The island was being torn apart, and in the eye of the storm stood Ares, his godly power clashing violently with the ancient magic of the Golden Fleece. Percy and Clarisse barely had time to react before they were caught in the vortex of chaos. The ground split beneath their feet, and the air crackled with electricity so intense it made Percy's skin prickle. It was like standing inside a lightning storm, with Ares at its epicenter, thrashing and roaring as he struggled against the Fleece's power.
For a moment, Percy thought they might be able to escape—just bolt back to the wrecked ship and get the Hades out of there. But then the storm seemed to tighten its grip on the island, the winds howling with a fury that left no doubt in Percy's mind: they weren't going anywhere until this fight was over.
Ares, his eyes wild with rage, finally managed to tear the Fleece from his chest, hurling it aside with a snarl. But the damage was done—the storm had fed on his anger, his arrogance, and now it was out of control, a force of nature that even a god couldn't rein in. The god of war turned his blazing gaze on Percy and Clarisse, his lips curling into a snarl. "This is all your fault," he spat, his voice like thunder. "I should have crushed you both the moment I saw you."
"Yeah, well, you didn't!" Percy shouted back, his hand tightening around Riptide. "And now you're going to pay for it."
Clarisse was right beside him, her spear crackling with energy. Despite the fear gnawing at her, there was a fierce determination in her eyes. "I'm not scared of you, Dad," she growled, though there was a slight quiver in her voice. "You've always underestimated me. Well, not anymore."
Ares let out a bark of laughter, though there was a hint of something darker in his expression—something that almost looked like concern. "You think you two can take me on?" he sneered. "I'm the god of war, you little brats. I was born for this."
"Yeah, well," Percy shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "you're not looking so hot right now, Ares. Fates giving you a little slap on the wrist for getting too involved, huh?"
For a split second, Percy saw Ares' eyes flash with something like panic—just for a moment, before it was gone, replaced by cold fury. It was enough to confirm what Percy had guessed: Ares wasn't at full strength. The Fates had punished him for meddling in demigod business, and now he was weaker, more vulnerable.
Not that it made him any less dangerous.
"Let's see what you've got, then," Ares snarled, his voice a low growl that reverberated through the air. He charged at them, his massive form moving with surprising speed, his sword gleaming in the dim light of the storm.
Percy barely had time to react before Ares was on them, swinging his sword with a force that sent shockwaves through the ground. Percy blocked the blow with Riptide, the impact sending a jolt of pain up his arm, but he held his ground, gritting his teeth against the force of the attack. Clarisse was right there with him, her spear a blur of motion as she struck at Ares, trying to find an opening in his defenses.
The battle was brutal, chaotic—a clash of raw power and desperate determination. Ares fought like a cornered beast, his strikes wild and deadly, each blow intended to end them. Percy and Clarisse, despite their differences, fell into a rhythm, their attacks complementing each other as they worked together to fend off the god of war. It was a strange kind of teamwork, born out of necessity rather than trust, but it worked.
Ares was strong—stronger than either of them had ever faced before—but the Fates' punishment had taken its toll. Every time he swung his sword, there was a moment of hesitation, a split second where he faltered, as if his strength was wavering. And Percy, ever the quick thinker, noticed it.
"He's weakening!" Percy shouted to Clarisse, ducking under a swipe from Ares' sword. "Keep at him—he can't keep this up!"
Clarisse didn't need to be told twice. She let out a battle cry, throwing herself at Ares with renewed vigor, her spear crackling with electricity as she drove it toward his chest. Ares barely managed to deflect the blow, but it was clear he was struggling, his movements slower, less precise.
"You think you can win?" Ares roared, his voice cracking with frustration. "You're nothing! You're—"
"Just shutting you up would be a win," Percy snapped back, slashing at Ares' side with Riptide.
