After what felt like an eternity of battling ghosts that just wouldn't stay down, Percy, Clarisse, and Charles finally managed to pull off the ritual Nico had explained. Clarisse, with her usual no-nonsense attitude, had grumbled about slicing her palm open, but she did it without hesitation. As soon as the blood touched the deck, and Clarisse spoke the words Nico had instructed, a palpable shift swept through the air. The restless spirits, who had been hell-bent on dragging the ship and everyone on it down to the depths, suddenly stilled.

The ghosts, who had previously been nothing but a vengeful, chaotic force, now turned to Clarisse with an eerie silence. Their spectral forms flickered, but they bowed their heads slightly in acknowledgment. From that moment on, none of them dared to question Clarisse's commands. Whatever Ares had left unfinished, Clarisse had completed with authority. The ship, which had been a death trap just moments ago, settled into an almost unnervingly calm rhythm as they continued their voyage.

For the first time in days, the ocean was quiet, save for the gentle lapping of waves against the hull. It was so peaceful that Percy almost allowed himself to relax. Almost.

But Percy Jackson wasn't an idiot. If there was one thing he'd learned in his years as a demigod, it was that when things seemed too easy, too calm, that's when you needed to keep your eyes wide open. The smooth sailing that followed the ritual should have been a red flag, a neon sign flashing "DANGER AHEAD." Because in their world, nothing was ever easy, and calm usually meant the storm was coming.

Still, they didn't have much choice but to keep going. They were on a mission, after all—one that was crucial to saving Camp Half-Blood. The Golden Fleece was their only shot at healing Thalia's tree and keeping the camp's borders secure. So, despite the lingering tension, Percy, Clarisse, and Charles pushed forward, navigating the treacherous waters of the Sea of Monsters.

It wasn't long before they reached Polyphemus' island. The massive landmass loomed on the horizon, an ominous shadow against the setting sun. The three demigods knew better than to just waltz in; this was enemy territory, and they had to be smart about it. They anchored the ship at a distance, and under Clarisse's command, they quietly made their way to the island in a smaller boat, hoping to avoid detection.

The island itself was as foreboding as they'd imagined. Jagged rocks jutted out from the shore, and the air was thick with the scent of salt and something more pungent—something that smelled like rot. The three of them slipped onto the island, moving silently through the underbrush, the tension between them growing with every step. Percy could feel his heartbeat in his throat, every muscle in his body coiled tight with anticipation.

As they crept closer to Polyphemus' lair, they heard voices—low, rumbling, and distinctly unfriendly. The three of them exchanged a glance, and Percy signaled for them to crouch down, staying hidden in the shadows. They moved carefully, inching forward until they had a clear view of the cave's entrance.

Polyphemus, the massive cyclops, was sitting just outside his cave, talking to someone. At first, Percy thought the cyclops was talking to himself or to some other monstrous companion. But then the other figure stepped into the light, and Percy's blood ran cold.

Luke Castellan.

Percy had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from cursing out loud. Of course Luke was here. Because this quest hadn't been complicated or dangerous enough already, apparently. Percy felt a surge of anger and something else—something that tasted a lot like betrayal. Luke had been one of them, once. A hero. Now he was working with the enemy, and Percy wasn't sure if he was more furious or disappointed.

Clarisse's eyes narrowed dangerously, her hand tightening around her spear. Charles looked just as stunned, his usually calm demeanor replaced by a stormy expression. They were all thinking the same thing: what the Hades was Luke doing here?

They didn't have to wonder for long.

"Polyphemus," Luke was saying, his voice smooth and oily, like he was used to getting what he wanted. "We had a deal. The Golden Fleece, in exchange for what you wanted."

The cyclops grunted, his massive form shifting as he scratched his head with one enormous hand. "And Polyphemus will get his prize, yes? Polyphemus likes fresh meat. Human meat. The Fleece will be yours when Polyphemus gets the demigods."

Percy felt a sick feeling twist in his gut. He knew exactly who the "fresh meat" was supposed to be. And it wasn't just any demigods—it was them.

