The Prince of the Underworld

by kurenohikari

Being on the run from monsters was not something Nico had been expecting to do in his life. For all his love for Mythomagik, Nico had never believed the cards to be based on real life events. Who would ever expect myths to be real? It was madness! What made everything worse was the fact that Nico was following four ghosts. Nico was sure he was losing his mind.

29. ACT III – PART V

The CSS Birmingham was not what Percy had expected when Clarisse had mentioned her "ride" for the quest. He'd imagined something more… contemporary. A military ship, maybe, or even just a sturdy old fishing boat. But this? This was on a whole other level of creepy.

The Confederate ironclad was a loomed aquatic fortress, its rusted hull gleaming dully in the fading light. The ship looked like it had been dredged up from the depths of history itself, its metal plates battered and corroded, yet somehow still menacing. And then there were the crew—ghostly figures moving about the deck, their forms flickering like candles in the wind. They were dressed in tattered Confederate uniforms, their eyes hollow and their faces etched with the sorrow of a war long lost.

Percy felt a shiver run down his spine as he walked the deck. This was wrong on so many levels. Ghosts of the losing side of a war, bound to a ship under the control of the God of War? It felt like a sick joke. These souls should have been in the Underworld, resting in whatever peace they could find, not stuck here, eternally reliving their final moments of duty and desperation.

Percy's breath quickened, a small panic attack brewing beneath the surface. His thoughts immediately went to Nico. The Ghost King had always been fiercely protective of the dead, and Percy knew without a doubt that if Nico ever found out about this, he'd lose his shit. The very idea of these ghosts being yanked out of the Underworld and forced to serve Ares, of all gods, was something that would drive Nico into a rage that even Hades would fear.

Percy made a mental note to never, ever tell Nico about this. It was bad enough dealing with one furious demigod on this ship—he didn't need to add the wrath of the Ghost King to the mix.

"This is so wrong," Percy muttered under his breath, his eyes darting around as he took in the sight of the ghostly crew. "These spirits shouldn't be here. They should be in the Underworld, where they belong. Ares has no right to control them."

Clarisse, who had been at the helm with that usual chip on her shoulder, froze and spun around to face Percy. Her eyes were blazing with anger, the tension between them snapping back to life like a rubber band stretched too far. Any sympathy or goodwill Percy had felt for her earlier evaporated in an instant.

"You think I don't know that?" Clarisse snapped, her voice laced with fury. "But you don't get to judge, Jackson. These souls lost their war. They lost their honor, their place in history. And now, Ares has given them a chance to earn it back. They're better off here, fighting under Ares' command, trying to regain what they lost."

Percy stared at her, incredulous. "Are you hearing yourself? They're dead, Clarisse. They fought, they lost, and they moved on. Or at least they should have. But instead, they're trapped here, forced to serve the God of War in some twisted attempt to win back honor they've already lost. That's not right. That's not fair to them."

Clarisse's face twisted in anger, and she took a step closer, her fists clenched at her sides. "And what do you know about honor, huh? You, with your perfect little hero complex, always thinking you know better than everyone else. These soldiers fought for something they believed in. They didn't get to choose where they ended up, but at least Ares gives them a purpose. What do you think the Underworld would give them? Endless nothingness? Eternal punishment?"

"Don't you dare talk about the Underworld like that," Percy growled, his own anger rising to match hers. "You have no idea what it's like. The Underworld is about balance, about giving the dead the peace they deserve. It's not some hellish prison, and it's sure as hell not a place for the living to yank souls around like they're toys."

"Peace?" Clarisse spat, her voice dripping with disdain. "You think these soldiers deserve peace after failing so miserably? They need to fight, to earn their place back, to prove they're not just the losers of a war. Ares is giving them that chance, and that's more than they'd ever get in the Underworld."

Percy felt something snap inside him, a mix of frustration, anger, and sheer disbelief that Clarisse could be so blind, so stubborn. "You're delusional if you think this is about giving them a chance. This is Ares using them, like he uses everyone, including you. He's turning their pain, their loss, into something he can control. They're not soldiers anymore—they're puppets."

Clarisse's eyes blazed with a mixture of hurt and fury. "Shut up, Jackson! You don't understand anything about Ares, about what it means to serve him, to try and earn his respect. You think you can just waltz in here, spout some bullshit about peace and the Underworld, and make everything better? You don't know anything!"

Percy took a step closer, his voice dropping to a deadly calm. "I know more than you think, Clarisse. I know what it's like to face impossible expectations, to have the weight of the world on your shoulders. But I also know that using people—living or dead—is never the answer. You want to prove yourself to Ares? Fine. But don't drag these souls into it. They've suffered enough."

