A/N (I recommend reading this): I'm going to MAKE THIS CLEAR. Just like I mention on my bio page about every other fanfiction I done: I DON'T OWN THE PERCY JACKSON AND THE OLYMPIAN SERIES or AND THE KANE CHRONICLES OR IT'S CHARACTERS as the rights goes to Rick Rioran. Also I suggest you guys start paying attention to the Author notes and my warnings that I left on EVERY chapter of EVERY story.

Sorry if this chapter is too much like the book.

This is a The Tales of version of the Percy Jackson and Kane Chronicles crossover and takes place after 'The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus part of the series. So if you haven't read them yet read before reading this story as stuff that happened in them will be mentioned:

The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: the Early Adventures
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Lightning Thief
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Sea of Monsters
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Titan's Curse
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Magical Labyrinth
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: the Stolen Chariot
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: the Sword of Hades
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: the Bronze Dragon
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: The Last Olympian
The Tales of the Son of Poseidon: the Staff of Hermes
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Lost Hero
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Quest for Buford
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Son of Neptune
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Mark of Athena
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The House of Hades
The Tales of the Heroes of Olympus: The Blood of Olympus
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Son of Sobek
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Staff of Serapis
The Tales of Magicians and Demigods: The Crown of Ptolemy

Also if you haven't got the chance feel free to read:

The Tales of Classical Mythology

A crossover with The Tales of series with my dictionary on Greek/Roman Mythology where The Tales of Percy Jackson tells his version of stories behind famous names in Greek and Roman Mythology.

And if you are a fan of Stephen King:

The Tales of the Heroes of the Stand

Which is basically a crossover of The Tales of series with one of Stephen King's best novels The Stand.

Lastly, any one who wants to do a Demigods and Olympian reads story using 'The Tales of the Son of Poseidon' is allowed as long as you inform me about it.

A Twelve-Year-Old Demigod Girl Becomes My New Master

I had not been stomped so badly since my guitar contest against Chuck Berry in 1957.

As Cade and Mikey kicked me, I curled into a ball, trying to protect my ribs and head. The pain was intolerable. I retched and shuddered. I blacked out and came to, my vision was swimming with red splotches. When my attackers got tired of kicking me, they hit me over the head with a bag of garbage, which burst and covered me in coffee grounds and moldy fruit peels.

At last they stepped away, breathing heavily. Rough hands patted me down and took my wallet.

"Lookee here," said Cade. "Some cash and an ID for… Lester Papadopoulos."

Mikey laughed. "Lester? That's even worse than Apollo."

I touched my nose, which felt roughly the size and texture of a water-bed mattress. My fingers came away glistening red.

"Blood," I muttered. 'That's not possible."

"It's very possible, Lester," Cade crouched next to me. "And there might be more blood in your near future. You want to explain why you do not have a credit card? Or a phone? I'd hate to think I did all that stomping for just a hundred bucks."

I stared at the blood on my fingertips. I was a god. I did not have blood. Even when I was mortal before, golden ichor still ran through my veins. I had never been so… converted. It must be a mistake. A trick. Something.

I tried to sit up.

My hand hit a banana peel and I fell again. My attackers howled in delight.

"I love this guy!" Mikey said.

"Yeah, but the boss told us he'd be loaded," Cade complained.

"Boss…" I muttered. "Boss?"

"That's right, Lester." Cade flick a finger against the side of my head. "'Go to that alley,' the boss told us. 'Easy score.' He said we should rough you up, take whatever you had. But this"—he waved the cash under my nose— "This isn't much of a payday."

Despite my predicament, I felt a surge of hopefulness. If these thugs had been sent here to find me, their "boss" must be a god. No mortal could have known I would fall to earth at this spot. Perhaps Cade and Mikey were not human either. Perhaps they were cleverly disguised monsters or spirits. At least that would explain why they had beaten me so easily.

"Who—who is your boss?" I struggled to my feet, coffee grounds dribbling from my shoulders. My dizziness made me feel as if I were flying too close to the fumes of primordial Chaos—father all creation—but I refused to be humbled. "Did Zeus send you? Or perhaps Ares? I demand an audience!"