"Of course," Luke replied smoothly, a cruel smile spreading across his face. "You'll have Percy Jackson, Clarisse La Rue, and Charles Beckendorf—all yours to do with as you please. I'm sure they'll make a fine meal."

Percy's hands tightened into fists, his nails digging into his palms so hard it hurt. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. Luke was bargaining their lives away, all for the Golden Fleece. It was one thing to be the bad guy, but this—this was a whole new level of treachery.

Clarisse looked like she was ready to charge in and impale Luke right then and there, and honestly, Percy couldn't blame her. But they had to be smart about this. They were outnumbered, and Polyphemus was no joke. Charging in headfirst would get them killed before they even had a chance to fight back.

"We need a plan," Percy whispered, his voice barely audible as he turned to his companions. "If we can separate Luke from Polyphemus, we might stand a chance. But if we go in now, we're dead."

Clarisse nodded, though her jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it might snap. "I'll take the cyclops," she muttered, her eyes blazing with determination. "You deal with Luke."

"And what about me?" Charles asked, his voice calm but his eyes sharp.

"Find the Fleece," Percy replied, his mind racing. "That's what this is all about. If we get it first, we have the upper hand. We can use it to negotiate or, worst case, get out of here alive."

Charles nodded, determination setting in. "Got it. I'll handle the Fleece."

Percy took a deep breath, his mind spinning with possibilities and risks. This wasn't going to be easy, but they didn't have a choice. They were in the belly of the beast now, and the only way out was to fight.

"Let's do this," Percy said, his voice firm, though his heart was pounding in his chest.

They all nodded, and with one last look at each other, they began to move into position. As they crept forward, ready to face whatever came next, Percy couldn't help but think about how far they'd come, how much they'd been through. And how much more they had to do. But one thing was clear: they were going to fight with everything they had, because they weren't just fighting for themselves—they were fighting for each other.

And for Percy, that made all the difference.

Percy and Clarisse barely had time to process what was happening before it all went sideways. One moment, they were sneaking around, trying to figure out a way to take down Polyphemus and stop Luke; the next, they were flat on their backs, bound by thick ropes that felt more like steel cables, thanks to Polyphemus' brute strength. The cyclops had blindsided them, appearing out of nowhere with a roar that shook the very ground beneath their feet. Before Percy could react, he'd been slammed against a boulder, stars exploding in his vision, and the next thing he knew, he was trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

Clarisse didn't fare much better. Despite her fierce resistance, she was caught off guard by Polyphemus' sheer size and strength. She fought like a wildcat, cursing and swinging her spear, but it was no use. The cyclops batted her weapon away like it was nothing more than a toothpick and grabbed her with his massive, meaty hand, binding her tightly beside Percy.

"Well, well," Luke's smug voice cut through the haze of pain in Percy's head. "Look what the cyclops dragged in."

Percy blinked, trying to clear his vision, but all he could see was Luke's smirking face looming over him. It was taking all of his willpower not to lunge at the guy, even though he was currently tied up tighter than a demigod in the Minotaur's maze.

"Enjoying your stay, Percy?" Luke sneered, leaning down to get in Percy's face. "I hope you're comfortable. You'll be here for a while."

"Get bent, Luke," Percy spat back, his voice laced with venom. His head was throbbing, but the rage bubbling inside him was enough to keep him alert. "You're making a huge mistake."

Luke straightened up, shaking his head with a mock expression of pity. "Always the hero, Percy. Always thinking you can save the day." He glanced over at Clarisse, who was still struggling against her bonds, fury etched into every line of her face. "And you, Clarisse—daddy's little soldier. How's that working out for you?"

Clarisse let out a string of expletives that would've made even Ares blush, but it only seemed to amuse Luke further. He chuckled, a sound that made Percy's skin crawl.

"Save your breath," Luke said coolly, his expression hardening. "You're not getting out of this one. Not this time."

