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It was dark. That was all she knew.
She could dimly make out the darkness of the day, the territory of her domain rising. It was night.
In the darkness, she tried to move but found that she couldn't. Did she feel the distinctive feeling of… pain?
Why did it hurt? It wasn't supposed to hurt.
Her mind was buzzing. She tried to recall what happened but she couldn't. The pain was getting irritating, but she tried to ignore it. That didn't help.
She tried to move her body. Her body didn't respond, but she could hear her heart thumping. It was still working, then.
Then why couldn't she move?
She wanted to growl, to force her body to move. She always pushed her limbs to more than their limits, but they always worked. Her body never failed her, and it shouldn't, not now.
Why didn't it work? It always worked.
She knew that the body was damaged. It was temporary—it always was. Damage always healed. Damage was just that—damage. Just minor problems that were annoying, but did no lasting mark. Perhaps a scar or two that would mutilate her body, but that was it. Wounds healed over time, and she healed faster than the most.
But she felt that this was more than that.
She tried to force her body to move. She concentrated single shard of energy she had in a desperate effort to move, to feel, to do anything. The energy she was using to think, the energy that her body was using to heal, whatever minuscule particle she could gather she funnelled into her limp arm.
…
…
With tremendous concentration, she managed to move her arm, just by an inch.
She managed to grin slightly, but all of a sudden she realised that her body was slowly — but steadily going into shock.
No! Not this, not right now.
She forced her body to stay conscious, and she felt a wave of relief overcome her as she felt her nerves responding to her commands, fingers tingling as they slowly revoked the feeling of numbness.
She was stirring into consciousness. That was always a good thing.
And then, she remembered.
By the gods. Kronos and his allies. They're coming… they're coming! We need to leave now… We need to go!
And at the same time, her body went slack.
x
All she saw was darkness, and yet—she knew she was awake. The aches on her body were apparent, and whenever she tried to stir, the pain flared as they screamed for her not to move. In the end, she stopped her shifting, and lay back on the clearing—and let the pain flow freely through her limbs.
Where was she? She couldn't remember.
''Don't you remember me?'' The mechanical eyes of Orion stared into hers, blank, unyielding. When nothing flickered in recognition, his eyes cast downwards in shame.
It was dark—pure dark. She couldn't see even a single, dancing shadow of her prey, she couldn't see the grounds or the forbidding light of the moon, she couldn't see the stars, she couldn't see anything.
''The stars, milady… the stars are alight tonight…'' the dying voice of Callisto reverberated painfully within her. Face of a bear long gone, humane features twisted in concentrated pain, a shaft of a spear from her son buried deep within her stomach.
''Yes, my huntress…'' she blinked away the tears blurring her eyes. ''Yes, they are. I've never seen stars so bright… I've never seen them shine brighter than the moon.''
She growled. She forced for her eyelids to open, to see where they were, to see what had happened, to see how they could get out of here... but to her surprise, they didn't open.
''There was nothing,'' she remembered hearing Orion recount. ''It was an eternal lapse of darkness, lighted only with memories and creativity.'' A wistful smile lingered on his lips. ''I don't miss that world.''
She couldn't believe it. Her body had always responded to her every thought, her every command. It couldn't stop now, especially not now.
''Fuck the Chimera,'' she growled angrily as Apollo furiously applied ambrosia to the bite wounds. Her nerves paralysed; sweat tainting her forehead and her body numb, she could only grit her teeth and lay there helpless as Apollo tended to her wounds.
She was glad it was Apollo and not some other god.
She was in pain. She was helpless. She couldn't see. She let the thoughts envelop her like a blanket. She would be lying if she said she wasn't worried—but her wounds always faded into nothing but scars, fatal injuries into bruises, paralysation into small, mere throbbing numbness. In short, everything healed. She was immortal, and she couldn't die. There was nothing to worry about.
But this time... it seemed different.
Ignoring her mind and her eyes and the excruciating pain, she sat up. Ichor flew back into her mind, the pain intensifying by the second—she dimly felt the sensation of ichor spurting from her wounds. She dimly wondered why the wounds hadn't healed yet.
She reached for her bow and arrows, hoping that those were at least with her. She felt relief surge through her limbs, dulling the pain when she found her weapons beside her. Instinctively, she gathered them from the soft Earth, cradling the arrows like she did a newborn child two millennia ago, like what she'd done a million times on hunts, retrieving arrows from her targets, resharpening the tips that had grown blunt, collecting and reusing the ones that had been broken off…
''He's coming!'' She yelled at Eileithyia. Hurriedly passing the blankets towards her, Artemis glanced at her mother one last time, breathing laboured and sweat glistening on her forehead and her stomach expanding at no end.