Mikey and Cade looked at each other as if to say, can you believe this guy?

Cade picked up his knife. "You don't take a hint, do you Lester?"

Mikey pulled off his belt—a length of bike chain—and wrapped it around his fist.

I decided to sing them into submission. They may have resisted my fists, but no mortal could resist my golden voice. I was trying to decide between "You Send Me" and an original composition, "I'm Your Poetry God, Baby," when a voice yelled, "HEY!"

The hooligans turned. Above us, on the second story fire escape landing, stood a girl of about twelve "Leave him alone," she ordered.

My first thought that Artemis had come to my aid. My sister often appeared as a twelve-old-girl for reasons I had never fully understood. But something told me this was not she.

The girl on the fire escape did not exactly inspire fear. She was small and pudgy, with dark hair chopped in messy pageboy style and black cat-eyeglasses with rhinestones glittering in the corners. Despite the cold, she wore no coat. Her outfit looked like it had been picked by a kindergartener—red sneakers, yellow tights, and a green tank dress. Perhaps she was on her way to a costume party dressed as a traffic light.

Still… there was something fierce in her expression. She had the same obstinate scowl my old girlfriend Cyrene used to get whenever she wrestled lions.

Mikey and Cade did not seem impressed.

"Get lost, kid," Mikey told her.

The girl stamped her foot, causing the fire escape to shudder. "My alley. My rules!" Her bossy nasal voice made her sound like she was chiding a playmate in a game of make-believe. "Whatever that loser has is mine, including his money!"

"Why is everyone calling me a loser?" I asked weakly. The comment seemed unfair, even if I was beat-up and covered in garbage; but no one paid me any attention.

Cade glared at the girl. The red from his hair seemed to be seeping into his face. "You've got to be kidding me. Beat it, you b-!" He picked up a rotten apple and threw it.

The girl did not flinch. The fruit landed at her feet and rolled harmlessly to a stop.

"You want to play with food?" The girl wiped her nose. "Okay."

I did not see her kick the apple, but it came flying back with deadly accuracy and hit Cade in the nose. He collapsed on his rump.

Mikey snarled. He marched toward the fire escape ladder, but a banana peel seemed to slither directly into his path. He slipped and fell hard. "OWWW!"

I backed away from the fallen thugs. I wondered if I should make a run for it, but I could barely hobble. I also did not want to be assaulted with old fruit.

The girl climbed over the railing. She dropped to the ground with surprising nimbleness and grabbed a sack of garbage from the Dumpster.

"Stop!" Cade did a sort of scuttling crab walk to get away from the girl. "Let's talk about this!"

Mikey groaned and rolled onto his back.

The girl pouted. Her lips were chapped. She had wispy black fuzz at the corners of her mouth.

"I don't like you guys," she said. "You should go."

"Yeah!" Cade said. "Sure! Just…"

He reached for the money scattered among the coffee grounds.

The girl swung her garbage bag. In mid arc the plastic exploded, disgorging an impossible number of rotten bananas. They knocked Cade flat. Mikey was plastered with so many peels he looked like he was being attacked by carnivorous starfish.

"Leave my alley," the girls said. "Now."

In the Dumpster, more trash bags burst like popcorn kernels, showering Cade and Mikey with radishes, potato peelings, and other compost material. Miraculously, none of it got on me. Despite their injuries, the two thugs scrambled to their feet and ran away, screaming.

I turned toward my pint-size savior. I was no stranger to dangerous women. My sister could rain down arrows of death. My stepmother, Hera, regularly drove mortals mad so that they would hack each other to pieces. My half-sister Athena is both a goddess of wisdom and battle which when combine makes her more dangerous than our half-brother Ares—god of war—and do not get me started when she wields the shield Aegis. But this garbage-wielding twelve-year-old made me nervous.

"Thank you," I ventured.

The girl crossed her arms. On her middle fingers she wore matching gold rings with crescent signets. Her eyes glinted darkly like a crow's, which I should know since I invented crows.

"Don't thank me," she said. "You're still in my alley."