As Luke paced back and forth, Polyphemus loomed in the background, his one eye fixed on the two captured demigods with a gleeful, hungry look. The cyclops was drooling, his enormous mouth curving into a grotesque smile. "Polyphemus is going to eat well tonight," he rumbled, his voice like boulders grinding together. "Fresh demigods, nice and tender."

"Not if I have anything to say about it!" Percy snapped, though his voice was more defiant than he felt. The ropes were too tight, and he could barely move. His sword, Riptide, was just out of reach, taunting him from where it had fallen on the ground.

Luke smirked. "You're not in a position to say much, Percy. But don't worry—you'll be put to good use. You see, I've got big plans. The Golden Fleece? It's going to speed up Kronos' return. Once we have it, we can use its power to regenerate him faster than the gods can react. While they're busy squabbling among themselves, Kronos will rise, and by the time they realize what's happening, it'll be too late."

Percy's heart sank. He knew Luke was up to something, but this—this was far worse than he'd imagined. The Golden Fleece wasn't just a powerful artifact—it had the power to heal anything, to restore life. If Luke used it on Kronos, the titan would be back sooner than anyone expected, and the gods wouldn't stand a chance.

"You're insane, Luke," Percy hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "You're really going to bring back the titan who wants to destroy everything? Even you?"

Luke's expression darkened. "Kronos isn't going to destroy me. He's going to make me a king. A true ruler, not just another pawn in the gods' game."

"You really believe that?" Clarisse snarled, her eyes blazing with fury. "You're just a means to an end for him, Luke. You're disposable. And when he's done with you, he'll toss you aside like the trash you are."

For a moment, something flickered in Luke's eyes—doubt, maybe, or regret—but it was gone in an instant, replaced by cold resolve. "Believe what you want," he said dismissively. "It doesn't matter. I'm going to get the Fleece, and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

Percy and Clarisse exchanged a look, both of them struggling against the ropes that bound them, but it was no use. They were trapped, helpless to do anything as Luke turned to leave, clearly intending to go through with his plan. Polyphemus, meanwhile, was licking his lips, already picturing his dinner.

But Luke had underestimated one thing—Charles Beckendorf.

While Luke was busy gloating and Polyphemus was salivating over his next meal, Charles had been moving silently through the shadows, working his way back toward his friends. He'd managed to stay hidden after finding the Golden Fleece, using every ounce of his stealth and mechanical know-how to avoid detection. Now, seeing Percy and Clarisse bound and at the mercy of a cyclops and a traitor, Charles knew he had to act fast.

With deft hands, he began to sabotage Polyphemus' traps—pressure plates, tripwires, anything that could give them an edge. He knew the cyclops would use the traps to his advantage, so Charles made sure they'd backfire spectacularly. As he worked, he kept one eye on Luke, who was busy preparing for his grand exit. The second Luke turned his back, Charles made his move.

A series of clicks and whirs echoed through the cave as Charles activated one of his mechanical creations—a small, clockwork device that hummed to life with a quiet buzz. It rolled forward, emitting a bright flash of light and a cloud of smoke that filled the cavern, causing Polyphemus to roar in confusion and anger. The cyclops stumbled back, swinging his massive arms wildly as he tried to clear the smoke.

"What the—?!" Luke spun around, eyes wide as the smoke enveloped him. He reached for his weapon, but it was too late—Charles was already there, moving with surprising speed and precision. He tackled Luke to the ground, knocking the wind out of him, and for a moment, it looked like they'd have him.

But Luke was slippery, and before Charles could get a good grip, Luke twisted out of his grasp and kicked him away. The force of the blow sent Charles crashing into a nearby wall, the breath knocked out of him.

Luke scrambled to his feet, coughing and sputtering as he stumbled through the smoke. He shot a glare at Charles, then at Percy and Clarisse. "You think this changes anything?" he snarled, his voice dripping with venom. "You're too late!"