She squeezed her eyes shut, and a few moments later she was cradling a newborn boy, her mother relieved of her pain and Eileithyia celebrating, as the ten Olympian gods descended from their safe place in Olympus to greet the two new Olympians.
She ignored the blinding pain that jerked up from her arm, shrieking at her to stop as she took the bow from the clearing. The aches in her body flared, and she doubted that pushing her body over to their limits helped.
''What do you mean, I can't hunt?'' she glared at her brother, who was busy tending to the withered Ares, cheekbones sunken and skin pale from his time in the jar. ''I'm not the one decaying unlike him.''
Ares sent her a meaningful glare, but it was ignored by the Letoides. Apollo's overprotective eyes scanned her bruised self. ''You're running yourself bare, Artemis. Since…'' he hesitated, ''… Orion, you've never paused to rest. Even an immortal has their limits.''
''But it's a war, Apollo,'' she protested. ''The Aloadae threaten to take Olympus for themselves. And they want me as their wife.'' she spat disgusted. ''I won't let them win. I can't.''
She shifted herself steadily, forcing her shaking legs into a crouch. She was determined to at least stand, to at least defend against her inevitable end… but the tiredness was catching up on her. She knew that she couldn't strain her body any further. She could imagine her eyelids drooping, letting the pain ebb away as she drifted out of consciousness... no! Not now.
She badly wanted to tell herself to stop, to stop pushing herself in her blind search for arrows, to stop and let the pain wash over her body, to let her body recuperate from their injuries.
But she refused.
Deep inside her, she knew that if she passed out again, she would not wake up.
The Embrace of Thanatos, she thought. The Embrace of Death was near.
It was impossible, but… she felt it, a phantom aura, dark and twisted and tainted with the unforgiving stench of Death. Immortality wasn't going to stop him. He was going to come. She couldn't cheat Death, but she wasn't going to go out defenseless without a fight, either.
She grunted and ignored the increasing bursts of pain coming from her body all over, as she reached for her arrows. She felt her arms getting heavier by the second, legs struggling in its crouch, body becoming more unresponsive to her commands with every arrow. Breathing heavy, sheer exhaustion felt to overcome her like a tidal wave.
It doesn't matter. Let go, and stop fighting. He will eventually come, and you will eventually tire. Why does it matter?
She could almost imagine Death… a peaceful sleep, where she could finally forget about her aching wounds that tormented her and let Death wash over her. Let go.
She imagined seeing her huntresses in Elysium, finally rejoicing with their mistress. She imagined seeing Orion, his crooked grin and his defined muscles, welcoming her into hell's haven—she imagined seeing Zoe, a silver bow in her hand as the lieutenant greeted her leader—and she imagined seeing Callisto, as she welcomed her into her arms and she apologised for a thousand times and a thousand times more.
But in Elysium there was no moon to see at night.
The images morphed, all too quickly. Orion's bloodstained dagger, a silver arrow protruding from his forehead, face frozen in a scream that never sounded. Zoe Nightshade, impaled by her father, her dying words to see the stars that never existed in Elysium. Callisto, a roaring bear, scorned by Artemis and speared and feasted on by her son, living under the Fields of Punishment she never deserved.
No. That wasn't the world she wanted to go to.
She winced. The pain was becoming unbearable now—her thoughts were muddled, her brain registering nothing but pain. She could almost feel the red flashes behind her eyes, spots spinning as her body tried to comprehend the pain.
She growled, and in response—in one jerky movement, dragged her limbs forward. She wasn't gonna give up. She couldn't give up.
She had to live for her hunters.
First things first. Her wounds.
She needed to make a tourniquet. She could tell that at least one artery in her arm was bleeding severely, and contributed to the worst ichor flow. But to do that, she needed an arrow shaft. She desperately gripped her bow tightly, and drawing her hand another inch forward, she felt something cold—another arrow tip.
She grasped the arrow tip, and held it in a closed fist. Almost instantly, her hand exploded with pain, and she realised that the tip was digging into her palm. She internally cursed herself for the stupid mistake. She didn't need more pain inflicted upon her weak self, especially with being so close to Death that the stench of his aura nauseated her.
