Chapter Text
“ANNABETH!” I screamed, and the world blurred around me.
Her body hit the ground as I dropped to my knees beside her, fumbling with her in my arms. Blood slicked my hands, warm and sticky, and my stomach twisted like ocean waves in a storm. I could barely breathe. She was trembling, her chest rising and falling too fast, too shallow.
In a flash I understood what had happened. He’d been trying to stab me. Judging from the position of his blade, he would’ve taken me—maybe by sheer luck—in the small of my back, my only weak point.
Annabeth had intercepted the knife with her own body.
But why? She didn’t know about my weak spot. No one did.
“No… stay with me,” I kept saying, over and over. My hands pressed against her side to stem the flow of blood. I could feel my lip trembling but I couldn’t stop it. I knew I needed to be strong for her, to be brave for her but I was full of so much panic. “Please. Don’t do this. Don’t leave me.”
Her grey eyes opened slowly, and she tried to smile, but it was weak, and it broke something inside me. I felt the world collapse. Monsters crashed around us, the storm screaming, lightning splitting the sky, but none of it mattered. None of it mattered except her. I felt Kronos’s army trying to push through the front lines, felt their triumphant joy at Annabeth’s wound. They felt like they won. I couldn’t allow that.
“GET BACK!” I slashed the air in a wide arc, driving the rest of the demigods and monsters alike away from Annabeth. “No one touches her!”
“Interesting,” Kronos said.
He towered above me on his skeletal horse, his scythe in one hand.
“Bravely fought, Percy Jackson,” he said. “But it’s time to surrender . . . or the girl dies.” Luke’s twisted face, his face but not– pinched into a pitying smile. “Well, she is already dying.”
“Per-Percy don’t,” Annabeth whispered, her fingers tightening in my shirt. “I… I-I’m…”
“Shh, Annabeth, it’s okay,” I told her, though my voice broke. “Save your strength. I’ll get you out of here. I swear to every God and Goddess, I won’t let them take you.” I wiped the tears that ran down her face, mixing with the dark red streaking her cheeks. Rage coiled in my chest like a living thing.
“Blackjack!” I yelled.
Blackjack swooped down, clamping his teeth on the straps of Annabeth’s armor. “Go!” I shouted, my voice cracking.
Kronos snarled. “Some day soon, I am going to make pegasus soup. But in the meantime…” He dismounted, scythe slicing the air, “I’ll settle for another dead demigod.”
I met his first strike with Riptide. The clash rattled the bridge beneath us; sparks flew, and the air smelled of ozone and metal. Kronos’ strength pressed against me like a tide, but I held my ground. The curse of Achilles burned in my bones, keeping me alive where others would have fallen, and I could feel it in Kronos, too—his blows landing hard but never fatal.
We moved like lightning and storm. Strike, parry, block. My sword sang through the air, his scythe a spinning blur. Every strike he made, I countered; every counter, he met with lethal precision. The bridge cracked beneath our weight, chunks of stone toppling into the river, the currents churning angrily around us.
I swung low; he spun, cutting a gash across my armor, sparks flying. Pain erupted, sharp and sweet, and I realized I could feel it but not let it stop me. His eyes flickered gold, then blue—Luke. Luke was still there, trapped in that monster, clawing at him from within.
Above the chaos, I heard it: Michael Yew’s voice, straining as he pressed herbs and magic to Annabeth’s wound. “Percy… she’s… she’s losing too much!” His cry pierced through my concentration, and my heart stopped mid-beat. I felt the world shrink to a single point—the small, trembling form of Annabeth lying there, bleeding out despite every ounce of skill and care Apollo had blessed his son with.
Rage erupted like fire. I saw red. The river swelled with it, the wind screaming in my ears. Kronos’ scythe came down, and I met it head-on, slashing through the shaft like it was butter, my hands shaking, my soul screaming with fury. Kronos staggered back.