She walked a full circle around me, scrutinizing my appearance like I was one of the prized cows I use to collect.

"You're the god Apollo?" She sounded awestruck. She also did not seem fazed by the idea of gods walking among mortals.

"You were listening, then?"

She nodded. "You don't look like a god."

"I'm not at my best," I admitted. "My father, Zeus, has exiled me from Olympus. And who are you?"

Despite looking so grubby, she surprisingly smelled faintly like apple pie. Part of me wanted to find a fresh towel, clean her face, and give her money for a hot meal. But at the same time, another part of me wanted to fend her off with a chair in case she decided to bite me. She reminded me of the strays my sister was always adopting dogs, panthers, homeless maidens, small dragons.

"Name is Meg," she said.

"Is that short for Megara or Margaret or something?"

"Margaret. But don't ever call me Margaret."

That do not surprise me. My half-brother Dionysus was originally Bacchus before he had it changed to Dionysus and stuck with that name until the Romans came along and decided to call him by the name he was originally given. Sometimes if he is drunk enough, he complains how unoriginal the Romans were with his name.

"And are you a demigod, Meg?"

She pushed up her glasses. "Why would you think that?"

Again, she did not seem surprised by the question. I sensed she had heard the term demigod before. And not from some horrible movie adaptation of ancient stories, which I did not approve of by the way.

"Well," I said, "you obviously have some power. You chased off those hooligans with rotten fruit. Perhaps you have banana kinesis? Or you can control garbage? I once knew a Roman goddess, Cloacina, who presided over the city's sewer system. Perhaps you're related…?"

Meg pouted. I got the impression I might have said something wrong, though I could not imagine what.

"I think I'll just take your money," Meg said. "Go on. Get out of here."

"No, wait!" Desperation crept into my voice. "Please, I—I may need a bit of assistance."

I felt ridiculous, of course. Me—the god of poetry, plague, archery, healing, music, and several other things I could not remember now—asking a colorfully dressed street urchin for help. But I had no one else. If this child chose to take my money and kick me into the cruel winter streets, I did not think I could stop her.

"Say I believe you…" Meg's voice took on a singsong tone, as if she were about to announce the rules of the game: I will be the princess, and you will be the scullery maid. "Say I decide to help. What then?"

Good question, I thought. "We… we are in Manhattan?"

"Mm-hmm." She twirled and did a playful skip-kick. "Hell's Kitchen."

It seemed wrong for a child to say Hell's Kitchen. Then again, it seemed wrong for a child to live in an alley and have garbage fights with thugs.

I considered walking to the Empire State Building. That was the modern gateway to Mount Olympus, but I doubted the guards would let me up to the secret six hundredth floor. Zeus would not make it so easy.

Perhaps I could find my old friend Chiron the centaur. He had a training camp on Long Island. He could offer me shelter and guidance. But that would be a dangerous journey. A defenseless god makes for a juicy target. Any monster along the way would cheerfully disembowel me. Jealous spirits and minor gods might also welcome the opportunity. Then there was Cade and Mikey's mysterious "boss." I had no idea who he was, or whether he had other, worse minions to send against me.

Still, even if I made t to Long Island, my new mortal eyes might not be able to find Chiron's camp in its magically camouflaged valley. I needed a guide to get me there.

If the twin towers of the World Trade Center were still up, I could go there to seek help from my half-brother Hermes. He was the god of travelers and roads, so assisting travelers in need was his thing. And he uses to have a branch of his immortal business there but had to relocate when the towers collapse after those planes hit them.

No, I will have to rely on someone experience and close by…

"I have an idea." I stood straight as my injuries allowed. It was not easy to look confident with a bloody nose and coffee grounds dripping off my clothes. "I know someone who might help. He lives on the Upper East Side. Take me to him, and I shall reward you."

Meg made a sound between sneeze and a laugh. "Reward me with what?" She danced around, plucking twenty-dollar bills from the trash. "I'm already taking all your money."

"Hey!"

She tossed me my wallet, now empty except for Lester Papadopoulos's junior driver's license.