With that, Luke turned and bolted out of the cave, disappearing into the night. Percy cursed under his breath, furious that Luke had slipped away again, but there was no time to dwell on it. They had bigger problems—like the fact that Polyphemus was still very much intent on eating them.

"Charles!" Percy shouted, his voice hoarse from the smoke. "The ropes—get us out of here!"

Charles, despite the pain in his ribs from where Luke had kicked him, pushed himself up and rushed to Percy and Clarisse. His hands moved quickly, cutting through the ropes with a small blade he kept hidden in his boot.

"Thanks," Percy breathed as he finally felt the ropes fall away. He immediately reached for Riptide, which had been lying just out of reach, and sprang to his feet. Clarisse was right behind him, her spear back in her hands and her expression murderous.

Polyphemus, still disoriented from the smoke and the failed traps, let out a furious bellow. "You tricked Polyphemus!" he roared, his one eye glaring down at the three demigods. "Polyphemus will smash you all!"

"Not today, big guy," Percy shot back, his voice laced with determination. "We're getting out of here—with the Fleece."

"Damn right we are," Clarisse growled, stepping forward, her spear crackling with energy. "And you're going down."

But Polyphemus wasn't about to go down without a fight. With a thunderous roar, he charged at them, his massive feet shaking the ground with every step. Percy and Clarisse sprang into action, darting out of the way just as the cyclops brought his enormous club down where they had been standing.

Charles, knowing he was no match for the cyclops in direct combat, focused on keeping the traps and distractions going, giving Percy and Clarisse the openings they needed to strike. He watched as Percy slashed at Polyphemus' leg, drawing a bellow of pain from the cyclops, while Clarisse jabbed her spear into his side, sending sparks flying.

The battle was fierce, the air filled with the sound of metal clashing against stone and the roars of enraged cyclops. But with every hit, with every carefully timed attack, Polyphemus grew weaker. The smoke and the failed traps had disoriented him, and the combined efforts of Percy, Clarisse, and Charles were starting to take their toll.

Finally, with a well-placed strike from Clarisse's spear, Polyphemus stumbled back, his one eye wide with shock. Percy took advantage of the opening, leaping forward and driving Riptide into the cyclops' chest with all his strength. Polyphemus let out a final, earth-shaking roar before collapsing to the ground, defeated at last.

The cave fell into a tense silence, broken only by the sound of the three demigods catching their breath. They had done it—Polyphemus was down, and they were still standing.

But the victory was bittersweet. Luke had escaped, and they knew he wouldn't give up so easily. The threat of Kronos loomed larger than ever, and there was no telling what Luke would do next.

Charles, still breathing heavily, looked over at Percy and Clarisse. "We need to get the Fleece and get out of here," he said, his voice steady despite everything they'd just been through. "We can't let Luke get ahead of us again."

Percy nodded, his expression grim. "Agreed. Let's grab the Fleece and get back to Camp Half-Blood. We've got a lot of work to do—and not a lot of time to do it."

Just as Percy, Clarisse, and Charles were about to make their escape, the Golden Fleece safely in their hands, the air around them seemed to crackle with an ominous energy. Percy felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, a sure sign that something very bad was about to happen. He exchanged a wary glance with Clarisse, who was gripping her spear so tightly her knuckles were turning white.

And then, with a flash of blinding red light, the God of War himself appeared before them. Ares materialized out of thin air, his massive form towering over them like a mountain of rage and power. His eyes were blazing with fury, his presence so intense it felt like the temperature had just skyrocketed by twenty degrees.

"Well, well, well," Ares growled, his voice dripping with venom. "What do we have here? My own daughter, nearly screwing up the one thing I entrusted to her. And what's worse—allying with him." He spat the last word, glaring at Percy with pure hatred.

Clarisse, who had faced down monsters and gods alike, stood her ground, though Percy could see the tension in her posture. "I got the job done, didn't I?" she snapped, her voice defiant even in the face of her godly father's wrath. "The Fleece is ours. That's all that matters."