The storm raged on around them, the island crumbling under the force of their battle. Lightning struck the ground, setting trees ablaze, and the wind howled like a banshee, tearing at the earth and sending debris flying in every direction. But Percy and Clarisse were in the zone, their focus laser sharp as they pressed their advantage.
Finally, with one last, desperate strike, Percy managed to knock Ares' sword from his grasp, sending it skidding across the ground. Ares let out a roar of fury, his eyes blazing with hatred, but before he could react, Clarisse was there, her spear aimed directly at his heart.
"You're done, Dad," she growled, her voice steady despite the storm raging around them. "Get out of here, before we make you."
Ares glared at them, his chest heaving with fury, but he didn't move. For a moment, Percy thought they might actually have to finish him off, but then, with a snarl of frustration, Ares stepped back, his form shimmering with power. "This isn't over," he spat, his voice low and dangerous. "You'll regret this."
With a final glare, Ares disappeared in a flash of red light, leaving behind nothing but the echo of his fury in the air.
But the storm he had unleashed wasn't done with them. The island was still being torn apart, the wind howling with a ferocity that threatened to rip the very ground from beneath their feet. The sea had risen to terrifying heights, waves crashing against the shore with a force that sent tremors through the earth.
Percy, panting and exhausted, looked around at the devastation. The CSS Birmingham, their only means of escape, had been shattered in the chaos, the once-formidable ironclad now little more than a pile of twisted metal. The ground beneath them was cracking, splitting open to reveal gaping chasms that glowed with an eerie, otherworldly light.
"We need to get out of here—now!" Percy shouted, picking up the discarded Golden Fleece and grabbing Clarisse's arm and pulling her toward the wreckage of their ship. "Charles! We need that genius brain of yours—any ideas?"
Charles, who had been fighting to keep his balance against the raging wind, looked around frantically, his mind racing. The ship was beyond repair, but there was still hope. "The raft!" he yelled back, his voice barely audible over the storm. "We can use the wreckage to build a raft!"
It wasn't much, but it was all they had. With the island collapsing around them, they didn't have time to argue. They scrambled toward the remains of the *Birmingham*, working together to pull planks of wood and bits of metal from the wreckage, lashing them together with whatever they could find. Charles' mechanical skills were the only thing keeping the makeshift raft from falling apart, and even then, it was a flimsy, desperate creation.
But it would have to do.
As they dragged the raft to the shore, Percy cast one last glance at the island. It was almost completely gone now, the once-solid ground giving way to the roiling sea. The storm was still raging, but it was clear that the island couldn't hold out much longer.
"We've got to move, now!" Percy shouted, his voice hoarse from the effort. He and Clarisse pushed the raft into the water, and the three of them clambered on, using whatever they had left as makeshift paddles to push themselves away from the collapsing island.
The sea was rough, the waves threatening to capsize their fragile craft with every swell, but they had no other choice. They paddled furiously, the wind tearing at their clothes, the saltwater stinging their eyes, but they kept going, driven by sheer desperation. The island behind them was swallowed by the storm, disappearing into the churning sea as if it had never existed.
As the storm finally began to ease and the sea calmed just enough to give them a fighting chance, Percy, Clarisse, and Charles allowed themselves a moment of relief. They were drenched, exhausted, and barely holding it together, but they were alive. And after everything they'd just been through, that was saying something.
But of course, nothing in their lives was ever that simple.
Just as they started to think they might actually make it out of this mess, a deafening roar echoed across the water, sending chills down Percy's spine. He turned toward the sound, dread pooling in his stomach. Polyphemus, the cyclops they'd barely escaped from, had somehow survived the destruction of the island. And he was not happy.
The enormous figure of Polyphemus appeared on what little was left of the shore, his single eye blazing with fury. His once-mighty lair was in ruins, his treasure lost, and now the cyclops was free, with nothing to hold him back. The ground trembled beneath his massive feet as he stomped toward the water, his rage so intense it felt like the air itself was vibrating with it.
"Polyphemus will crush you!" the cyclops bellowed, his voice carrying over the waves like a death sentence. "You think you can steal from Polyphemus? You will pay with your lives!"