The two of them stood there, glaring at each other, the tension between them crackling like a live wire. The ghostly crew continued their silent work around them, oblivious to the argument playing out on their deck.

Finally, Clarisse broke the stare, turning away with a bitter laugh. "You just don't get it, do you, Jackson? This isn't about what's right or fair. It's about survival. You do what you have to do, and you don't apologize for it."

Percy watched her, a mix of anger and sadness twisting in his gut. "Yeah, well, maybe that's the problem, Clarisse. Maybe it's time you started thinking about what's right instead of just doing what Ares tells you."

Clarisse didn't respond, just returned to the helm, and taking her position back from Charles, who had rushed to make sure they do not crash and sink when Clarisse and Percy had started fighting. Percy let out a long breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside him. He knew this quest was going to be hard, but he hadn't expected it to get this heated, this fast.

As he turned his gaze back to the ghostly crew, his thoughts drifted to Nico again. He wondered what his friend would say if he were here, if he could see the way these spirits were being used. Percy could practically hear Nico's voice in his head, sharp and furious, demanding justice for the dead. Percy clenched his fists, the weight of it all pressing down on him.

He had to keep it together, for the sake of the quest, for the sake of the camp. But he also knew he couldn't just stand by and let this happen. These souls deserved better than to be pawns in Ares' game. Because if there was one thing Percy Jackson knew how to do, it was fight for what he believed in. And right now, that meant standing up to Ares and anyone else who tried to twist the world to fit their own twisted idea of honor.

Meanwhile, Charles Beckendorf was having one of those days where he seriously questioned his life choices. How had he gone from the comfort of his forge, where the only things he had to worry about were making sure his latest invention didn't explode and keeping his half-siblings from setting the cabin on fire, to standing on the deck of a haunted Confederate ironclad with a bunch of dead soldiers and two demigods who were about five seconds away from killing each other?

It wasn't that Charles didn't appreciate a good adventure now and then, but this? This was pushing it. He was a smith, not a hero. His idea of a good day involved hammering out a new blade or crafting some intricate piece of armor, not watching Percy Jackson and Clarisse La Rue bicker like toddlers on a playground.

And the worst part? Percy and Clarisse were still basically kids. Sure, they were demigods, and sure, they'd been through more life-threatening situations than most people twice their age, but at the end of the day, they were teenagers. A preteen in Percy's case! And it showed, especially when they were at each other's throats over something as existential as the afterlife and the honor of ghosts.

Charles leaned against the railing of the ship, casting a weary glance at the two of them. They were both fuming, Clarisse glaring daggers at Percy's back while Percy stared out at the sea with a stormy expression that matched the churning waves. Charles couldn't fault them for being emotional—who wouldn't be, in their shoes? But it didn't make their situation any easier to handle.

"They're like a bomb about to go off," Charles muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. He didn't have a clue how to defuse it. He could forge a sword, build a catapult, or repair a chariot with his eyes closed, but managing people? Especially two volatile demigods? That was a whole different ball game. And one he was woefully unqualified for. This was more Silena's area of expertise.

Just as he was about to try and figure out a way to get Percy and Clarisse to chill out before they blew a hole in the ship with their collective anger, he heard someone sigh next to him. Charles turned his head and saw that Percy had joined him by the railing, his eyes fixed on the sea, his expression a mix of frustration and something deeper—something that made Charles uneasy.

For a moment, Charles tensed. Percy's sigh had turned into a frown, and Charles couldn't help but wonder if the son of Poseidon had spotted something in the water—an enemy, perhaps, or some monster lying in wait beneath the waves. He could feel the tension coil in his muscles, readying himself for whatever was about to go down.

But then Percy let out a startled laugh, the sound so unexpected that it snapped Charles out of his momentary panic. Percy's face lit up with a kind of bemused wonder, as if he'd just discovered something incredible.

"What's wrong?" Charles asked, unable to keep the curiosity out of his voice. "You see something out there?"

Percy shook his head, still chuckling softly to himself. "No, nothing like that. It's just… I just realized something. I know exactly where we are. Like, exactly. I can see the coordinates—longitude, latitude—everything, right over the surface of the sea."

Charles blinked, taken aback. "You can see coordinates? Like, a map or something?"

"Yeah," Percy said, his tone laced with a mix of surprise and excitement. "I've never noticed it before, but it's like there's this map drawn over the water, showing me exactly where we are. It's like I can see the lines and numbers just floating there. Maybe it's something that happens when I'm on a ship? I don't know, but it's pretty wild."

