The War God's Gambit

Chapter 19: The War God's Gambit

The second the green light disappeared, the ocean breeze slapped Percy in the face. 

He gasped, lungs tightened, as his back hit the soft sand. The salt hung in the air, pungent and refreshing. It smelled like freedom. 

And something in him exhaled—for a moment at least. He blinked up at the painfully blue sky, the brightness almost blinding after the dark of the underworld. He still had Grover's arm and Annabeth's wrist in his hands, like they would be pulled back in if he let go. They had made it back. 

Somehow. 

 Annabeth groaned next to him, turning her head. Grover wheezed, coughed out some sand. "We're back," Annabeth said like she didn't believe it. 

 "Holy crap. We're back." Percy took a moment to answer. 

His mind was tangled back in the underworld—in what Hades had said. 

He had called him brother. 

And the word rolled in his head loud and pervasive. 

He wasn't sure exactly what it meant, but it chilled him worse than the Styx did. But he swallowed it down deep and locked it away. 

No one could know. Not yet.

He lifted himself to a seated position, his backpack weighing heavily on his shoulders. It was still there, still vibrating with something primal and furious. 

Zeus's master bolt. 

Grover looked up with wide eyes. "What now?" Percy coughed; the skyline was unfolding before them. 

Columns of smoke were rising up from downtown L.A. The ground was still quaking below them, barely. Sirens screamed from a distance. "He wasn't bluffing," Annabeth said, reading his face. "No, he wasn't," Percy muttered. But he didn't say the parts he had kept to himself. The parts Hades had whispered to him before they vanished from his throne room. He looked over at the other two instead. Grover was still a little shaky. Annabeth's lips were pale. 

They were tired. They were wounded. 

He couldn't dangerously scare them more than he already had. "We need to get to Olympus," he said. "Before sunset?" 

Annabeth said slowly as she brushed herself off and stood up. "Which is..." she stopped. 

Then they heard the deep loud growl that cut through the sounds of the waves. The ground shook again, this time from something mechanical. A motorcycle engine. A black Harley that roared towards them across the sand and sand went flying, kicking up like a mini sandstorm. The engine idled a few yards from them like a beast.

Ares. 

He looked like a rock concert and a bar fight had a son.

"Well, well," the god said with a smirk. "Look who didn't become a pile of bones." Percy didn't do anything. His hand hovered near his pocket, fingering Riptide in pen form. 

"You're late," Ares said, coming closer. He glanced at the backpack. "Give it to me." 

"You put it there, didn't you?" said Percy, trying to keep his voice level. 

"The bolt." 

Ares's smile broadened. "It took you long enough to figure it out."

Grover looked like he had been hit in the face. "You—you tricked us." 

Ares just smiled, thrumming closer to them, the sea breeze catching the frayed edges of his black leather jacket. "Well now, I didn't personally swipe them. Gods stealing each other's symbols of power is a big no-no. But you're not the only hero who can run errands for the gods." 

Percy narrowed his eyes. "Who did you use? Clarisse? She was there at the winter solstice." 

Ares's smile widened as if he was enjoying a private joke.

"Doesn't matter. What I mean, kid, is that you're holding up the war effort. You have to die in the Underworld, see? Old Seaweed will then be mad at Hades for killing you, and Corpse Breath will have the master bolt from Zeus, hence Zeus will be mad at him. And Hades is still looking for this..."

Ares pulled a simple ski cap, like the kind bank robbers wore, out of his pocket. As soon as he dropped it between the handlebars of his bike, it lit up and turned into a shadowy, bronze helmet befitting a king.

"The Helm of Darkness," Grover said, taking a half step back.

"Exactly," Ares said. "Now what was I saying? Oh yes, Hades"ll be mad at both Zeus and Poseidon, because he has no idea who took this. We'll have a great little three-way slugfest going soon."

"But they're your own family!" Annabeth objected, her voice tight with disbelief.

Ares shrugged. "Best kind of war. Always the bloodiest. There is nothing like a war between your own relatives, I always say."

Percy's mind was already racing far ahead in the conversation.