Percy felt a jolt of fear shoot through him, the kind that came from knowing they were so far out of their league it wasn't even funny. They were on a makeshift raft in the middle of the sea, barely keeping afloat, and now they had an enraged cyclops on their tail. Not exactly a recipe for success.
"Can't we catch a break? Just once?" Percy muttered, grabbing a piece of wood to use as a makeshift paddle. "Why does everything always have to be so complicated?"
Clarisse, who was already gripping her spear with white-knuckled determination, shot him a look. "You're really gonna complain about that now, Jackson? Start paddling, or we're all gonna be cyclops chow!"
Percy didn't need to be told twice. He and Clarisse began paddling furiously, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and Polyphemus. But the cyclops was fast, faster than any of them had anticipated. With each massive step, he closed the gap, the water churning violently around him as he charged toward them.
Charles, who had been silent for most of the escape, suddenly stood up on the unsteady raft, his eyes fixed on the cyclops. His normally calm, composed expression was replaced by something cold and calculating, a look that made Percy's skin crawl.
"What are you doing?" Percy asked, his voice strained as he tried to keep the raft from flipping over. "We need to move faster!"
But Charles wasn't listening. His focus was entirely on Polyphemus, his mind clearly working through some kind of plan. And then, without warning, Charles reached into his belt and pulled out a small, round device—one of his mechanical creations, no doubt. He pressed a button, and the device began to emit a high-pitched whine, a sound that grew louder and more intense with each passing second.
Polyphemus, now just a few yards away, let out a roar of triumph as he prepared to grab the raft and crush it—and them—into splinters. But before he could, the ground beneath him shook violently. The remnants of his lair, already weakened by the storm, began to tremble and crack, the rocks shifting and groaning under the strain.
"What the…?" Percy started, but his words were drowned out by the sound of the cyclops' lair collapsing in on itself.
Charles had done something—some last-minute sabotage back in the lair, maybe even something he'd set up earlier—and now it was paying off in the most spectacular way possible. The ground beneath Polyphemus gave way, opening up into a gaping chasm that swallowed the cyclops whole. Polyphemus let out one final, bone-rattling roar before disappearing into the darkness, the lair collapsing on top of him in a massive cloud of dust and debris.
The sea fell eerily silent in the aftermath, the only sound the soft lapping of waves against their makeshift raft. Percy and Clarisse sat frozen in place, their paddles forgotten, as they stared at the spot where the cyclops had been. It took a moment for the reality of what had just happened to sink in—that they were alive because of Charles, the quiet, unassuming son of Hephaestus who had just taken down a freaking cyclops like it was nothing.
Percy's mouth went dry. He glanced at Clarisse, who looked just as stunned as he felt. Her spear was still in her hand, but the fight had drained out of her, leaving her staring at Charles with something that looked a lot like awe—and maybe a bit of fear.
"Remind me," Percy said slowly, still processing what he'd just seen, "to never, ever get on your bad side, Charles."
Clarisse, for once, didn't argue. She just nodded; her eyes still wide as she looked at Charles like she was seeing him for the first time. "Yeah. Seriously. Note to self: don't piss off the guy who can make a cyclops disappear."
Charles, for his part, just gave them a small, tired smile. He looked exhausted, the adrenaline starting to wear off, but there was a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "Don't worry," he said, his voice soft but steady. "As long as you don't try to steal from me or, you know, feed me to a cyclops, we're good."
Percy let out a shaky laugh, the tension finally starting to ease as the absurdity of the situation hit him. "Fair enough. Just, uh, remind me not to test those limits anytime soon."
Clarisse finally managed to find her voice, though it was a little unsteady. "You're full of surprises, Beckendorf. I'll give you that."
Charles shrugged, his smile turning a bit sheepish. "I just do what I can. We're in this together, right?"
"Yeah," Percy agreed, feeling a sense of camaraderie settle over them, despite everything. "Together."