Charles felt a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "That's actually pretty awesome. Not exactly something you'd use in combat, but for navigation? That's perfect. Especially for this quest."

Percy nodded, his frown now completely replaced with a look of fascination. "Yeah, I guess so. I've always had a connection to the sea, but this is new. Maybe it's something I've always been able to do, but it just never came up until now. I mean, I've never really been on a ship like this before."

Charles couldn't help but feel a surge of relief. This was good. This was really good. Navigating the Sea of Monsters wasn't exactly a walk in the park, and having someone who could literally see their exact position at all times? That was a game-changer. It was the kind of ability that could mean the difference between success and failure, especially when the stakes were this high.

"Looks like you're going to be more useful than just slicing up monsters," Charles said with a grin, giving Percy a friendly nudge. "Having a built-in GPS might actually get us through this mess in one piece."

Percy laughed again, the tension in his shoulders easing as he leaned against the railing. "Yeah, who knew? Guess being Poseidon's kid has its perks."

Charles chuckled, feeling the atmosphere between them lighten. For the first time since they'd set out, he felt like maybe—just maybe—they could pull this off. Sure, they had a haunted ship, a crew of restless spirits, and two demigods who seemed hell-bent on tearing each other apart, but they also had Percy's newfound ability, his own mechanical skills, and—hopefully—a little bit of luck.

"So," Charles said after a moment, his tone a bit more serious, "how do you want to handle Clarisse? I mean, you guys are like oil and water right now. If we're going to make it through this, you two need to find a way to work together."

Percy's smile faded a little, replaced by a thoughtful expression. "Yeah, I know. It's just… she's so stubborn, and she's got this whole thing with Ares going on. It's hard to get through to her."

Charles nodded. "She's under a lot of pressure. I don't think she's ever going to admit it, but she's scared. And when people get scared, they either lash out or shut down. Looks like Clarisse is doing both."

"Yeah," Percy agreed, his gaze drifting back to the sea. "I get it. I really do. I'm pissed at Ares too, but I can't let her just walk all over me—or insult the Underworld. Nico wouldn't stand for it, and neither will I."

"Maybe that's your in," Charles suggested, leaning on the railing next to Percy. "If you can get her to see that you're on the same side, that you're both fighting for something bigger than just yourselves, she might let her guard down a little. She doesn't have to like you, but she needs to trust you."

Percy sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Easier said than done. But I'll try. We've got to work together, or this quest is going to fall apart before it even starts."

Charles gave him a reassuring pat on the back. "You'll figure it out. You always do."

Percy didn't look entirely convinced, but he nodded anyway. "Thanks, Charles. And hey, just so you know, I'm glad you're here. We're going to need your skills to keep this hunk of metal from falling apart."

Charles grinned. "Don't worry. I'll keep us afloat. Just keep doing that freaky sea-coordinate thing, and we might just survive this."

Percy chuckled, the tension between them easing further. It wasn't much, but it was a start. As the ship sailed deeper into the Sea of Monsters, Charles made a silent vow to keep this team together, no matter what. Because if there was one thing he'd learned from his time in the forge, it was that even the most unlikely materials could come together to create something strong, something unbreakable. And maybe, just maybe, that's exactly what this quest needed.

Percy approached the helm with a sense of determination, spurred on by Charles's words. He knew that if they didn't start working together, this quest was doomed before they even hit the rougher waters of the Sea of Monsters. Clarisse might be stubborn, aggressive, and downright infuriating, but he also knew she was under immense pressure. Ares didn't make anything easy for his kids, and if Percy could find a way to break through that wall she'd built up, maybe—just maybe—they could get through this quest without tearing each other apart.

Clarisse stood at the helm, gripping the wheel with white-knuckled intensity, her eyes locked on the horizon. She was so tense, Percy wondered if she'd snap the wheel in half with sheer force of will. He cleared his throat as he approached, trying to keep his tone calm and non-threatening. "Hey, Clarisse."

She didn't look at him, but the slight tightening of her jaw told him she'd heard him. "What do you want, Jackson?"

Percy took a deep breath. "Look, I know we've got our differences, and I know you're under a lot of pressure. But we're on the same side here. We both want to get this Fleece and save the camp. I'm not trying to undermine you, I swear. I just think we need to trust each other if we're going to make it through this."

For a moment, there was silence. Percy watched as Clarisse's grip on the wheel relaxed, just a fraction. It wasn't much, but it was something. Encouraged, he continued, "I mean, I just found out I have this built-in GPS thing for seafaring. I can literally see our exact coordinates on the water. If you want, I could help with navigation. It could make things easier, you know? We could work together."

