Ares was still pissed. No, pissed didn't quite cover it. He was seething, festering with a rage that had only grown since last summer, when Percy Jackson had humiliated him in front of everyone. A god doesn't just get over something like that, not when it comes to their pride, and certainly not when it's Ares, the God of War, whose reputation was everything.
So, when the opportunity presented itself—a quest that involved not just a magical artifact, but also a chance to restore his tarnished honor—Ares seized it with both hands. And he made damn sure his daughter, Clarisse, knew exactly what was at stake.
The private talk with her father left Clarisse trembling, though she'd never let anyone see it. To everyone else, she was the tough, no-nonsense warrior who could take on anything and anyone without flinching. But inside, she was a bundle of nerves, every word her father had spoken echoing in her mind like a death knell.
"Clarisse, you don't get it, do you?" Ares had sneered, his eyes gleaming with that dangerous mix of anger and twisted pride. "You're going to get that Fleece, and you're going to bring it back to Camp Half-Blood. If you don't…" He'd left the threat hanging, but Clarisse knew exactly what he meant.
Ares wasn't like the other gods who mostly ignored their mortal children, or the rare ones who spoiled them with gifts and affection. No, Ares was a constant presence—a looming shadow that never let you forget you were his. Succeed, and he might leave you alone for a while, let you bask in the glory of victory. But fail? Blemish his name? He'd make sure you never got the chance to do it again. Ares didn't believe in second chances.
Clarisse had seen it happen before, with some of her half-siblings. The ones who had faltered in battle, who hadn't lived up to his impossible standards. They didn't just get ignored by him—they were crushed under the weight of his disappointment, until there was nothing left of the warriors they once were. Ares didn't just punish failure; he annihilated it.
Clarisse was scared. She would never admit it out loud, not even to herself, but the feeling gnawed at her insides like a pack of wild dogs. As much as Clarisse hated the idea of relying on anyone else, she knew she couldn't do it alone. The Sea of Monsters was Poseidon's domain, and like it or not, Percy Jackson was the best chance she had of navigating those treacherous waters. That didn't mean she was happy about it. Every time she looked at Percy, she was reminded of the fight last summer, the one where he'd humiliated her father in front of everyone. The one that had put her in this impossible situation in the first place. It was that victory of Percy's, that damned victory, that had painted a target on her back and made Ares zero in on her.
She was trembling, but not from fear alone. There was anger there, too. Anger at Percy Jackson, who had put her in this position. Anger at herself for letting her father's words get to her. But most of all, anger at Ares for being the kind of father who would rather see his children break than let them show any weakness. This wasn't just about the Golden Fleece or saving the camp. This was about survival. Her survival. Because if she didn't succeed, if she didn't bring back that Fleece, Ares would come down on her like a storm of steel and fire, and she didn't know if she'd survive that kind of wrath.
After her meeting with Chiron and Mr. D, where it was confirmed that she would lead the quest, Clarisse left the Big House feeling a mix of dread and determination. She'd barely stepped outside when she saw Annabeth waiting, packed and ready to go. That was the last straw.
Clarisse could recognize Percy's skills—she wasn't stupid—but it didn't make swallowing her pride any easier. She resented having to bring him along, resented the way everyone at camp seemed to look up to him like he was some kind of hero. But she wasn't naive. This wasn't about pride or glory anymore; it was about survival. So, she reluctantly accepted the fact that Percy had to come along. She might need him, but that didn't mean she had to like it.
But when it came to Annabeth? That was a different story. Clarisse didn't just resent Annabeth; she despised her. Maybe it was the pressure of her father's looming presence, or maybe it was the ingrained hostility between the children of Ares and Athena. Either way, Clarisse was not about to let Annabeth march into her quest and take control. There was only room for one leader, and it wasn't going to be the self-righteous daughter of Athena.
Something snapped inside Clarisse. Maybe it was the pressure, the fear, the anger at being forced into this position, but whatever it was, it exploded out of her in a torrent of rage.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Annabeth?" Clarisse snarled, her voice low and dangerous as she stormed up to the blonde. "Who the hell said you were coming?"
Annabeth didn't flinch. She crossed her arms, lifting her chin in that infuriatingly superior way that made Clarisse want to punch something. "Obviously, I'm coming. You and Jackson need someone with a brain to guide you through the Sea of Monsters. There's no way a child of Ares and a child of Poseidon are smart enough to survive on their own."
Clarisse felt the words like a slap to the face, but the shock was quickly replaced by a seething fury. Annabeth's hubris, her entitlement, her complete lack of respect—it was more than Clarisse could take. She stepped closer, her fists clenched, and lowered her voice to a dangerous growl.
"You think we're too stupid to survive, huh? You think you're so much better than us?" Clarisse's eyes were blazing now, her anger barely contained. "You know what, Annabeth? Maybe you're the one who's too stupid to survive. Because if you think your precious brains are all it takes to get through the Sea of Monsters, you're dead wrong. You've got no experience, no respect, and no idea what it's like to actually lead. You're just a little girl who thinks she's smarter than everyone else."
