A few hours after my conversation with Artemis, I decided that I wanted to take a break. So, naturally, my first step was to find a suitable body of water. Thankfully, I was in Colorado, so there were no shortages of national parks with various water sources.
I settled on Mesa Verde because it was the closest.
And, well, also because it sounded kind of cool. Not sure what a mesa is but based on what I remember from sixth-grade Spanish—which is everything, thanks to [Eidetic Memory]—verde means green.
Thanks for the assist, Señora Callida! I guess those after-school sessions paid off after all.
Mr. D's magic motorbike—which somehow sounds like both a sex position and an amusement park ride at the same time—was great and all, but after more than a few hours, my butt hurt and my back ached. Even with all the weird reality-altering technology under the hood, somehow, the seat was just as uncomfortable as you'd expect. No—more, even. A part of me thinks Mr. D did that on purpose. Scratch that, actually. He definitely did it on purpose. That's just the kind of stunt he'd pull. He's probably off in some corner at camp, drinking a spiced Diet Coke and rubbing his hands together like a Disney villain.
To be fair, I also just got plain bored of driving around. You would too. Not that there was much to do out in the wilderness anyway. Maybe next time the world isn't, you know, in the process of ending in a fiery heat death because Artemis let the Ophiotaurus get away, I'll pick myself up a Switch or something.
The occasional monster here and there would be worth finally getting around to some of the new age Pokémon games.
I ended up eating a Chalupa Supreme combo from Taco Bell and skipping a few rocks across the surface of the pond before settling in for my Game-ordained three hours of sleep.
Don't worry, I went through all my safety measures. I used my ring to make a hologram of myself sleeping on the bike, and I even asked a few of the fish to keep an eye out for me.
They jumped on the chance. Literally.
I had to fight them off me and explain I just wanted their passive help, but the plea fell on deaf ears—do fish even have ears—and I was forced to cocoon myself in a shield of ice.
You can hate on it if you want, but for me, sleeping underwater is both more comfortable and safer than sleeping in a hotel room. I'd choose to sleep at the bottom of a dirty kiddie pool over a room at the Bellagio if you gave me the choice.
Not to mention the fact that it's cheaper. Well, it's not like money's an issue. The Game has given me a decent bit of spending money, and I still have Hades' card. Piper gave me Medusa's credit card back when I was at camp, too, so I basically don't need to think about money.
If you think about it, since Medusa is in my neocortex, it's kind of my rightful property anyway. I'm not really sure who's paying the credit card bill, though. Granted, it's only been a few years, so we're probably just exhausting whatever her credit limit is, and wracking up credit card debt, to boot.
If she ever gets out of my head and looks at her FICO score, I might end up as a statue after all.
I walked out of the pond around four or five in the morning, pulling my interface up.
— - —
~ Due to a lag in processing, not all levels were applied. Please see your updated stats below.
[Perseus Jackson]
[Son of Poseidon]
[Hestia's Favored]
[Echidna's Bane]
[Always Sunny]
[Godhunter]
[Hera's Blessing]
[Divine Consultant]
[Unyielding Resolve]
[The Ghoul of Atlantis]
[Mediator]
[Spark of Divinity - Oceanus]
[LVL]: 102 [45,000/90,000]
[HP]: 82,800/82,800 [resting][active = 2x]
[SP]: 92,500/92,500
[MP]: 118,000/118,000 [resting][active = 2x]
[FEALTY]: N/A
[STR]: 168 [+84]
[VIT]: 100
[DEX]: 243 [+45]
[INT]: 98
[CHA]: 80 [+5]
[WIS]: 155
[LUC]: 33 [+64]
[AP]: 52
[PP]: 44
[GP]: 1
[$]: 2350USD, 53D
[...] Son of the legendary lord of all seas, Poseidon, and Sally Jackson, Percy is the current [Child of Prophecy] and bearer of Olympus' flame. Despite his murky past, Percy is ready to take on his future with determination. [...]
{Titles}
[Son of Poseidon]
- Permanently grants [+][1000][MP] and increases [Mana Regeneration] rate by [1%] per five seconds.
[Hestia's Favored]
- Permanently grants [+][750][HP] and [+][750][MP].
[Echidna's Bane]
- Grants immunity to all poison-based status effects and toxins, and reduces incoming damage from monstrous creatures by [10%].
[Always Sunny]
- This title makes your natural charisma shine even brighter, making you a beacon of positivity and influence and boosting your [CHA] by [2] every level-up.
[Godhunter]
- Grants [+][20%] damage to divine or godly beings (including minor gods and divine constructs). Increases critical hit chance against godly enemies by [+][10%].
[Hera's Blessing]
- Boosts your [Mana Manipulation] skill to [15] and unlocks techniques, allowing you to shape mana into intricate forms, such as shields, weapons, or traps.
[Divine Consultant]
- [2x] all [EXP] given on quests that originate from a diving being.
[Unyielding Resolve]
- Your threshold for suffering surpasses normal limits, enabling them to keep fighting (or enduring) when most would collapse. This title grants a significant reduction to pain impact, allowing you to remain calm and focused even under severe physical or emotional stress.
[The Ghoul of Atlantis]
- Your eerie bond with Atlantis's latent power allows you to harness mana in ways most demigods (or mortals) would shy away from, augmenting both your stealth and your resilience and granting you two skills: [Natural Mana Infusion] and [Miasma of the Deep].