But the moment those words left his mouth, the fragile peace between them shattered.

Clarisse whirled on him, her eyes blazing with fury. "This is my quest, Jackson! Not yours! I don't need you swooping in and taking over like you always do. You're here to follow orders, not give them!"

Percy felt his own temper flare up in response. He'd been trying to help, trying to extend an olive branch, and she just threw it back in his face. "I'm not trying to take over, Clarisse! I'm trying to help! But you can't just bulldoze your way through this without listening to anyone else."

"I am the leader!" Clarisse shouted, stepping closer to him, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and something Percy couldn't quite identify. "You don't get to come in here and act like you know better! This is my chance to prove myself, not yours! So just do what you're told and stay out of my way!"

Percy's frustration boiled over, and before he knew it, he was right up in her face, the two of them squaring off like combatants in a ring. "You're so focused on proving yourself that you're going to get us all killed! This isn't just about you, Clarisse! We're all in this together, whether you like it or not!"

They were nose-to-nose now, both of them too stubborn to back down, when Charles finally decided he'd had enough. With a heavy sigh, he stepped between them, placing a firm hand on each of their shoulders. "Okay, enough! Both of you, just shut up for a second!"

Percy and Clarisse both turned on him, ready to snap at anyone who dared to interrupt their argument, but the look on Charles's face stopped them short. He was done with their bickering, and it showed.

"This isn't getting us anywhere," Charles said, his voice calm but authoritative. "We're all on edge, I get it. But this is exactly what's going to tear us apart if we don't cut it out. You both need to remember why we're here. It's not about proving anything to anyone. It's about getting the Fleece and saving the camp. So, can we please just focus on that and stop trying to tear each other's heads off?"

Percy and Clarisse exchanged a tense look, neither willing to back down completely, but neither wanting to escalate things further with Charles standing between them. Reluctantly, they both nodded.

"Fine," Clarisse muttered, turning back to the helm, though her knuckles were still white on the wheel. "But this is my quest. I'm in charge, and that's final."

"Got it," Percy replied, though he couldn't keep the edge out of his voice. "Just don't forget that we're supposed to be a team."

Charles sighed, running a hand through his hair as he stepped back. "Thank you. Now, can we please—"

But before he could finish, a strange sound echoed across the deck—a low, eerie moan that sent a shiver down Percy's spine. All three of them turned to see the ghostly crew, who had been silently going about their duties, suddenly moving with a new sense of purpose. They were gathering in small groups, their hollow eyes glinting with something that looked disturbingly like anger. And at the head of the deck, a figure emerged from the shadows—the captain, his form more solid than the others, his eyes gleaming with a malevolent light.

Percy's stomach dropped. He'd been so focused on the argument with Clarisse that he hadn't noticed the shift in the crew's behavior. The captain, a gaunt figure with a tattered uniform and a grim expression, stepped forward, his eyes fixed on Clarisse with a cold, calculating stare.

"Children," the captain said, his voice a low rasp that sent a chill through Percy's bones. "You think you can lead this ship? You think you can command us?"

Clarisse's eyes widened in shock, but she quickly recovered, her hands tightening on the wheel as she glared at the captain. "I'm in charge here. My father gave me this ship, and you'll follow my orders."

The captain's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Your father may have given you the ship, girl, but that doesn't mean we answer to you. We served in a war, and we answer only to those who have earned our respect. And you… are nothing but a child playing at war."

Percy felt a surge of anger at the captain's words, but before he could say anything, the crew began to move, their ghostly forms closing in around them. It was clear now—this wasn't just a ship full of spirits bound by duty. This was a ship full of angry, restless souls who were not about to take orders from a bunch of teenagers.

"We will not be led by children," the captain hissed, his voice growing louder, more menacing. "We will take this ship where it needs to go, and if you try to stop us, you will suffer the consequences."

Clarisse's face twisted in fury, but there was fear in her eyes now, too. She opened her mouth to argue, to demand that they follow her orders, but the captain raised a hand, and the crew surged forward, grabbing the wheel, the ropes, everything they could reach. They were staging a mutiny, and they had no intention of letting Clarisse or Percy or Charles stop them.

Panic surged through Percy as he realized just how bad this had gotten. He hadn't been paying attention, and now the ship was being taken over by an insane captain and a crew of ghosts who had no intention of letting them have any say in where they were going.

"Charles, the engine!" Percy shouted, turning to his friend, hoping that they could at least regain some control over the ship that way.

Charles nodded and bolted for the engine room, but the ghostly crew was already moving to block his path. They might not have physical bodies, but their presence was enough to send a shiver down Percy's spine.