The world felt to spin, and her head throbbed with intangible agony. She let the arrowhead drop to the moist grass, and she almost smiled in satisfaction, but the movement only made her wounds scream and her dark vision spiral.
A wet cough. Her tongue tasted metallic with ichor. She forced herself to continue, for if there was a broken arrowhead meant the shaft was near—and she was right. She felt the worn wood as she ran her fingers over the shaft, pricking her finger on the split ends but she didn't care. She found it.
She tried to take it... but felt something warm underneath. A warmth she was probably not very familiar with, but she would know his aura by heart.
So Apollo was with her. The irony of her situation almost made her laugh—but she didn't need wet ichor flowing into her lungs. Just by touching him, she could feel her wounds closing up, the pain retreating… the scent of Death drawing further away every passing second. His healing aura flowing upon hers, the quiet mending and his welcoming warmth almost made her feel at peace. For once, she thanked her obnoxious brother.
He must've been unconscious—because he didn't make the slightest movement, a single sound, which was unlike of him. However, his protective aura surged through her body, as if he were awake. Usually, she would playfully berate him whenever he became over-protective, fully knowing that she could protect herself just fine. But this time, she could use it. Knowing that she was safe, she lay back down on the soft grass, her bow and arrows safe by her side—ready for any sudden fights, any silent attacks.
It was like before… but this time, she let her body drift off to its distant rest.
x
Percy wandered aimlessly in Manhattan. He surfaced on Manhattan shore, and… well, he didn't really have a 'set goal' in mind. He just wanted to get out of the sea, and now he did, he realised that the voice in his mind was right.
There were burning buildings everywhere. Some were partially destroyed, and smoke spewed everywhere. Titans lumbered across the streets, the pavement half-cracked from the sheer size of their strength. He sometimes had to scurry away from them before they stepped onto him. To them, humans were ants, and their lives were worthless.
He was dazed. He almost couldn't believe it, but he knew it had happened. Kronos had taken over Manhattan. The Titans had won the war, and the world was suffering under their rule. The gods had lost, and now the Titans had them captive, alive or dead he didn't know.
The memory was fuzzy at first, but now it was as clear as day. Why didn't he trust Luke? He knew that he was somewhere, anywhere deep within the dead body that Kronos possessed… he knew that Luke was in there, fighting for a chance to live… fighting for a chance to stop Kronos once and for all.
Why didn't he give Luke the knife? He cursed his idiocy. The prophecy proclaimed that he was going to die anyway, so why did it matter? But now here he was, still alive… and Kronos's forces prowl the streets. His friends were gone, and the gods more dead than alive. He had to leave. He had to get away. Gods, he had to get away from this... nightmare.
Snap out of it, he thought to himself. What would Annabeth do in this situation?
She'll assess the situation, she'll use her wits to collect information and formulate a plan. Then, she'll use that plan to make things right.
Okay, Percy thought. Then do that.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a tavern—made out of redwood, it was a surprise that it hadn't caught on fire like the other buildings had. It looked like a cottage, but unlike a cottage it was huge—he would be better off describing it as a mansion. The entrance was large, large enough for Titans to enter and do whatever they did inside.
Now, just how he could get inside…
x
Percy carefully crept on the attic beams. He tried his best not to make the slightest sound—if he did, the Titans would notice… and he doubted that that'll be a good thing, even if he did bear Achilles' Curse.
(Did he still have Achilles' Curse? What if it had faded in the explosion? He didn't want to test it out.)
He was in a tavern—a bar. The putrid smell of wine was strong, and even equipped with years of resistance with Gabe and his alcohol was incomparable to… this. Percy would've pinched his nose if he wasn't balancing on an attic beam.
It was noisy downstairs, and he heard the many clinks of glasses and the occasional sound of something shattering. It was hard to make out the voices of the Titans, but he tried his best to eavesdrop.
Just below the beam he was on, he saw two unruly Titans—one directly below him, so he couldn't make out their face, but he could recognise the face of the other. The second Titan was, well, on fire. Literally. He dimly recognised the taut, angry face—Hyperion.
Wait, what? The last time he saw this guy was when he and Grover encased him in bark. He had hoped to never see him again, but apparently, the tree wasn't strong enough to hold him... or maybe he had asked for his Titan friends for help to escape.