Annabeth's face turned red, but before she could retort, Clarisse kept going, fueled by her own anger and frustration. "And you know what else? You're not worth it. You're not worth bringing along if that's your attitude. I don't need someone who thinks they know everything. I need warriors who understand what it means to fight, to survive. So, you can take your 'brains' and shove them. You're not coming."
Annabeth opened her mouth to argue, but Clarisse was already turning away, walking off before Annabeth could get another word in. She could hear Annabeth's enraged screams behind her, but she didn't stop. Let Annabeth throw her tantrum. Clarisse wasn't about to waste her breath on someone who refused to see beyond her own arrogance.
Clarisse knew how Annabeth saw her—just another dumb brute, a mindless soldier who followed orders without question. But Annabeth had no idea what it was like to live with the constant pressure of Ares' expectations, to know that every failure, every mistake, would be met with harsh consequences.
As she walked away, Clarisse felt a bitter satisfaction. Annabeth might have the brains, but that didn't mean she was the best person for the job. Clarisse had seen enough of Annabeth's arrogance to know that bringing her along would only lead to more problems. No, this quest needed people who understood the stakes, who were willing to fight with everything they had, not someone who thought they were too smart to fail.
By the time Clarisse made her way back to the campfire, she had shoved that fear down, buried it deep beneath layers of anger and determination. She couldn't afford to show weakness, not now. Not ever. She wouldn't let anyone see how much this quest was tearing her apart, how much she feared failing—not just for the camp's sake, but for her own.
But as much as she tried to push it away, Ares' words clung to her like a second skin, reminding her with every step she took that she was walking a tightrope. One wrong move, one mistake, and she'd fall, with no one there to catch her.
The next morning, when the camp gathered in the arena, Clarisse was the first one there, her face set in a hard mask of determination. Percy noticed the way her hands clenched around the shaft of her spear, the tension in her shoulders, but he didn't say anything. The other demigods filed in, murmuring to each other, most of them giving Clarisse a wide berth. Word had spread fast about Ares' decree, and no one wanted to get in her way.
Clarisse cleared her throat, and the murmuring died down. "Listen up!" she barked, her voice sharp enough to cut through steel. "We've got a quest to complete, and we're not coming back without that Fleece. I don't care what we have to face out there—monsters, storms, whatever. We will get that Fleece, and we will save the camp. Failure is not an option."
Her words were met with a few nervous nods, but no one dared to voice any doubts. Percy could see it in her eyes—the sheer force of will, the determination that had always made her a formidable warrior. But he could also see something else, something that made his chest tighten with an emotion he didn't want to name.
Fear.
Percy felt a pang of sympathy for her, even if he didn't exactly like her most of the time. He'd seen firsthand what it was like to be in the crosshairs of a God's wrath, and he wouldn't wish that on anyone—not even Clarisse.
As they gathered their supplies and prepared to set out, Percy made his way over to her. He didn't know what he was going to say, or if he even should say anything, but he couldn't just stand by and watch her march into the Sea of Monsters without at least trying to offer some kind of support.
"Clarisse," he started, his voice low so the others wouldn't hear. "I get it. I know what it's like to have a God breathing down your neck. But you don't have to do this alone."
Clarisse shot him a look that could have frozen lava. "I don't need your pity, Jackson."
"It's not pity," Percy insisted. "It's—look, I know we don't always see eye to eye, but we're on the same team here. We all want the same thing. I'm just saying, if you need backup, we've got your back. That's all."
For a moment, Clarisse just stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then, with a sharp nod, she turned away. "Just don't slow me down," she muttered, stalking off to join the others.
Percy let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He knew she didn't really mean it, not completely. As they made their way to the dock, waiting for their third member, the tension between them was palpable. Clarisse was pacing back and forth, checking and rechecking their supplies, her jaw clenched with the kind of determination that could cut glass. She was focused, every muscle in her body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. Percy, on the other hand, was less concerned about the quest logistics and more about the cluster of friends from Elysium Prep who had gathered around him.
Ethan and Alabaster were especially worried. Last summer, they had been the ones guarding Percy's back, the ones making sure he didn't do anything too reckless—at least, not without them. But this time, things were different. Percy was heading out on a quest with Clarisse, who, let's be honest, hated his guts, and an unknown demigod who hadn't even shown up yet. To say they were nervous was an understatement.
"Are you sure about this?" Ethan asked, his brow furrowed as he looked Percy up and down like he was trying to find some sign that Percy had lost his mind. "Going on a quest with her? And why now, after everything?"
Alabaster nodded in agreement, his usual sarcastic smirk nowhere to be found. "Yeah, man, this doesn't exactly scream 'great idea.' Last summer, we had your back, and now you're going off with Clarisse La Rue, of all people. And after what Ares did to Nico…"
That last part hit a nerve. Percy's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as the memory of Nico's bloodied form flashed through his mind. Ares had crossed the line, and Percy had agreed to join this quest out of sheer spite. It wasn't about loyalty to the camp, or even the quest itself—it was about making sure Ares didn't get any goodwill on Olympus, not after what he'd done.