[Mediator]
- Allows you to determine what form a god will take while speaking to you. Provides a flat boost of [+][10] to [CHA] and [WIS]!
[Spark of Divinity - Oceanus]
- Grants the user echoes of Oceanus' power. This includes enhanced physical gifts, the tongue of the old times, and much more.
[Hestia's Blade]
- The title allows you to heal for a quarter of ALL damage you deal. It will also permanently boost your regeneration by [5x] and give you the same healing boost you get with water, only with fire, instead.
— - —
Fair enough.
I also ended up prestiging my dagger skill.
I know that it seems dumb as a concept to prestige and reset a skill while I'm currently marching to fight one of the strongest people I've ever fought, but meh.
This one's a special case. For one, I don't really use daggers. The only progress I really had on the skill was a few levels since before Atlantis—I usually use two swords when it comes to duel-wielding anyway, so I figured I'd get to try out the new Perk and get an excuse to use Artemis' dagger, which was a win in its own right.
— - —
[Skill]: Sphendone
[System Denomination]: Active
[Attribute Group]: DEX
[Level]: 1
[Description]: This skill embodies the art of fighting with daggers and other small blades.
[Leveling]: At [Level 1], gain a [+][10%] bonus to Attack Speed when wielding any dagger. Each successful hit has a [5%] chance to inflict a bleeding status effect, causing damage over time.
[DMG]: [DEX X 10] + [WEAPON STATS]
— - —
And then, below it, I saw two runes: a baby blue one and a red one. They were shaped like hexagons, and they swirled around the skill, like a baby's mobile.
I glanced at both of them.
The [Battle Wisdom] version of the perk—the red one—was pretty cool. The [20%] combat effectiveness was manifesting as a damage thing—it stacked as a factor of my [DEX] on top of the base damage and the damage of the weapon.
In terms of the 'unique combat ability,' I'd get this addition to the base skill called [Phantom Strike] that made it so that once every minute, it would automatically execute a dagger strike that ignored 50% of enemy defense and had a heightened chance (additional +10% critical hit rate) to inflict bleeding for 5 seconds.
The [Strategic Wisdom] runic upgrade wasn't as good for this skill. It lowered the stamina cost but because of the armor I had from my dad, I basically had unlimited stamina anyway. I figured the [Strategic Wisdom] upgrade was more for mana-intensive skills that would let me become spammy.
I clicked the red perk, and red vines shot out of each side of the hexagon, splintering through the game's interface and vibrating.
The words and the perk disappeared a few moments later, and a tingly feeling shot up my arm.
Artemis' Dagger trilled in my pocket.
"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled. I settled onto my motorbike and kickstarted it. The dagger chirped even louder and I fished it out of my pocket. "You're worse than an ex, you know that?
The dagger let out a low, shaking warble, and I sighed. "Don't get your panties in a bunch, we're going."
The hilt hummed under my hands, and I held it up to the sky. It flashed under the sunlight, and a line of silver fanned out of the woods, flinging across the landscape like a kite's string—thin and true.
BRRRRR!
I revved the engine and the wheels squealed against the ground. Chunks of dirt ripped out behind the wheel, splattering against the tree line. Katy Perry started blaring out the speakers, and I grinned as I started carving through the side of the pond like a bat out of hell.
The line shimmered as it stretched across the landscape, cutting through trees and winding through the underbrush. The trees started stretching taller the deeper I went, their gnarled branches casting shifting patterns of shadow across the path. Occasionally, the silver string would dip and twist, forcing me to weave through creeks, fields, and everything in between.
Not that it was much of a problem.
I froze the water and drove over it, which was just about as cool as it sounds. At one point, an early morning fishing trip was ruined when I blasted through their area and scared away all the fish, but it was in the name of the greater good, so I hoped they'd understand.
Most of the trip was a blur, but about an hour or so in, the string thickened, like silk gathering strength and weight. What had once been a delicate, shimmering thread became something more substantial—more powerful. The silver light fanned out, widening across the dirt road like spilled mercury, illuminating everything it touched with an eerie glow.
Ahead, the forest thinned, and my breath hitched when I saw where the string was leading me. The silver trail spread wide and converged on the side of the road, where a chariot—Artemis' Chariot—lay half-buried in the dirt, its sleek metallic frame dented and scorched.
My stomach dropped.
I knew Artemis was in some sort of trouble, but this was a bad sign.
Well, for one, she wouldn't abandon her chariot unless something had gone terribly wrong. It was an extension of her power. The fact that it was just kind of lying here in tatters wasn't painting a pretty picture of how she was probably doing.
The wheels were tilted awkwardly, one half-broken and the other missing entirely. Its once-pristine silver body was marred by dark scorch marks, like it had crashed down from the sky in a violent explosion. Its harnesses dangled uselessly, shredded like Swiss cheese, and the faint scent of burning metal and singed leather filled the air. The glowing silver string pulsed, its final end wrapped tightly around the chariot's yoke, as if anchoring itself to the wreck.
This wasn't just an accident—something had done this. Something powerful enough to wreck Artemis' chariot. That thought alone made my pulse kick up. Panic clawed at my ribs.
The smoky smell of ash and brimstone wafted up to my nose. The wreck wasn't fresh, but it wasn't ancient either. If I had any hope of finding her before things got worse—if they hadn't already—I had to move. Now.
Light flicked around my fingertips, and dots popped up around the chariot like boba pearls.