The smell of burnt wood wafted across his nose as he noticed rows of melted glass cups and various wine bottles smashed on the table, liquid dripping out from its emptied carcasses. Hyperion probably wasn't a very popular guest at parties.
''... That son of Poseidon? Kronos says he's dead.''
''I don't think so, Hyperion. Kronos'll let anything get to his head, and he wants to believe that all the gods' children are dead, even the one that's bathed in the Styx—the son of Poseidon, you speak of. Even though the gods are supposed to be the improved versions of ourselves, pah. I personally don't think he's dead—I've sent some troops out to find him…''
Percy's heart was beating in his throat, but he felt like an iron fist was closing around his heart. It was Prometheus's voice, once pitying and somewhat kind turned bitter.
Hyperion's laughter boomed across the bar. ''There's no need for that, Prometheus! Why capture their children… when we have the gods themselves!'' He grinned and slapped Prometheus on the back. Prometheus looked very uncomfortable, and Percy couldn't help but snicker a little at that.
''I know, Hyperion… but we can't wait any longer! Kronos wants to sacrifice them to Gaia on the day he killed his—your—father… but there's no time for that!'' Prometheus said, exasperated. ''We know that they'll escape soon… it's just a matter of when. Hell — those two Letoides almost managed to thwart our Lord's plans… but Kronos put them down soon enough,'' he muttered, satisfied.
Hyperion nodded frantically, and slammed his bottle onto the table. It shattered, glass pieces flying everywhere as it did—hitting a few guests as some not-very-friendly glares were thrown at him. He didn't seem to notice them or had either decided to ignore them. Intimidating a Titan of Fire was harder than it looks. Then, he suddenly coughed, droplets of wine spewing everywhere. Needless to say, the glaring only got harder.
''I mean... I agree with you on the Letoides. That was fun. Serves them right for trying to escape,'' Suddenly, he cackled hysterically like it was some sort of joke. A few moments later, he calmed down. ''Not the 'can't wait' parts. We all know that the next Prophecy's began, since... y'know, the first line was fulfilled. But it doesn't matter, considering the fact that Kronos'll kill the Fates themselves! We can dictate our destinies!'' He began to laugh maniacally.
Another Prophecy? And here he was, hoping that he didn't need to deal with another one in his short life. He almost mimicked Prometheus and let out an exasperated sigh, before remembering where he was.
Prometheus looked more than uncomfortable, as if Hyperion had slapped him on the back two more times. His demeanour stayed the same, but was that a glint of... panic in his eyes? His voice lowered until it was almost a whisper, and Percy had to strain his ears to listen. ''Perhaps other prophecies can be avoided, Hyperion… but not this one. From what I've heard, this Prophecy cannot be stopped, nor manipulated or delayed or changed. It was repeated by all three Oracles; Pythia, the Grove of Dodona, and from sources that I've heard from Krios... even from the Cave of Trophonius.''
Hyperion suddenly seemed to still. He inclined his fiery head, like he was telling Prometheus to indulge him.
Prometheus heaved a deep breath. Did he almost sound wistful? ''The first line, about the Letoides... was fulfilled. Kronos exiled them to die on Earth, but that doesn't change things. The next Great Prophecy is beginning, and Kronos is afraid. He doesn't want to show it, but it's still the same. The second line is up next, and I'm afraid I know what it means... which is why I have to hunt Perseus Jackson down.'' At the end of the sentence, his voice dropped to a whisper.
Percy's heart beat like a hammer. He still remembered Prometheus' kind smile when he left him Pandora's pithos. He claimed to be neutral, to work for the winning side… but he'd heard, at least in myths, that Prometheus had a love for humanity. What happened to that when he joined the Titans?
Hyperion belched. His interest for what Prometheus had to say seemed to have deteriorated to zero. ''Stop being a spoilsport, Prometheus,'' he coughed. ''Even if the Prophecy's this huge deal, so what? We can destroy Pythia, the Grove of Dodona, and the Cave of Trophonius all in one fell swoop. Prophecies isn't our destiny. We can change it!''
If Prometheus wasn't under Percy, he wouldn't've heard him sigh. ''Destroying the messengers won't matter if the prophecies' already foretold,'' Percy heard him mutter.
Suddenly, Prometheus' demeanour seemed to change as he straightened up. ''Anyway, no, Hyperion. 'Destiny' literally means 'something that is set in the inevitable future—something that will and must happen. but I am not here to literate you on that.''