Ares took a menacing step forward, his armor clanking with each movement. "You think that's all that matters, girl? You were supposed to do this my way. You were supposed to prove your worth as a true child of Ares, not go running to Poseidon's brat for help!"

Percy bristled at the insult, but he bit his tongue, knowing that mouthing off to Ares right now would only make things worse. Clarisse, however, wasn't backing down. "I did what I had to do!" she shot back. "If you'd given me a ship that wasn't haunted by a bunch of mutinous ghosts, maybe I wouldn't have needed help!"

Ares' eyes narrowed, and for a moment, Percy thought the god might actually strike his own daughter. But instead, Ares' gaze shifted to the Golden Fleece in Percy's hands, and a dark, twisted smile spread across his face. "You think you've won something here, don't you? But that Fleece—it doesn't belong to you. It belongs to the strongest. To the victor." His hand shot out, faster than a lightning bolt, and he snatched the Fleece from Percy's grip.

Percy felt a surge of panic. The Fleece was their only hope of saving Camp Half-Blood, and now it was in the hands of one of the most unpredictable and dangerous gods in existence. "Ares, don't—" Percy started, but it was too late.

The moment Ares' fingers closed around the Fleece, the air around them changed. The sky, which had been clear just moments before, darkened with alarming speed. Thunder rumbled in the distance, growing louder with each passing second, and the wind picked up, whipping through the trees with a force that made them bend and creak.

Ares, oblivious to the sudden shift in the weather, raised the Fleece above his head, as if claiming it as his prize. "With this," he declared, his voice booming over the rising storm, "I will become unstoppable. The power of the Golden Fleece will be mine to command, and not even the gods will be able to challenge me!"

But as soon as those words left his mouth, the Golden Fleece began to glow—an intense, blinding light that pulsed with a power so ancient and so pure it made the very air hum with energy. Ares' triumphant expression faltered, replaced by confusion, then fear, as the Fleece's power surged out of control.

"No!" Ares bellowed, trying to drop the Fleece, but it was too late. The Fleece clung to him, its magic latching on to the war god with a force that shook the ground beneath them. The sky above them split open, revealing roiling black clouds shot through with streaks of lightning. The wind howled like a banshee, and the sea surrounding the island began to churn violently, waves crashing against the shore with bone-shattering force.

"Percy, what's happening?!" Charles shouted over the roar of the storm, his eyes wide with fear.

"It's the Fates!" Percy yelled back, trying to be heard over the deafening wind. "Nico told me that they do not like it when others hijack prophecies or quests! Ares is breaking one of the biggest rules set by the Fates, no Gods allowed to get involved in quests!"

Clarisse, for once, looked as terrified as Percy felt. "We need to get out of here—now!" she shouted, but the storm was already growing more violent by the second. Lightning struck the ground around them, sending up showers of sparks and leaving scorch marks on the earth. The island itself seemed to be shaking, as if the very foundations were about to give way.

Ares, still clutching the Fleece, let out a roar of fury and pain as the Fleece's power turned on him, sending shockwaves of energy through his body. "I… will not… be defeated!" he bellowed, but his words were lost in the howling wind and crashing thunder.

The storm was reaching its peak now, a swirling vortex of chaos that threatened to tear the island apart. The ground beneath their feet was cracking, splitting open to reveal deep chasms that glowed with an eerie, unnatural light. Percy could feel the raw power of the storm pulling at him, threatening to drag him into the abyss.

"We have to move!" Percy shouted, grabbing Clarisse by the arm and pulling her back toward the cave entrance. Charles was already moving, his face set in grim determination as he tried to find a way out of the collapsing island.

But even as they fought to escape, the storm only grew stronger, the wind whipping around them like a living thing, the sea rising up to swallow the land. The last thing Percy saw before the storm engulfed them completely was Ares, still struggling against the Fleece's power, his once-mighty form now a silhouette against the raging storm.

And then, with a final, deafening crack of thunder, the storm descended, and everything was lost in a blinding, chaotic whirlwind of wind, lightning, and fury.

The island was being destroyed.