— - —
[Detective Mode Engaged]
— - —
There was a small clicking noise, and walls of text began filling the space next to the chariot.
I crouched near one of the larger spots on the side of the chariot and ran my fingers over the glowing mark. The clue lit the chariot up in splotches of light, haphazard and blooming, like neon warning signs.
I traced the pattern, following the bright marks as they illuminated key points along the wreckage. Burn patterns. Impact zones. Scorch marks. Each steady, red glow painted a picture of what had happened here, like a crime scene frozen in time.
The metal bent inward, with jagged edges, as if something massive had struck it head-on. The heat residue was faint but present—I could still feel the beating warmth of something emanating from the metal.
The Game pinged, and I nodded grimly. Whoever or whatever had done this was long gone, but not that long ago.
My eyes traced a faint trail of glowing red spots leading away from the chariot, disappearing into the underbrush just off the dirt road. I followed the trail with cautious steps, careful not to disturb any potential clues, until I came across something small and metallic.
I crouched, brushing aside a layer of fallen leaves to reveal a silver arrowhead, its tip blackened and chipped. I turned it over in my hand, noting a crescent engraving near the base. The dagger in my pocket vibrated as I turned the arrowhead over in my fingertips.
I pocketed the arrowhead and moved forward, the glowing trail guiding me deeper into the woods. My fingers brushed over broken branches and scattered debris—a torn piece of fabric snagged on a thorn bush.
The fabric shimmered faintly, its silver threads catching the dim light. A closer inspection revealed tiny droplets of something dark and sticky on the fabric's edge. Blood.
I grimaced and tucked the fabric into my pocket. The glowing path continued a few feet farther before leading me to the edge of a shallow ravine.
Wait.
I turned back to the chariot and glanced along the dirt. There weren't any grooves in the dirt, any hint of pressure between the ravine and where the chariot had been. How was that possible?
I moved back to the chariot. Glancing at the edges, I tried to pull some of the clues together in a way that made sense.
I knew I wasn't looking at a crash that happened by accident. No—this was an intentional strike, something meant to ground Artemis.
But why?
I walked back toward the wreck and crouched by one of the scorch marks near the yoke. The red glow of Detective Mode lingered faintly, revealing blackened edges that didn't match the rest of the damage.
This wasn't fire, or something explosive, like a bomb. Fire would spread, blaze out like petals of a flower—even a bomb would have some sort of consistent patterning. This blast had precision.
It had been focused, targeted. Whoever orchestrated this had taken aim with the intent to disable, not destroy.
I ran my fingers over the scorch pattern, my skin tingling as residual magic crackled faintly beneath my touch.
"A concentrated energy blast," I muttered, standing up and tracing the damage with my eyes. The angle of the impact suggested that the blast had come from above, not from the ground.
I looked up at the canopy of trees overhead, their branches swaying lazily in the breeze. The movement felt wrong—too peaceful, too indifferent to the wreckage below. I followed the branches. The tops of the trees were scorched, as if they'd been grazed by something massive. Blackened leaves fluttered down beside healthy green ones, framing a hole the width of a telephone pole.
My stomach twisted.
The attack had no arc. It was basically a singular column that didn't get affected by anything around it—to that point, whatever had come through here hadn't just clipped Artemis' chariot—it had blasted through, punching a hole clean through the treetops.
I stepped farther back, trying to picture it. Artemis, flying high and fast, probably heading for Mount Tamalpais, when suddenly—BOOM. A shockwave, a burst of energy, something fast and destructive hitting her from above.
The force of it must have lanced through the back of her chariot, obliterating part of it before streaking downward, vaporizing the treetops in its path. The ground told the rest of the story—her chariot, once sleek and untouchable, now lay crumpled in the dirt, like a meteor had punched it from the sky.
I swallowed hard. My heart was pounding like a belly drum. I kept thinking about how rough she'd looked when I'd seen her just a few hours ago.
Whatever did this wasn't just strong—it was something else, something big enough to bring down a goddess. My fingers curled into a fist.
Plus, the chariot wasn't even the full story. My mind spun through the details like pieces of a puzzle snapping together.
Artemis was careful, fast, and absurdly powerful. She wouldn't have just gotten shot out of the air, even if her chariot did. She was a huntress, always aware, always moving. If she'd been falling, she would've fought back. I imagined her, teetering in her wrecked chariot, nocking an arrow in midair.
No, that wouldn't have been enough. Even with her supernatural aim, she would've needed a better shot—a clear, deadly one.
She must've jumped before the impact.
That explained the debris—the scattered fabric could have been from her clothing or her cloak, torn as she leaped free. The arrowhead? A miss, or maybe a deflected shot. She must have fired something at her attacker before she hit the ground.
But that raised an even worse question. Why was there an impact at all?
Gods could fly. Artemis didn't need a chariot to stay airborne. If she'd been shot down, she would've caught herself, right?
Unless—she couldn't.
A cold realization settled over me. If she had hit the ground, if she'd collided into it hard enough to carve out that ravine—then something had forced her down.
I knew the General was involved in this somehow—there was no way he wasn't. But Luke had told me they had him sealed off for now, focused on planning their next big move. He was supposed to be in the background, strategizing, not actively fighting.
So either Luke was wrong—out of the loop more than he realized—or the Titans had another player in the game. Someone just as dangerous. Maybe even more dangerous.
