.
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