He turned back to Hyperion. Percy's gaze wandered onto him as well. Hyperion was currently flirting with a few disgusted guests. Both he and Prometheus almost let out another sigh.
''Anyway—'' Prometheus said, significantly raising his voice to get Hyperion's attention. ''They're gods. The improved version of us. Why should we expect that they'll stay there like sitting ducks? No. They'll revolt. They'll find a way to break free from their bonds, no matter how impossible Kronos claims it may be. The second Titanomachy will end! They'll be the end of us!''
Hyperion coughed, more wine spewing from his mouth—disgusting the current guest he was flirting with as she switched tables—but despite that, he cracked up. ''Try telling that to Kronos.''
Prometheus sighed. ''You're drinking too much.''
Percy watched the quarrel between the two Titans, wondering when it'll ever end. Staying up here, silent on the beams was entirely against his nature. He tried to shift his position a little, but he heard a slow, painful creak come from one of the wooden beams. He froze.
Prometheus stared above, right at Percy. If Prometheus was surprised, he didn't show it. ''Why don't you join us, Percy? It's not very nice to eavesdrop.''
Percy's heart stopped, but his instincts reacted first. He jumped down from his beam, and at the same time, drew Riptide from his pocket. It immediately sprang into a full-sized blade. The Titans and guests must've recognised it was a lethal weapon because many of them screamed and ran for the exit. ''Sorry for crashing the party!'' he yelled.
Prometheus smiled at him kindly, but there was a cruel spark in his eyes. ''Oh, it's not much of a problem, Percy.''
As Hyperion caught a glance of Percy, his entire mood changed. His fires died down. The grin on his face transformed into a frown. He growled, his whole body suddenly glowing with spurts of fire. His eyes reminded Percy of Ares's—but brighter. He shoved Prometheus roughly aside and eyed Percy angrily.
The partying was over.
The heat that emitted from him was searing, but Percy was determined not to back down from a fight. He steeled his screaming nerves.
''I'll deal with this little upstart!'' he roared, but paused for a moment. He turned to Prometheus. ''This is the one that encased me in that stupid piece of bark, right?''
Prometheus coughed timidly. Percy guessed that he wasn't very used to dealing with angry Titans. ''Uh, no. I believe the one you're trying to find is the satyr… who should've died in that blast already when our Lord was raised.''
Percy felt a turmoil of emotions spin inside him. Grover, dead? It didn't seem possible—it wasn't possible. That wasn't possible. If Grover was dead.. then he should've been, dead too—connected by their Empathy Link.
No. It wasn't possible.
Percy's blood boiled. He couldn't see clearly. It was as if Ares's aura was affecting him again—but this time, it was a thousand times worse.
''Oh,'' Hyperion looked thoughtful, seemingly entirely oblivious to Percy's rage. He ignored Percy, and turned to Prometheus. ''Okay. You can deal with this one. Prove yourself worthy of the ranks of our species, Prometheus—or die trying!'' he said, laughter rippling through the bar. ''Wars are tiring, even for someone as great as me. It's also been quite some time since I flirted with anyone!'' And with that, he casually strolled out from the tavern.
Prometheus let out another exasperated sigh. ''Hyperion, I'm practically a few ranks higher than—you know what, never mind. Also, you just flirted with a girl a few minutes ago.''
Hyperion had already left.
Prometheus turned towards him, somewhat of a piteous look in his eyes. Percy pretended to not notice. ''I truly am sorry for this, Percy. I do not fight, but the situation is dire. Kronos is already doubting my loyalty to him, as I myself am. So...'' He hefted his sheathed blade.
Surprised was an understatement from what Percy was feeling right now. How could a tyrant scare the Titan of Forethought so much that he would follow orders from him when he had vowed not to approach war, to remain neutral and not to fight by both sides? Or worse yet, go against his own morals? He decided not to approach that subject, instead choosing to continue observing Prometheus.
He was looking at him pityingly, but there was a cruel spark to his eyes. ''You are a fine species of human, Percy… but Hyperion wants you dead. We all want you dead. No doubt you have overheard my conversation with Hyperion, and I can't let anyone running around with that information. Besides, you play a part in the Prophecy, and an integral part at that... and we are determined to keep it from happening.'' He unsheathed his blade from its scabbard, revealing a wickedly sharp and shining sword, its hilt studded with jewels.
''I thought that you liked humans. Why don't you take the chance and defy Kronos's orders?'' He said, hoping that it was the correct thing to assume. ''After all, you created humans. You can't turn on them now!''