Before I could think about it too hard, the arrowhead in my pocket burned against my thigh, and I pulled it out.
Inky words speared across the edge—13 Ebon Hollow Lane, Dalia Quarter. Come find me if you want more information.
13 Ebon Hollow Lane led to a nightclub—a weird, rundown building that jutted out like a jagged tooth on an otherwise clean street, its black-brick walls streaked with graffiti tags and half-faded flyers. The one closest to me read: FORGOT YOUR CHARIOT? IM ALECTRONA FOR HASSLE-FREE SHUTTLES TO OLYMPUS.
Just about the last thing I wanted to do was walk into the club at the ass-crack of dawn, but it seemed like I was the only one who felt that way, for some odd reason.
Pulsing LED lights in violent shades of purple and electric blue flashed across the rain-soaked sidewalk, casting everything in a chaotic glow. The steel double doors looked like they'd seen better days—they were dented, scratched, and covered in a golden substance that looked oddly like dried ichor.
A neon sign above the entrance flickered sporadically, buzzing like an angry wasp, and the scent of street food, cigarette smoke, and spilled beer clung to the air like it had no intention of leaving anytime soon.
A line of people stretched out the door. I observed a few of them and found some interesting names—Europa, Adrasteia—and a slew of other random figures from Greek mythology.
A few of them complained as I skipped the line and made a beeline for the entrance. I made it all the way to the front of the velvet rope when a woman in the front—Pasiphaë—took special offense. She pushed her way to the front, silver bangles clanging on her wrists. Raven-colored hair curled down her forehead, and I couldn't help but notice that she had way too much eye shadow on. "Hey! What's he doing? I've been standing out here for hours!"
"Making tea," I returned.
Pasiphaë's nostrils flared. Her dark green eyes streaked with anger, and spittle from her mouth. "You petulant child! I'm the Queen of Crete! I demand you—"
"Shove a sock in it, lady, you smashed a bull."
Pasiphaë's mouth fell open. "I—that—"
"Relax, sweetheart," I waved her off. I gave her a quick up-down. Pasiphaë's cheeks flushed. "I like the crop top, though. It's a good look. If you ever want a kid that isn't a freak, hit me up."
As Pasiphaë began stammering, I ducked under the velvet rope. The bouncer, a hulking mass of muscle with a cropped haircut and one of those earpiece things, was looking at a clipboard. He didn't bother looking up as I got closer, but I felt a swell of power blaze through the air like a live wire. "Line's back there."
"Yeah, I get that, but I got an invitation," I held up the arrowhead.
His eyes flicked to the arrowhead, and he sighed, before tapping the earpiece. He gestured for me to walk forward. "Pretty boy's here."
I stopped next to him. I could hear the music from the club all the way out here. Each drop in the bass made my toes vibrate. "This isn't a trap, right?"
He lowered his clipboard. "Do you think I'd tell you if it was?"
"I mean, yeah. I think so."
"Really?" The bouncer seemed genuinely perturbed. "Why's that?"
"I believe in my fellow man," I said. "And, if I get attacked in there, I could leave a bad Yelp review."
"Kid, if there was really a trap in there, do you think they'd care about some random review?"
"It would be a really bad Yelp review."
"Just get inside," The bouncer's meaty hand pushed me through the doors.
Inside, the nightclub was a swirling storm of color, sound, and chaos. The walls, painted a glossy black, seemed to absorb and reflect the flashing strobe lights that pulsed to the rhythm of the pounding bass. Neon tubes ran along the ceiling like veins, borderline assaulting me with light and making it impossible to tell where the dance floor ended and the chaos of bodies began.
As I stepped deeper into the nightclub, I felt it.
A hum—low and insistent, curling at the base of my skull like the lingering note of a song I couldn't quite remember. It wasn't part of the music blasting through the speakers; this was something else, something just beneath the surface of perception. It tickled my senses, brushing against my skin like an unseen current in the air, vibrating in time with my heartbeat.
It wasn't loud, but it was there—a presence humming through my bones, through the walls, through every flashing light and bass drop. It almost felt like a whisper, not words exactly, but a pull, something guiding, coaxing, luring.
Come to dance with me, son of Poseidon?
The air was thick—part sweat, part perfume, part something metallic, like an electrical charge waiting to snap—and the smell of spilled drinks clung to the sticky floor beneath my feet. Tables lined the sides of the room, half-hidden by fog machines that hissed like vipers, and in the center, a DJ with glowing headphones stood behind a booth that looked like it was built from an out-of-commission hypozomata—the hull of an Ancient Greek ship.
And then there were the dancers.
At first glance, it looked like any other packed nightclub—people pressed together, moving in sync with the music. But the longer I watched, the more off it felt. Their movements weren't natural; they were too in sync, like marionettes on invisible strings, shifting and swaying with surgical precision. The beat would change, an extra drum hit stuttering in the music, and every single body would adjust at the same time, like a school of fish turning in perfect unison. No one was off-rhythm. No one moved with the slight hesitation or chaotic energy that real people did.
Even their expressions were wrong. Too serene, too lost in the sound. It wasn't the usual dazed euphoria of a club scene—it was blank, like they weren't really here. Their eyes gleamed strangely under the neon glow, unfocused, as if they were caught in something deeper than the music.
A girl twirled past me, her arms raised, fingers twitching in time with the flickering strobe light. For a split second, the flash of white light illuminated her face, and my stomach turned.