He was untroubled and still, watching the fissures in Ares's confidence. The god was talking too much—classic avoidance. And the way his eyes moved... Percy felt it. Ares was not working alone—something older and darker was pulling the strings. The thought made Percy's hold on Riptide tighter.

"You gave me the backpack in Denver," Percy said coolly. 

"The master bolt was in there the whole time."

Ares laughed. "Yes and no. It's probably too big of a concept for your little mortal brain to grasp, but the backpack is a sheath for the master bolt—it's just transformed a bit. The bolt is attached like your sword. It always returns to your pocket, right?"

Percy's expression never changed, but the mention of Riptide shifted something in his chest. A god, who made it his thing to know about weapons, would be dangerous—but not threatening enough.

"Anyway," Ares continued, "I messed with the magic a little. The bolt would only reappear in the sheath when you were dead in the underworld. You walk close to Hades… bam, you have mail. Even if you died on the way, no loss for me. I still had the weapon."

Percy twisted his lip just enough to be angry. "But why not just keep the master bolt for yourself?" he said. "Why send it to Hades?"

A muscle in Ares's jaw twitched. The bravado broke away. For just a moment he went unfocused, as though he was hearing a voice no one else could. Percy narrowed his eyes. There. Yes. The god was being controlled. Not directly. I was just influenced. 

Pushed.

"Why didn't I … yeah … with that kind of firepower …" Ares muttered to himself. 

He let the trance go just a second too long.

Annabeth moved closer to Percy. "What's wrong with him?" she whispered.

Percy didn't answer. He already knew.

Ares's face cleared. "I didn't want the trouble. Better to have you caught redhanded, holding the thing."

"You're lying," Percy spoke flatly.

Smoke coiled up from Ares' glasses.

"You didn't carry out the theft," Percy resumed, unwilling to lose the moment. "Someone sent a hero to steal the two items. Then Zeus sent you to hunt the thief down. You found him. But for whatever reason you didn't turn him in, you stood aside and let him go. You kept the items until another hero came by to make the delivery, then gave him the items." 

He took a few steps forward. 

"You followed someone's orders." 

Ares blew up. "I am the god of war! I take orders from no one! I don't have dreams!" 

Percy's lips creased into a little smirk. "Who said anything about dreams? " Ares looked like he was about to rip his helmet off. For a moment, Percy thought the god was about to attack him right there.

Instead, Ares drew a breath and smoothed out his jacket. 

"Let's get back to the problem at hand, kid. You're alive. I can't have you taking that bolt to Olympus. You just might get those hard-headed idiots to listen to you. So I've got to kill you. Nothing personal."

He snapped his fingers.

The sand in front of him erupted in an ear-piercing roar. A creature burst through the dust cloud: a wild boar- more massive than any monster he had seen at Camp Half-Blood. Its eyes burned with hatred. The tusks glinted like sabres in the moonlight.

The animal churned the sand and snorted everywhere, head down.

Percy didn't twitch.

He allowed his body to tense—not from fear, but from readiness. His instinct screamed at him to strike. To tear time like a wound and cause his opponent's heart to stop beating, frozen in that instant. He could have done it without moving. Without even breathing.

But that wasn't the point.

He had to do this carefully. Make it look hard. Make it look like luck.

Because this war was just beginning—and no one needed to know who he was. For now.

Percy tightened his grip on Riptide, resolved to keep a flat expression. Calm. 

Like any dumb kid who barely held on.

Every part of him wanted to bury his blade in the god's chest.

He raised Riptide. 

Let the show begin. 

"I'm pissed," Percy said, slowly. "Extremely pissed."

"Good," Ares said, cracking his neck. "Then let's dance." 

The air heated up like a furnace. Ares drew his sword, massive and glowing with divine fire. The sand around his boots blackened. The wind kicked up. 

Grover backed away. "Uh, Percy?" 

"I got it," Percy said quickly. "Just... stay back." 

"Percy," Annabeth said. "Wear this. For luck." 