Clarisse was trying to wrestle control of the wheel back from the captain, but he was strong—too strong for someone who wasn't even alive. "Get off my ship!" she yelled, but her voice was starting to crack with desperation.

Percy didn't think—he acted. He drew Riptide, the celestial bronze sword gleaming in the dim light, and lunged at the nearest ghost. The blade passed through the spirit, dissipating it into mist for a moment, but it quickly reformed, its hollow eyes glaring at him with renewed fury.

"Great, now they're pissed," Percy muttered, realizing that brute force wasn't going to solve this. He needed to think, and fast. "Clarisse, we need to work together, or we're all going to end up as ghost food!"

Clarisse growled in frustration, but there was a flicker of acknowledgment in her eyes. She couldn't do this alone, and as much as it killed her to admit it, she needed Percy's help. "Fine! What's your plan?"

Percy glanced around, taking in the situation. The ghosts were everywhere, and they were quickly overwhelming them. He needed to find a way to regain control of the ship, but how? Then it hit him—the sea. He was Poseidon's son. If he couldn't control the ship directly, maybe he could control the water around it.

"Cover me!" Percy shouted, before dashing toward the edge of the deck. He could feel the power of the sea surging through him, the connection stronger than ever. He concentrated, reaching out with his mind, trying to summon the waves to his aid.

The water responded, rising up around the ship, creating a barrier between them and the outside world. Percy could feel the waves lapping at the hull, and he focused all his energy on holding the ship steady, preventing the ghosts from steering it off course.

Clarisse, meanwhile, was holding her ground at the helm, fighting off the ghostly captain with every ounce of strength she had. Charles was still trying to get to the engine room, using every trick in his book to avoid the ghostly crew members that were blocking his path.

The ship shuddered, the waves crashing against it with a force that shook the deck beneath their feet. Percy gritted his teeth, pouring all his concentration into keeping the ship on course. It was working, but barely. He couldn't hold out forever.

"Clarisse!" Percy yelled, his voice strained. "I need you to steer—now!"

Clarisse didn't hesitate. With a final, furious shove, she pushed the ghostly captain away from the wheel and grabbed hold of it, her muscles straining as she fought to keep the ship on course. The captain hissed in fury, but Percy's control over the sea was enough to keep him at bay, at least for the moment.

Charles finally made it to the engine room, and with a few deft movements, he managed to get the ship's engine back under their control. The ship lurched forward, the ghostly crew howling in rage as their mutiny was thwarted.

But they weren't done yet. The captain lunged at Clarisse, his ghostly form flickering with rage. "You dare defy us? You are nothing! We will see you drowned, your souls dragged down to the depths where you belong!"

"Not today!" Percy shouted, drawing on every last bit of strength he had. He directed the waves to crash against the ship, the force of the water scattering the ghostly crew, sending them into disarray. The captain reeled back, his form flickering as he struggled to maintain control.

"Now, Clarisse!" Percy yelled, his voice raw with the effort. "Get us out of here!"

Clarisse didn't need to be told twice. She yanked the wheel hard, steering the ship away from the direction the captain had been trying to take them. The ship groaned as it turned, the water surging beneath it as Percy guided them through the rough seas.

The ghostly crew, disoriented and weakened by Percy's control over the sea, began to retreat, their forms fading into the shadows. The captain, his eyes burning with hatred, tried one last time to take control, but Clarisse held firm, refusing to let him win.

With a final, shuddering groan, the ship broke free of the ghosts' control. The captain let out a furious scream, his form dissolving into mist as he was dragged back into the shadows, defeated.

Percy collapsed against the railing, breathing hard, his body trembling with exhaustion. Clarisse was still gripping the wheel, her face pale but determined. Charles stumbled back onto the deck, his clothes smeared with grease and sweat, but he was grinning in relief.

They'd done it. They'd survived the mutiny, and they were still on course.

"Nice work, Jackson," Clarisse muttered, her voice grudging but sincere. "Maybe you're not completely useless after all."

Percy let out a weak laugh, too tired to muster a snarky reply. "Yeah, well, don't get used to it. I still think we need to work on this whole 'teamwork' thing."

Clarisse just snorted, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips. "Whatever. Let's just get this over with."

As the ship sailed on, Percy couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope. They still had a long way to go, and plenty of challenges ahead, but for the first time since they'd set out, it felt like they might actually have a chance. They were far from a perfect team, but they were still standing, and sometimes, that was enough.

They didn't notice the ghostly captain's final whisper, carried away on the wind as the ship sailed into the unknown. "We'll see you again… children of the gods. We'll see you again."