Her pupils were blown wide—so wide they swallowed almost all of the color from her irises—but there was something else, too. A flicker, a shimmer of something unnatural curling in her gaze. As she twirled away, I noticed a figure standing behind her.
Unfortunately, I recognized him instantly. It was the guy from the Lotus Casino—Lamontas.
He was waiting for me, dressed in a pair of designer pants, a white shirt, and Gucci flats. His right hand was wrapped around a bottle of amber liquid. The white shirt had a myriad of stains on it, like an amateur artist's collage that had been rooted out of a trash can. "Percy! You made it!"
"Lamontas," I greeted. He dapped me up and pulled me in. I wrinkled my nose—he smelled like he took a shower with alcohol. "I should've guessed you were involved with this."
"Oh, come on, man! Don't be such a gloomy goose," Lamontas groaned, smacking his forehead. He began walking away and gestured for me to follow. "Let's go to the VIP area. I need a drink."
"You smell like you've had enough."
"I've been here for three days, gloomy goose."
"Three days? How the hell are you still on your feet?"
"Don't worry about it," Lamontas grinned. "Now come on! VIP!"
The VIP area was tucked away behind a sleek glass partition, dimly lit and somehow worlds apart from the chaos of the main floor. The bass from the club thumped faintly in the background, muffled by the soundproofing and the gentle hum of conversation.
A long marble bar stretched along one side of the room, its surface glowing softly under the warm light of golden sconces. Behind it, rows of expensive bottles lined illuminated shelves, their labels reflecting like liquid gold. Plush leather booths curved along the walls, each one cocooned in soft cushions and framed by curtains that could be drawn for privacy. A low-hanging chandelier dripped crystal droplets, casting dappled light across the room like stars scattered over polished wood floors.
Servers in tailored outfits glided between tables, balancing trays of cocktails and finger foods. One offered me a drink the second I walked in, but I declined.
I couldn't believe how different it was. It was like the original architect for the club got canned halfway through the design process and they brought another one in from a fancier town and told him to go ham.
I leaned against the marble bar, letting my eyes drift across the VIP area. [Observe] popped up, throwing stanzas of text into the world.
I spotted a tall man draped in a shimmering green blazer, the air around him carrying the faint scent of salt and seaweed. Glaucus, a minor sea god, technically one of my dad's, though we'd never talked. I'd seen him at a few of the fancier events at Atlantis, but he usually kept to himself. He sat languidly in one of the booths, listening to a conversation with the kind of half-interested gaze of someone who already knew how the story ended. One of his hands was wrapped around a phone, while the other was not-so-discreetly grabbing the thigh of a woman I couldn't see.
At another table, a woman swirled a glass of honey-colored liquid, her bronze skin glowing faintly under the golden sconces. The game identified her for me—Eirene, the goddess of peace. She watched the room with an unreadable expression, her fingers tapping the stem of her glass in perfect rhythm with the beat of the club outside. But the longer I looked, the more I realized—it wasn't the casual, idle tapping of someone lost in thought.
It was measured. Intentional.
Like she was counting down.
And there were more.
Melinoë was across the bar, her pale, flickering presence casting shadows that didn't quite match the light as she sipped on a large glass of red wine and played a round of cards with some shadow people. Morpheus was posted up near the bathrooms, looking far too entertained as he murmured something to a drowsy-looking satyr slumped against a table. He saw me looking and winked.
The more I glanced around the room, the more I caught glimpses of deities whose names I barely remembered, minor powers who rarely showed up outside of their domains.
That was the weird part.
Minor gods weren't exactly common in places like this. Sure, they got out, but they usually kept to their own circles, tucked away in corners of the world where their influence remained strongest. They didn't just gather in one place like this—not unless there was something drawing them in.
Or someone.
I shifted, my fingers curling against the cool marble of the bar. Outside, the line to get in had been long, filled with mortals and bigwigs from Greek mythology. But in here? The balance was different. It wasn't just a club for mortals looking for a good time.
It was a gathering place. A stage.
I heard it again.
The hum.
Low and insistent, meandering at the edges of my senses, just beneath the threshold of sound. It slithered through the air, vibrating through the marble bar beneath my fingertips, threading through the bass like a second, hidden melody.
It wasn't coming from the speakers. It wasn't part of the music.
It was older.
The hairs on my arms rose as the sound wrapped around me, not loud, but felt, like a whisper against my bones. It had the same pull as before, the same unsettling way it wanted to be noticed without giving away its source.
Lamontas broke my concentration as he grabbed two glasses and poured some liquid into them. "Dude, I know you're like, pissed and shit, but I'm such a fan. I gotta tell you. Such a fan."
I eyed the liquid. "I appreciate that, man, really, I do."
"Come on," He nudged the glass toward me, his golden nails glinting against the edge like a pair of drachma. "It's Glen McKenna. Aged a hundred years in the Acheron. You can literally taste the despair. This bottle is probably worth more than everyone on this floor combined. Some of the cats out there would stab the person next to them in line for a chance to just sniff some shit like this."
I begrudgingly took a sip. It was sharp and oaky, and to Lamanotas' credit, I did feel a sense of dread spike through my nervous system. Though to be fair, that could've also been from the dozens of minor gods in here.
"Ah," Lamontas smacked his lips. He looked surprisingly coherent for someone who smelled like the floor at a frat party. "Good shit. Man. Whoo! Now, I'm sure you've got questions for me."