"You think I don't know that?" Percy snapped, his voice low and tense. "But someone's got to keep an eye on Clarisse. And I'm not about to let Ares get away with anything. He wants this Fleece? Fine. But I'm not doing it to help him. I'm doing it to make sure he doesn't recover any of the respect he thinks he deserves."
Ethan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just… watch your back, alright? We can't be there to pull you out of the fire this time."
"I'll be fine," Percy muttered, though he wasn't entirely sure if he was trying to convince them or himself. "Besides, you know me. I've got a knack for getting out of tight spots."
Alabaster shook his head, but there was a hint of a smile on his face now. "You're a walking disaster, Jackson. But, yeah, just don't do anything too stupid."
Before Percy could respond, a commotion at the edge of the dock caught their attention. They all turned to see Charles Beckendorf making his way toward them, a small group of his half-siblings from the Hephaestus cabin trailing behind him. Charles was a big guy, broad-shouldered and strong, with an easygoing smile that could put anyone at ease. But right now, he looked more resigned than anything, like he'd been roped into something he wasn't entirely thrilled about.
Charles was holding hands with Silena Beauregard, his girlfriend, and Percy couldn't help but notice the look of worry—and was that guilt?—on Silena's face as she clung to him. As they approached, it became clear that Charles was as surprised as anyone to be joining the quest.
"Charles?" Percy asked, the confusion evident in his voice as he stepped forward. "You're coming with us?"
Charles nodded, letting out a long, weary sigh. "Yeah, apparently father thinks my mechanical expertise is necessary for the journey. Something about the ship needing constant maintenance, and, well… here I am."
He cast a glance at his half-siblings, who were already looking nervous about being left in charge of the cabin without him. "Jake's in charge while I'm gone," Charles said, though it was clear he wasn't entirely comfortable with the arrangement. "You guys know what to do, right?"
Jake Mason, the next oldest in the cabin, nodded, though he looked like he was trying to suppress a mild panic attack. "Yeah, we'll be fine. Just… be careful out there, alright?"
Charles gave a reassuring smile, then turned to Silena. The worry in her eyes was unmistakable, and she held on to him like she didn't want to let go. "You'll be back before you know it," she whispered, though the words sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than him.
Percy watched the exchange, feeling a pang of sympathy. He knew what it was like to leave people behind, not knowing if you'd ever see them again. And that look on Silena's face, the one that almost screamed guilt—it set off alarm bells in Percy's mind, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why.
Charles leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to Silena's forehead. "I'll be back, I promise," he said softly, though there was a heaviness to his voice that told Percy he wasn't entirely sure about that.
Silena nodded, but her grip on his hand tightened. "Just… be careful, okay? And don't take any unnecessary risks."
"I'll do my best," Charles replied, squeezing her hand one last time before reluctantly letting go. Silena watched him walk away, her expression a mix of anxiety and something deeper that Percy couldn't quite identify.
As Charles joined Percy and Clarisse on the ship, Percy couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that had settled in the pit of his stomach. Silena had looked so… guilty. And Charles, for all his bravado, seemed more distracted than usual. What was going on between them?
Clarisse didn't seem to care about any of that, though. She was focused on the mission, her mind already running through the list of obstacles they were likely to face. "Alright," she barked, her tone as sharp as ever. "Now that we're all here, let's get moving. We've got a long journey ahead, and I don't want to waste any more time."
Percy nodded, still deep in thought as they boarded the ship. Charles was right behind him, his usual cheerful demeanor replaced with something more subdued. Percy glanced over at him, trying to gauge what was going on in his head.
"You okay?" Percy asked quietly, keeping his voice low so Clarisse wouldn't overhear.
Charles hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah, just… a lot on my mind, you know? This quest, the camp, my siblings, Silena… it's a lot."
Percy could understand that. They were all carrying a lot of weight on their shoulders, and it wasn't just the fate of the camp that was at stake. There were personal stakes too—relationships, friendships, and the ever-present threat of death that hung over every quest.
"Silena seemed… I don't know, off," Percy ventured, trying to keep the conversation casual. "Is everything alright?"
Charles gave a small, tight-lipped smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, she's just worried, I guess. We've been through a lot, and she's scared something might happen. But it'll be fine. It has to be."
Percy didn't press further. He had a feeling there was more to the story, but now wasn't the time to dig into it. They had a quest to focus on, and whatever was going on with Silena would have to wait. But the nagging feeling in Percy's gut didn't go away.
As the ship pulled away from the dock, heading toward the open sea, Percy took one last look back at Camp Half-Blood. Clarisse was at the helm, her expression steely and determined. As the ship sailed further from the shore, that uneasy feeling in Percy's gut only grew stronger. This quest was different. The stakes were higher, the dangers more real, and the lines between friend and foe were becoming increasingly blurred.
And Percy couldn't shake the feeling that whatever happened next, it would change everything—for better or for worse.