They paddled away from the remnants of Polyphemus' lair, the sea slowly began to calm, the storm that had threatened to tear them apart finally fading into the distance. As the adrenaline from their near-death encounter with Polyphemus finally began to wear off, Percy, Clarisse, and Charles found themselves drifting on their makeshift raft, the vast expanse of the sea stretching out endlessly around them. The sky was a dull gray, the storm having sapped the color from everything, leaving the world feeling as exhausted as they were.
Percy's arms ached from paddling, and he could feel the weight of the Golden Fleece resting heavily in his pack. They'd come so far, fought so hard, and now they were stranded in the middle of the ocean with no ship, no real plan, and a cyclops-sized headache.
Clarisse sat beside him, her expression a mix of frustration and exhaustion. Her usual bravado had taken a hit after the encounter with Ares, and Percy could tell she was running on fumes. Even Charles, who had somehow managed to stay calm and collected through everything, looked like he was about to pass out from sheer exhaustion.
"So," Percy said after a long moment of silence, his voice cracking slightly from the salt air and fatigue, "anybody got any bright ideas? Because I'm all out."
Clarisse grunted, leaning her head back against the raft. "I was hoping you had a secret plan, Jackson. You're supposed to be the son of Poseidon, aren't you? Can't you, like, summon a sea taxi or something?"
Percy managed a tired chuckle. "A sea taxi? Really? But you know what… you're not wrong." He closed his eyes, trying to tune out the exhaustion and focus on the water around them. He could feel the sea, feel the life teeming beneath the surface—the fish, the currents, the ancient energy that pulsed through the ocean like a heartbeat. It was comforting, in a way, to know that the sea was still there for him, even when everything else felt like it was falling apart.
And then, deep below the surface, Percy sensed something else—something massive, something made of wood and metal, lying dormant on the ocean floor. At first, he thought it might just be a shipwreck, but then he sensed more. Dozens of ships, scattered across the seabed, remnants of battles and storms long past.
A plan began to form in Percy's mind, shaky and desperate, but it was better than nothing. He opened his eyes and turned to Charles, who was dozing off against the side of the raft. "Charles," Percy said, his voice low but insistent, "wake up. I think I found our way out of here."
Charles blinked, shaking off his exhaustion as he sat up straighter. "What do you mean?"
Percy gave him a lopsided grin. "There are ships down there—old ones, maybe even some that sank recently. If I can summon them, you think you can patch something together? Something sturdy enough to get us back to camp?"
Charles' eyes lit up with a spark of hope, the kind that only an engineer would have in a situation like this. "If you can get me the parts, I can make it work," he said, already scanning the horizon like he could see the ships waiting beneath the waves.
"Then let's do it," Percy said, feeling a surge of determination wash over him. He turned his focus inward again, calling on the power that connected him to the sea, to the ancient forces that had been part of him since birth. He reached out with his mind, summoning the ships from the depths, willing them to rise to the surface.
The water beneath the raft began to churn, and for a moment, Percy worried that he might be biting off more than he could chew. But then, slowly, the first ship broke the surface, its hull covered in seaweed and barnacles, its sails tattered but still somehow intact. Then another ship appeared, and another, until the sea around them was dotted with the ghosts of vessels long lost to the ocean.
Clarisse's jaw dropped as she watched the ships rise from the deep, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "Okay, I take back everything I ever said about you being useless, Jackson. That's… that's actually impressive."
Percy managed a tired smirk. "Thanks, I think. Now let's see if we can turn one of these into something that floats."
Charles was already moving, his mind racing as he assessed the ships, picking out the pieces that were still intact, still usable. He pointed to the smallest ship, a sturdy-looking brigantine that had somehow survived the ravages of time and the sea. "That one," he said decisively. "It's in the best shape. We can scavenge the parts from the other ships to fix it up."