"You're not strong enough to defeat Artemis," I said bluntly, placing the arrowhead on the bar.
"Yeah no shit," Lamontas looked at the arrowhead. His eyes, like glossy beetles, disappeared behind his hair as he leaned back and drank some more alcohol. A wet cough ricocheted out of his mouth, "Had some—urk—help."
"From who?"
"Come on, dog. You know I can't say."
"Can't or won't?"
"Both?"
"I don't think this conversation is going anywhere," I rubbed my forehead. "Look, you seem like a nice enough guy—outside of the kidnapping and whatever other plots you're involved in—so I'm not going to be a dick about this. Thanks for the drink, but I need to get going."
"Whoa, settle down, Speed Racer. I brought you here for a reason," Lamontas held up his hands. The space between his eyebrows crinkled, and his sleeves rolled up, showcasing a sleeve of tattoos. My eyes hinged on a crescent moon inked on his wrist. "And it wasn't just to hang out. I mean, yeah, that was a part of it, but still. I want to hire you."
"Hire me?" I repeated. "Look, I'm very flattered, but I don't do birthday parties."
Lamontas snorted. "Not that kind of hire—though I do like the idea, we should talk about it later. I mean for my little group."
"Which is…"
"The Coven of Shadows. And before you say it, I'm not huge on the name, either. Hecate came up with it, and she's one of the top dogs, so…"
I remembered that name from when I pretended to be Jasper. "I'll bite. What's the gig?"
Jasper slowly rotated his glass. The alcohol bubbled, and tiny skulls floated out of the glass, screaming for help. They faded into the air in front of me. "I know you don't hold much love for the gods besides a few. And, well, I know you don't love the Titans, either. I get that, man, I really do. And, despite my appearance, I've lived it, too. I've been there. I've seen it firsthand. And, the truth is, neither side is good. They objectify and use us mortals, they just do it in different ways—but you already know that. I'm not telling you anything you haven't heard already. Right?"
I didn't bother answering. I just swirled the glass and watched as more skulls screamed at me.
Lamontas took it in stride, "That's where we come in. We operate outside of both of those crowds. We're, like, an independent mercenary group. People come to us with assignments, and, if the coin's good enough, we show up and handle shit. A guy like you, you're capable. Strong. There's a lot of money to be made."
The chair squeaked as I leaned against the bar. Glaucus shot me a perturbed look from across the room, like he'd just realized who I was. "What's in it for you?"
"Like I said, I'm a fan. You've got style."
"The job doesn't sound like a modeling gig."
"You're the perfect candidate," Lamontas smiled. He smacked his lips. "I mean, shit, man. We met at the wedding, but we've been keeping tabs on you since way before that—and we're not the only ones. And, 'cause we're boys, I'm going to be honest with you. Right now, we're pretty damn limited by the skillset of our members. The mortal ones, anyway. If you joined, we could pull off shit we could only dream about before."
"Somehow I doubt people would be comfortable with Olympus' golden boy joining the fray."
"We're professionals. And, well, we use codenames. The mortals do, anyway. No one knows who anyone is."
"Codenames? Don't make me laugh. You want me to go around fighting stuff while you're in my ear like a spy movie, calling me Agent Purple, or something?"
"Please, they're not that bad," Lamontas chuckled. "Mine is Olisthērós."
"Slippery," I translated. I exhaled and scratched my forehead. "What about the Titans? You're working for them right now. You really think they'd let me do stuff for them?"
"Let me worry about that part."
Threads began weaving together in my head. If a group like his really had been operating under the radar for this long, that meant they had access to things—things the Olympians never bothered to mention, or maybe even things they didn't know about. Plus, through Lamontas' own admission, they had a direct line of communication with the Titans. I could use that to listen in on Titan operations, maybe even use it to intercept messages or get access to plans before they were carried out.
Information like that could be gold in the right hands—especially mine. Now since Luke's getting frozen out of some communication, it might be beneficial for one of us to get a different ticket in.
This could be mine.
I glanced at Lamontas, who was waiting patiently, almost like he could see the gears grinding in my head. If I played this right, it could be my way into enemy territory without anyone realizing it. With the Titans plotting in secret and monsters constantly pouring out of every crack in the earth, someone had to know what they were up to before it was too late. I leaned back a little and watched the candelight flash across the bar. Joining them would mean navigating a lot of gray areas. I wasn't blind to that. There was a good chance I'd be walking into moral minefields, forced to work with people who didn't exactly see the gods—or me—as allies.
But I couldn't deny the upside.
"I'll hear you out, at least," I settled on.
"Score!" The grin on Lamontas' face was almost blinding.
"On one condition," I said. Eirene's finger stopped tapping. "The Ophiotaurus."
His smile faltered for just a second—so brief that most people wouldn't have noticed. But I saw it. His eyes narrowed, the playful gleam dulling into something sharper, more calculating. He leaned forward across the table, resting his elbows on it, fingers resting against the marble.
"Ah, fuck, man. You don't know what you're asking for," he said, his voice dropping a few degrees.
"I know exactly what I'm asking for," I replied, holding his gaze. "It's a game-changer. You think I don't know that? I want it for myself."
"Careful, Jackson. Confidence is good. Overconfidence?" He shook his head, clicking his tongue
I could feel the shift in the room. Conversations were still happening at the surrounding tables, but I could tell some people weren't talking anymore. Shadows moved in the dim lighting, just enough to make me wonder if someone nearby had their eyes locked on me.