“ANNABETH!” I roared, and the sound tore through the battlefield. Monsters froze mid-leap, their claws scraping stone as terror spread like wildfire. Kronos’ form wavered, Luke screaming inside him, but I didn’t care. Nothing mattered except her.
I raced to her, Riptide held loosely at my side. Michael stepped back, powerless, his face white. “Percy… she—”
“She’s going to be fine,” I said, though the words tasted like ash. Dropping to my knees beside her frail form.
She looked up at me, her hand trembling against my cheek. “I… I love you,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m… sorry… we ran out of time…”
Her wrist fell from my face. Her eyes closed.
The rivers exploded around me. Waves surged, crashing against the streets and monsters alike. My scream tore through the sky as I lost all sense of control. Fury, grief, despair—all combined into a tidal wave that bent the battlefield to my will. Monsters cowered, getting lost beneath the waves. Kronos froze, Luke still trapped within, staring at me with disbelief.
I stood over her, the world burning and raining, my sanity slipping like water through my fingers. Nothing and no one could stop me. Nothing could undo what had been done… but everything in the world would pay for it. The Gods of Olympus would soon find out that I, like my father– am made of oceans and hurricanes. No one would be safe.
****
“Lord Zeus!” Hermes swooped toward his father, twisting through the chaos of Typhon’s rampage with impossible speed.
“A little busy at the moment, son!” Zeus bellowed, hurling a bolt of lightning that split the sky, striking Typhon’s massive form. The giant roared, impervious to the gods’ repeated assaults, a living force of destruction.
Hermes trembled. “I’m sorry, my lord… but this cannot wait.” His voice cracked, and Zeus felt the raw, urgent fear in his godly son’s words. Something was very, very wrong.
“REGROUP, OLYMPIANS!” Zeus thundered, signaling a temporary withdrawal from Typhon. Even the mightiest needed a moment to breathe. He wiped golden ichor from his brow, smears glinting across his face as he scanned the gods and goddesses rallying around him.
Battle-worn, Ares scowled, itching to leap back in. Hera, Demeter, Dionysus, and Hephaestus circled Hermes, their curiosity tempered by tension. Hermes’ eyes found Athena’s, and he paused. Her face was ashen, eyes flickering with sorrow and anger—a silent acknowledgment of the doom he carried.
Apollo clutched at his chest, wincing. “Man… my children are draining my blessings faster than usual today,” he muttered, his form flickering in the storm-light.
“They are trying to save Olympus while we fight this monster,” Artemis said sharply, counting her arrows with meticulous hands. “They are helping.”
“Yes, I know,” he said. “But if even I am feeling it, the danger must be unimaginable.”
Zeus’ patience thinned. “Then speak, Hermes! Tell us now—I want back in the fight!”
Hermes’ throat tightened. He drew in a shaky breath, meeting Athena’s gaze. She gave a slight nod, allowing him to give the lifechanging news.
“Annabeth Chase… is dead.”
Silence fell like a hammer. Athena’s single, shuddering sob broke the air. Aphrodite clung to Ares’ shoulder, weeping openly. Hera’s quiet shock spoke volumes. Annabeth Chase… dead? Impossible.
“What of Perseus Jackson?” someone asked, voice trembling.
Hermes quivered. “That’s the problem. Percy Jackson has lost the one who anchored him, the one who kept him grounded, who kept him… moral.”
A chill washed through Olympus. Zeus’ thunder froze mid-strike. Ares’ fists clenched like iron traps. Even Apollo’s bright form flickered.
Hermes’ voice dropped lower, every word slicing the air. “Percy Jackson will end Olympus as we know it.”
The gods gasped. Aphrodite’s cry caught in her throat. Athena’s grey eyes darkened to storms themselves, tears shining like molten silver. Every Olympian felt it—the sense of a world tilting toward ruin.
And far above, Typhon’s roar faded into the distance, as if even the monster could sense the gravity of the moment. Olympus itself seemed to hold its breath.
A heartbeat passed. Then another.
The warning hung there, unshakable, undeniable: Percy Jackson was no longer a hero. He was a force the world might not survive.