Prometheus sighed and sheathed his blade. Percy's spirits lifted—that is until he spoke.
''Humans… your species has grown so much in such a short amount of time, and you've all started when I gave you fire.'' Prometheus let out a wistful sigh. ''But still, it doesn't change the fact that your species is disposable. Yes, I like humans… but I've accepted the fact that there is no more hope for them, and so should you.''
''Besides—as you put it, take the chance. No, I wouldn't take a chance and defy his orders. I'm the Titan of Forethought. I've thought of what would happen if I decided to betray Kronos many time already… but there's no single outcome that would work. And he is the King of the Universe, Percy. If I defied his orders, where would I go? What would I do? He'll hunt and put me down before I can even utter a single word.''
Percy was struck with a sudden realisation. He finally recognised the tone and voice that was in his head, not very long ago. ''So you were the one who spoke in my head,'' he said.
Prometheus looked mildly amused. A thin line resembling a smile ran across his lips. ''Oh yes, Percy. I tried to warn you… but alas, you didn't listen. You see, I didn't want to hunt you down to kill you. Despite everything, I do care for humans—or at least, however much of you guys are still left—and I'd hoped that you would make the right choice.''
''It's not that,'' Percy growled, his hand in his pocket as he fingered for Riptide. ''You wouldn't warn me for the sake of your conscience. It's something else.''
Prometheus sighed. He began to surround Percy, like a predator stalking its prey. ''Fine. I wanted to save you so you could fulfil the Prophecy. Titans are my kin, but they are no better than the gods. My life—my world and my creation was destroyed for the sake of destruction. I have allied with the gods before because they were more reasonable. I want—no, need you to save the gods. It's the only way we can save this world.'' He paused, for a moment, before adding: ''Even if it means my damnation.''
''If you want me to save the world, then step aside,'' Percy said. ''Don't fight me.''
Prometheus' eyes were kind. ''No.''
Percy growled in frustration, his eyes glowing red-hot. ''No? Fight me, then,'' Percy said. ''Or are you too much of a coward? To fight the species you created?''
Prometheus's eyes hardened. His once kind smile turned into a sneer. ''Very well.. if you insist.''
He unsheathed his blade once more. Just as it left its scabbard, Percy heard an almost inaudible click, and the sword suddenly grew twice its side, the tip of the blade hardening and spreading rapidly until the entire blade seemed to be made out of wood—and Percy watched in horror as an edge of silver grew out of the wood.
Moments later, Prometheus wasn't holding the sword anymore. He was holding a Scythe. Kronos's Scythe, he thought.
Prometheus looked at it with mild fascination. ''Interesting, isn't it? I still wonder how such a contraption works.'' He turned towards Percy. ''If you were wondering… no, this isn't Kronos's weapon. He likes to keep it safe and sound on his belt.'' Suddenly, out of the blue — Prometheus swung his scythe—and Percy managed to react just in time, thanks to his ADHD—the scythe missing his head by an inch. Prometheus didn't stop there, however. With blinding speed, the scythe folded back into a sword, and he dashed forward to where Percy was lying and aimed a quick strike at his throat.
Before he could, though, Percy rolled out of the way just as the blade struck downwards, causing Prometheus's sword to slice through the wood. Prometheus growled in irritation, and by the time he managed to free his blade from the wood, Percy had dashed behind him and landed a strike on his unprotected back, and it cut through his skin like paper—and his blade reappeared on the other side—his stomach.
Prometheus howled in more anger than pain, and turned towards him, hate burning in his eyes as he swung his blade in a wide arc, its tip managing to hit Percy's side—but it merely bounced off harmlessly from his body.
Prometheus's eyes widened as he crumpled, now on his knee. He had used up all of his energy on his final attack. ''How—'' he managed.
Percy winced, but he managed to hide it as a shrug. ''Achilles' Curse, remember?'' He pulled the blade out from Prometheus's body, and his form collapsed onto the cold, hard floor.
Do not mistake him for dead, Percy. He thought, his father's words bouncing in his mind. Prometheus, too, was immortal—and this would just bide him some time...
''THERE!'' A male voice yelled. ''THERE'S THE DEMIGOD! GO GET HIM!'' He screamed, followed by the sounds of weapons clashing, choruses of yells and frenzied stomps.
Crap, he thought. Without another second thought, he ran for the exit.
x
Again, thanks for reading! :D
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