Percy nodded, and with a wave of his hand, he brought the chosen ship closer, guiding it toward them with the currents. The old brigantine settled beside their raft, its wooden hull creaking as it bobbed in the water.
For the next few hours, Percy and Clarisse worked alongside Charles, using whatever they could find from the other ships to patch up the brigantine. It was slow, painstaking work, and every minute felt like an eternity, but there was a sense of purpose that kept them going. This was their way home, their ticket out of the mess they'd found themselves in, and they weren't about to let it slip away.
By the time they finished, the sun was setting on the horizon, casting a golden glow over the water. The brigantine was far from perfect—there were gaps in the hull, and the sails were a patchwork of different fabrics—but it floated, and it looked sturdy enough to carry them back to Camp Half-Blood.
"Not bad," Percy said, admiring their handiwork as he wiped the sweat from his brow. "I'd say we're ready to set sail."
Charles gave him a tired but satisfied smile. "It'll hold. We just need to keep an eye on the wind and the waves, but we should make it back without any trouble."
Clarisse, who had been unusually quiet throughout the repair process, finally spoke up, her voice low and serious. "Before we go… I think we need to let Di Angelo know what happened. We lost the ship with the ghost crew."
Percy nodded in agreement. "You're right. If anyone needs to know, it's Nico."
With a deep breath, Percy pulled out a golden drachma from his pocket and flicked it into the water, calling upon Iris, the goddess of rainbows. A shimmering rainbow appeared above the water, and Percy spoke the words that would connect them to Nico. "Oh, Iris, goddess of the Rainbow, show me Nico di Angelo."
The rainbow shimmered, and after a moment, Nico's face appeared in the mist. He was standing in what looked like the training grounds of Hades' palace, his expression guarded as always, but there was a flicker of relief in his dark eyes when he saw Percy. "Percy," Nico said, his voice tinged with the faintest hint of concern. "You look like you've been through Tartarus."
Percy snorted. "Feels like it too. We've got the Fleece, but… there's been a bit of a complication. Ares got involved in a quest—again."
Nico's eyes narrowed, his expression darkening like a thundercloud. "What did that idiot do this time?"
"Long story short, he tried to take the Fleece for himself," Percy explained, his voice heavy with frustration. "There was a storm, the ship we were on got destroyed, and we lost the ghost crew to the sea."
Nico's reaction was immediate. His smirk, always a bit unsettling, spread across his face, all darkness and bloodthirst. "Ares messed with the dead? Again? He's getting a bit too comfortable treading on my turf."
"Yeah," Percy agreed, a weary smile tugging at his lips. "I figured you'd have something to say about that. Thought you might want to, I don't know, have a word with him?"
"Oh, I will," Nico replied, his voice as cold as the depths of the Underworld. "And I'll make sure Olympus knows about Ares' little transgression. The Fates don't take kindly to gods meddling in demigod quests, and I doubt they'll be happy to hear about this."
Percy nodded, feeling a wave of relief. If anyone could handle Ares and make him pay for what he'd done, it was Nico. "Thanks, Nico. I knew I could count on you."
Nico's smirk softened into something that almost resembled a genuine smile. "Just get back in one piece, okay? We've got enough problems without you getting yourself killed."
"Trust me, I'm trying," Percy said, his tone laced with both humor and exhaustion. "See you soon, Nico."
With that, the Iris Message faded, leaving Percy, Clarisse, and Charles alone on their makeshift ship. The sky was darkening now, the stars beginning to twinkle above them, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the sea was calm.
They were battered, bruised, and more than a little worse for wear, but they were still standing. The Golden Fleece was safely in their hands, and they had a ship—sort of—to get them back on land.
As they set sail into the night, guided by the stars and the steady hand of the son of Poseidon, Percy couldn't help but feel a surge of determination. They'd been through Hades and back, but they weren't done yet. Camp Half-Blood needed them, and they were going to make it back, no matter what it took.
And if Ares—or anyone else—wanted to try and stop them again, Percy would be ready.