She took off her necklace, with her five years' worth of camp beads and the ring from her father, and tied it around my neck. "Reconciliation," she said. "Athena and Poseidon together."

Percy flashed her a smile. "Thanks." 

"And take this," Grover said. He handed me a flattened tin can that he'd probably been saving in his pocket for a thousand miles. "The satyrs stand behind you." 

"Thank you Grover." 

He patted Percy on the shoulder. Percy stuffed the tin can in his back pocket. 

He drew Riptide and tried not to show how fast his pulse was thumping. He tried to not show how easy it would be to end this fight right now- how much his blood burned with something old and monstrous that wanted to be let out.

 But no. 

Not here. Not yet. 

He had to lose or win barely.

Because the gods were watching. 

Ares didn't wait.

With a roar like a cannon fire, he charged, sword trailing sparks behind him during the dramatic slashes he made through the air. Percy barely brought Riptide up in time, their blades crashing together with a sound like thunder. The impact sent him stumbling backwards again, into the dark sand. 

"First lesson, punk," Ares growled while circling him. "Never bring a toothpick to a godfight."

Percy gritted his teeth and lunged at Ares again. Steel met steel, and the two locked in a stalemate for a moment. For the briefest of moments, it looked as though Percy was holding his own. But the strength behind Ares's strikes was supernatural. Each time Percy blocked was like trying to stop a wrecking ball with a broomstick.

He had to flinch. To stop fighting. Just a little. If he didn't make it look too easy, Ares would start to ask him questions.

His instincts yelled at him to stop pretending. To pause time itself, twist the sand beneath Ares's feet, freeze the god in a moment of weakness, and drive his blade straight through his heart. It would be that simple.

One thought.

One breath.

But, no. Not here. Not now. Not in front of Annabeth, where the gods could see.

He ducked a brutal swing, rolling sand on his arm again while he narrowly avoided an even bigger strike.

"Move, Jackson!" Ares shouted, laughing. "You're fighting like a mortal!" 

Exactly the point.

Percy allowed the god to believe he had the upper hand. Let him believe the fear in Percy's eyes was authentic. In reality, he was plotting every angle, memorizing the speed Ares was striking, stacking openings like coins in a vault. Ares struck again, starting high then low, making a left feint before twisting to the right. 

Percy blocked the first time, and blocked the second time too, before finally letting Ares work him to a third hit that knocked him off balance. Percy crashed to the sand, coughing and stretching a grimace across his face. Not pain, only enough weakness.

He could see Annabeth tense in his peripheral like she was about to move in. Grover made a bleating sound that even he wasn't able to understand.

"Come on, boy. I thought you wanted a fight," Ares laughed.

Percy used the momentum of the fall to spring to his feet as the next blow came. The power rattled his bones. Even so, he could see sparks fall.

He could end this.

Just reach forward. Stop the seconds between heartbeats. Shatter Ares's blade, minutes before the mortal knew it was happening. 

Instead, he staggered back again.

"You're not bad," Ares said, circling like a shark, "for a water brat." 

Percy spat blood, for effect. "You talk too much." 

Then he charged. This time, he wasn't holding back completely. Just enough to still seem like a demigod. Their blades clashed again and again with a flurry of metal and sparks, one blow after another sending splashes of sand and debris around the beach. Behind them, the ocean roiled and swelled at the clash, but it wasn't Poseidon's favour that Percy wanted to draw upon. 

He let Ares push him around, tire him out, and feel like he was regaining some ground. 

The god swung wide—a half-second less than being fast. 

That was all Percy needed. 

He spun on his heel, ducked under Ares's guard, and twisted Riptide in perfectly straight across not wild not lucky, practised but precise, and cut into Ares' thigh. 

The roar that followed made Hades's earthquake look like a minor event. The very sea was blasted back from Ares, leaving a wet circle of sand fifty feet wide. Ichor, the golden blood of the gods, flowed from a gash in the war god's boot. The expression on his face was beyond hatred. It was pain, shock, complete disbelief that he'd been wounded. 

Percy didn't follow through. He stepped back, panting, like he had used every last ounce of energy left. 