Meg sang. "I've got your money. I've got your money."

I stifled a growl. "Listen, child, I won't be mortal forever. Someday I will become god again. Then I will reward those who helped me—and punish those who don't."

She put her hands on her hips. "How do you know what will happen? Have you ever been mortal before?"

"Yes, actually. Twice! Both times, my punishment only lasted a few years at most!"

"Oh, yeah? And how did you get back to be all goddy or whatever?"

"Goddy is not a word," I pointed out, though my poetic sensibilities were already thinking of ways I might use it. "Usually Zeus requires me to work as a slave for some important demigod. This fellow uptown I mentioned, for instance. He would be perfect! I do whatever task my new master requires for years. If I behave, I am allowed back to Olympus. Right now, I just have to recover my strength and figure out—"

"How do you know for sure which demigod?"

I blinked. "What?"

"Which demigod you're supposed to serve, dummy."

"I… uh. Well, it is usually obvious. I just sort of run into them. That is why I want to get to the Upper East side. My new master will claim my service and—"

"I'm Meg McCaffrey!" Meg blew me a raspberry. "And I claim your service!"

Overhead, thunder rumbled in the gray sky. The sound echoed through the city canyons like divine laughter.

Whatever was left of my pride turned to ice water and trickled into my socks. "I walked right into that, didn't I?"

"Yep!" Meg bounced up and down in her red sneakers. "We're going to have fun!"

With great difficulty, I resist the urge to weep. "Are you sure you're not Artemis in disguise?"

"I'm that other thing," Meg said, counting my money. "The thing you said before. A demigod."

"How do you know?"

"Just do." She gave me a smug smile. "And now I have a sidekick god named Lester!"

I raised my face to the heavens. "Please, Father, I get the point. Please, I can't do this!"

Zeus did not answer. He was probably too busy recording my humiliation to share on Snapchat.

"Cheer up," Meg told me. "Who's that guy you wanted to see—the guy on the Upper East Side?"

"Another demigod," I said. "He knows the way to a camp where I might find shelter, guidance, food—"

"Food?" Meg's ears perked up almost as much as the points on her glasses. "Good food?"

"Well, normally I just eat ambrosia, but, yes, I suppose."

"Then that's my first order! We're going to find this guy to take us to the camp place!"

Whatever hope I had left that this was joke abandoned me as I can already feel the urge to take this child to find where we need to go. I sighed miserably. It was going to be an awfully long servitude.

"As you wish," I said. "Let's find Percy Jackson."

A/N: I apologize if there are any readers who has someone that died during the terrorist attacks of 9/11, especially those at the World Trade Center, if this chapter brought up sad memories. I just thought with Hermes domain, it made sense he had some kind of mystical business covered up by the Mist while being run at the towers.

Now as some of you might have notice I skipped the Haikus that started each chapter in the original Trials of Apollo series not once but twice. That's because I decided not to include haikus but rather try to base each chapter title on what each Haiku foretold in each chapter.

Also, if any of you hoping the Tales of version of Magnus Chase or Kane Chronicles, no can do. Only reason I did it with Trials of Apollo is because there's enough characters from part one and two of The Tales of series to help shaped up some of the changes, including Apollo himself. Annabeth didn't appear enough times or have a big enough roll in the Magnus Chase series to make enough difference even if I had small bob with her. And in Kane Chronicles the times characters from Percy Jackson did actually appeared they only had minor speaking rolls.

Lastly I want to say something about summaries of each story of The Tales of the Trials of Apollo. I'm going to use each summary in Apollo's POV to represent how much Apollo has matured through his trials. With this one I tried to make Apollo sound like a spoiled child who had his favorite toy taken away and was grounded. That's because that's pretty much how he acted through most of the original series and as you might have noticed, still acting in this series. If there are any Kim Possible fans amongst the readers remember Señor Senior Junior every time something doesn't goes his way, or if you're former fans of Emperor's New Groove or the Disney's sequel tv series Emperor's New School remember the way Kuzco tends to act until he learns his lesson, and that's pretty much close to what I'm trying to reach with the Summary.

Thank you for reading.