I leaned forward in my seat, fingers casually resting near Artemis' dagger, "You're threatening me? What happened to all the glaze you were heaping on me two seconds ago?"
Lamontas's grin returned, but it was colder this time. "No threats. I'm just making sure you know the rules. You're not on the mortal streets anymore, compadre. You can't walk around saying shit you can't back up."
I glanced around, subtly scanning the room without turning my head. A couple of guys at the bar had stopped laughing and were leaning on their elbows, their postures relaxed but their eyes sharp. Another pair was playing darts nearby, but their attention kept flicking toward me, their hands suspiciously close to their pockets.
"Who says I'm not ready to back it up?" I asked, my tone cool. I decided to call his bluff. "Let's call it what it is. You didn't bring me here for no reason, right? Let me throw a guess out there. You don't have control over the Ophiotaurus—I've seen it before. I know it's attracted to power. You don't have enough of that to keep it happy, do you?"
Lamontas's fingers stilled. The smile was gone now, replaced by something darker—anger, maybe, or something worse. "You're playing a dangerous game, kid."
"This doesn't have to be dangerous, man. We're at a bar. We could sing some karaoke or have a dance-off for it," I shrugged. "I'm not asking for the whole thing to be handed to me on a silver platter, Lamontas. I'm offering a deal. You want me on your side, fine. But I'm not just going to be some pawn in your grand scheme. The Ophiotaurus comes with me, or this conversation ends now."
Lamontas stared at me for a long moment, the tension between us thick enough to cut with a knife. Then, slowly, he leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the table.
He laughed, loud and abrupt, before standing and pushing his chair back. "I like you, Percy. You've got fire. But be careful how you use it. Fire burns just as easily as it protects."
"Not for me," I smiled.
CLANG!
Artemis' dagger flashed up and deflected the edge of a sword that came out of nowhere. I couldn't see where it was coming from, since my eyes were still locked on Lamontas, but I could feel someone straining behind me.
"You probably shouldn't have done that." I pushed out of the chair and threw a kick backward. My shoe connected with something solid, and I felt someone groan in pain.
I slammed a napkin holder into the air and blasted it with a zap of electricity that caused all the napkins to flutter out like a swarm of butterflies. I whipped back around to Lamontas and flung Artemis' Dagger like a throwing knife. His hand snapped up, superhumanly fast, but the dagger phased through his hand and embedded into his shoulder with a thunk that caused him to howl.
The napkins fanned out around me, and I spun around in my chair, scanning to see how many people were coming. I saw three. Spinning back to the bar, I stopped my momentum by grabbing the marble and reached over for the bottle of alcohol. My fingers wrapped around the base and I heaved it, slamming it over Lamontas' head, shattering the glass on his face, and digging my fingers into the liquid.
I felt a tugging sensation in my gut, and the alcohol floated in the air behind me. I turned back to the guy who attacked me and ducked under his punch.
I grabbed his neck and slammed his face into the bar hard enough to cause a geyser of blood to explode out of his nose, and I showered his neck with a vat of alcohol that instantly hardened, freezing him to the bar.
Two more people ran at me and I pointed at the dude leaning against the bar. He sobbed as more blood funneled out of his nose and pooled at their feet, freezing over their shoes and pinning them in place.
I flung the rest of the Glen McKenna at them and swiped my hand, swathes of fire flickering on my fingertips.
The humming noise from before roared to life.
It wasn't just a whisper now, or some vibration threading beneath the music. It exploded in my skull, an all-consuming, deafening frequency that made my teeth ache and my vision blur at the edges.
The entire club seemed to shake with it, the walls thrumming like they were about to crack under its weight.
It drowned out the music, the shouts, the crackle of fire at my fingertips. It was everywhere, pressing against my ribs, rattling in my chest, building to a crescendo that felt like it was about to split the world in half.
Then I let the fire go.
A flash of heat blasted upward, and for a second, the floor erupted, flames swallowing everything in a wave of orange, red, and blue. The alcohol ignited with a sharp pop, sending a wall of fire licking toward the ceiling. Sparks danced through the air like fireflies back at camp, their light momentarily overtaking the pulsing neon from the doorway.
And still, the hum climbed, pitch rising higher, impossibly high, until it wasn't sound anymore but something felt, something that twisted deep in my bones—
"Stop this madness at once!" A voice shrieked. A plume of green mist exploded around me like a smoke bomb.
Something tugged my navel, and when the smoke cleared, I was spinning on the other side of the bar, the stool squeaking underneath my weight. My firebomb winked out instantly.
Lamontas, holding his bleeding shoulder, was teleported in the middle of Hemera's bachelorette party with a pink party hat fastened around his head and a silky sash that read: ASK ME ABOUT MY YEAST INFECTION!
The ladies yelped as he climbed to the table, stumbling over the two-tier cake and accidentally stepping onto the groom's face, which was plastered all over it in frosting. He bared his teeth and grunted, "The fuck is going on?"
I glanced at the person who had interrupted our fight.
At first, I thought she was just another random person at the bar. She looked like she was a bit on the older side—her raven-colored hair was streaked with gray, and her eyes had the faintest sign of crow's feet splintering out from the edges.
"This wasn't part of the deal," The woman said, shoving her glowing hands into the pocket of an aged leather jacket splotched with patina. "You said you were going to have a business meeting here, not interrupt everyone's nights."