Sand hissed under Ares' foot. The god's blade trembled. A red light erupted in Ares' eyes—but then something thickened. The wind howled. The tide surged upward.

And Ares froze.

It was as if a cloud covered the sun, but worse. Light faded. Sound and color drained away. A cold, heavy presence passed over the beach, slowing time, dropping the temperature to freezing, and making everyone feel like life was hopeless, fighting was useless. 

Then it was gone.

Ares stepped back, sword still in hand.

"You have made an enemy, godling," he said.

"You have sealed your fate. Every time you raise your blade in battle, every time you hope for success, you will feel my curse. Beware, Perseus Jackson. Beware." 

His body began to glow. 

"'Percy!" Annabeth shouted. "Don't watch!" 

Percy turned away as the god Ares revealed his true immortal form. He somehow knew that if he looked, he would disintegrate into ashes. The light died.

As soon as Ares was gone, so was the weight of the air. 

Percy took a breath, and the storm building in his blood calmed down. Grover slumped like a puppet who had cut off its strings onto the sand, gasping for air. Annabeth stood still beside Percy, eyes wide, her voice stolen away. 

"Percy..." she began. "How did you—"

"I guess I got lucky," he said quickly, forcing a sheepish grin. "I mean, he's powerful, sure—but he's not exactly subtle.

"Annabeth narrowed her eyes but said nothing. 

With a groan, Grover pushed himself up to a seated position. "That... was the god of war."

"Yeah," Percy said, slipping Riptide back into his pocket, 

"and I'm not in pieces. So I'm calling that a win."

But before they could even catch their breath, something new swept over the beach—a cold gust of air, and the unmistakable sound of flapping wings. Not the gentle kind. Leathery, creaking, like old doors swinging open in the dark.

Percy tensed.

Three shapes descended from the smoke-choked sky—robes fluttering, lace hats perched absurdly atop heads that belonged nowhere near a Sunday tea party. Fire-dipped whips curled in their talons.

The Furies.

The middle one landed with a hiss, her claws sinking into the sand. Mrs. Dodds.

She looked at Percy with her yellow eyes gleaming, but for once, there was no malice behind them. Just… curiosity. Disappointment, even.

As if she'd been planning to eat him alive and suddenly realized he might give her heartburn.

"We saw the whole thing," she rasped, voice scraping like bone on stone. "So… it truly was not you?"

Percy met her eyes. He could have said a hundred things—could have flexed power just to remind them who he really was underneath—but instead, he just reached into his bag and pulled out the Helm of Darkness.

He tossed it to her.

She caught it mid-air, surprised by the gesture.

"Return that to Lord Hades," Percy said. "Tell him the truth. Tell him to call off the war."

The Fury stared at him, unreadable, then slowly ran her forked tongue over her cracked, green lips.

"Live well, Percy Jackson," she said. "Become a true hero. Because if you do not… if you ever come into my clutches again…"

Her grin widened, twisted and hungry. "I will not be so merciful."

Then she threw back her head and laughed—a high, cruel sound that echoed across the shore like a curse. Her sisters joined her, wings unfurling.

In a blink, they were airborne, silhouettes of nightmare against the smoke and sun.

Then they were gone. 

And silence fell. 

Annabeth sighed shakily. "Okay. That's... two gods and three monsters in one day."

Grover whimpered. "I miss trees."

Percy looked up into the smog-coated skyline of L.A. "Okay. Let's finish this. We still have a bolt to return."

Annabeth nodded and pulled it from her bag. It glowed faintly with power like it was aware that its time was ending.

Percy shifted the strap on his shoulder and walked inland, his friends following behind him.

He'd survived the encounter with Ares. Convinced the Furies. Hadn't revealed his true prowess.

But the game wasn't finished.

And as long as the gods continued to think he was just another lucky demigod...he had the upper hand.

For now.

End of chapter 19

Author's Note: This took quite a while to write. A lot of things to incorporate in this chapter and a Percy's character had to be modified of course. So, the lightning thief arc is almost finished.Hope you enjoyed this chapter!

Thoughts?