Power flooded through my veins and gathered around my eyes. I activated [Observe] and stared at the woman.
— - —
{Terpsikhore}
[Muse]
[LVL]: 200
[HP]: 400,000/400,000
[SP]: INF/INF
[MP]: INF/INF
[FEALTY]: ?
[STR]: 120
[VIT]: 200
[DEX]: 100
[INT]: 700
[CHA]: 1900
[WIS]: N/A
[LUC]: N/A
[…] Terpsikhore is an interesting one. She's not around on Olympus much unless she's doing one of those charity gala things. She plays it fast and loose in the real world, though. Her club is awesome. I once hooked up with Ariadne in a bathroom there. […]
[…] The Muses are not to be underestimated, Son. While they are not strong, they give inspiration, artistry, knowledge, and music to the world. They're very important in their own right. […]
[…] Ah, Terpy! She's one of the nine Mousai. My son, Cupid, had quite the attraction to her when he was younger. I'm glad he grew out of it. She's very pretty, and her name means "Delighting in Dance." [...]
{Titles}
[Muse]
- This title allows the user to liquidate their stats and transform into sound waves.
— - —
"It was supposed to be a business meeting," Lamontas spat, groaning as more blood spilled out of his shoulder. Moonlight gathered in his wound like a dollop of whipped cream. "But Percy here wanted to set the bar on fucking fire!"
"I've done nothing of the sort," I returned evenly, leaning against the bar table. I pointed at the crying guy on the table, and his friends, who were covered in soot. "I actually said we could solve our dispute in other ways. Lamontas took offense to my idea of a dance battle and forced me to break a particularly expensive bottle of alcohol when his goons hassled me!"
"My hundred-year-old Glen McKenna!" Terpsikhore screeched. Her nostrils flared, and she pointed her hand at Lamontas. Green smoke swirled around him, and he raised his hands.
POOF!
In his place was a bunny with blood-red eyes. I started laughing, and Terpsikhore wheeled on me. "What? He's better this way!"
Terpsikhore crossed her arms, "I've been a hospitable enough host, but I think it's time for you to leave. Demigods are not permitted entry, you know. I got into quite some hot water when Morpheus—well, I suppose there's no need to discuss specifics."
"Well, first of all, Morpheus is right there," I pointed to the god. Terpsikhore's nostrils flared, and he yelped as he disappeared in a plume of green smoke. Hemera's cake wilted even more, and she let out a wail. "And second of all, I didn't come here to party, I just got invited via our rabbit friend. I just want the Ophiotaurus, which was rightfully under my protection before it was stolen. And maybe a Shirley Temple. It's been a long drive."
A glass flew off the shelf and settled next to me, green sparks dancing along the edge. It wobbled for a second, then stilled. The air around it shimmered, and a stream of liquid—dark red, like cherries in the heart of summer—poured from an unseen source, swirling into the glass.
Bubbles fizzed and popped at the surface, and the faint scent of grenadine and lemon tickled my nose. It was unmistakable. A perfect Shirley Temple, the kind I used to get at diners when I was a kid, down to the cherry resting at the bottom, like some forgotten treasure.
I took a sip. Perfect.
Terpsikhore crossed her arms, "You said your original proposition was a dance-off?"
"Yes!"
"Okay, then," Terpsikhore smirked. "That's what we'll do."
"Really?" I asked, sipping the Shirley Temple. "A dance-off? Seems kind of anti-climactic, don't you think?"
Terpsikhore glowered.
"I mean—yes! Woohoo! Dance-off!"
[AN]
Hey everyone, how's it going?
[Chapter Stuff]: This chapter is a bit of a return to form, and kind of an 'ease-in' chapter since I recognize that it's been some time and people likely need to remember exactly what's going on. In case you don't, Piper received a prophecy about helping Artemis, and, given the contents of the prophecy, Percy is worried for her safety and is trying to nail down what happened to Artemis before linking back with the quest group. Clearly, something is amiss, and he wants to see if he can figure out what before trying to free Artemis.
[The Rewrite]: Sorry about all the confusion with the rewrite. A few of the chapters still are not syncing correctly. I've reached out to FF support, so all we can do is wait. We're good on A03, though. If you didn't know, I redid all the chapters, though, the most changes are in the first 30. I basically cleaned up all the grammar and fixed a LOT of plot holes, just to help make the story flow a little better and be a bit tighter from a narrative perspective. I also added a couple of new scenes involving Aphrodite, Luke, and Delta. Just some stuff to help sell and reinforce their personalities, which I admittedly did not do that great of a job with the first time around. It doesn't change anything at this point in the story, it's more of a thing at the start, so don't feel like you have to go back and read, but if you want a quick summary of the changes, I included a patch notes channel on my server. Join up and I will direct you to it, just take the spaces out of this: Linktr . ee /maroooon
[New Cover]: My friend Pin made a new cover for this story! It's super sick, and I love it, so a huge shout-out to him. He and Manke (along with some others) are doing a really cool project called DCAFF so I urge you to join up and ask about it if you're a fan of DC comics. I've updated it here, so you should see it in the story soon.
[The Future]: It was an effort to get everything up and in here and A03, but now since that's done, I think it'll be smooth sailing from now until the end. As always, let me know if you have questions, and cut a brother some slack, eh? Kidding, stay on my ass, and we'll fly through this.
As always, thank you,
- Maroon