Part I: The Exit Strategy
The mechanical spiders were relentless. They didn't tire, they didn't feel pain, and they were ruining my boots.
"Val! Jump!" Percy's voice echoed from the tunnel exit.
I looked up. The Tunnel of Love boat—with Percy and Annabeth inside—was disappearing into the dark chute. The water level in the pool was rising fast, churning with the movement of thousands of metal legs.
"Alright," I grunted, smashing a spider flat with the head of my hammer. "Time to go."
I didn't have a boat. But I had legs that could squat-press a Fiat.
I backed up to the center island, crushing spiders with every step. I gauged the distance to the tunnel entrance. It was about thirty feet. A long jump for a mortal.
For me? It was a standing broad jump.
I channeled the static. I let the electricity build in my muscles, twitching and hot.
"Hup!"
I launched myself.
I sailed over the churning sea of metal bugs. For a second, I was flying. It felt good. Natural. Like gravity was just a suggestion I chose to ignore.
I hit the slick plastic of the tunnel slide feet-first.
Friction.
I slid down the chute, picking up speed, boots screeching against the fiberglass. I burst out of the tunnel and splashed into the exit pool, creating a wave that nearly capsized Percy's swan boat.
I stood up, dripping wet and covered in spider oil.
"Did we get it?" I asked, wiping slime off my face.
Percy held up the shield. It gleamed in the moonlight.
"We got it," Annabeth said, shivering. She looked traumatized. "Let's never do that again."
"Agreed," I said, wringing out my shirt. "I hate spiders. No loot drops. Just oil."
Part II: The Handover
We walked back to the diner. Ares was waiting by his bike, eating a basket of chili cheese fries with his combat knife.
He looked up as we approached. He saw the shield. He saw the dents in my armor. He saw the look of pure murder in my eyes.
He smiled.
"You got it," Ares said, wiping grease off his chin. "And you didn't die. I'm almost impressed."
I tossed the shield at him. I didn't hand it over; I threw it. It was a heavy bronze disc, spinning like a frisbee.
Ares caught it with one finger, spinning it to a stop.
"Easy, sparky," Ares chuckled. "You're tense. You need to relax. Kill something else later."
He pointed to an eighteen-wheeler parked at the edge of the lot. The side of the truck said KINDNESS INTERNATIONAL: HUMANE ZOO TRANSPORT.
"There's your ride," Ares said. "Straight to Vegas, then L.A. It's a free trip. You just have to mind the cargo."
"What cargo?" Grover asked nervously.
"Animals," Ares shrugged. "It's a smuggling ring. But hey, beggars can't be choosers."
He reached into his saddlebag and tossed a blue nylon backpack to Percy.
"Supplies," Ares said. "Cash. Drachmas. Fresh clothes. And..." He looked at me. "...some double-stuffed Oreos. Because I heard you have a sweet tooth."
I stared at him. "You're trying to buy me."
"I'm investing," Ares winked. "War is coming, Valerius. When the lines are drawn, remember who gave you the cookies."
He revved his bike. The noise was deafening, drowning out our thoughts.
"See you in the funny papers, kids!"
He peeled out, the back tire kicking gravel into our faces as he vanished down the highway.
"I hate him," Percy muttered.
"He's useful," I said, tearing open the pack of Oreos. "Evil, arrogant, and violent. But useful."
Part III: The Smuggler's Hold
The truck was a nightmare.
We climbed into the back trailer. It was dark, hot, and smelled like ammonia and rotting meat.
Stacked in cages were three miserable animals: a zebra, an albino lion, and a weird antelope thing I was pretty sure was endangered.
"This is wrong," Grover whispered, tears welling in his eyes. He started talking to the animals in bleating goat-speak. They answered him with low moans.
We set up camp on the floor behind the feed sacks. It wasn't comfortable. The truck rumbled and bounced over every pothole.
"Get some sleep," Annabeth told us. "I'll take first watch."
I didn't argue. My body was exhausted. The fight with the Chimera, the jump into the river, the spiders—my batteries were drained.
I curled up on a sack of turnips, pulled my leather jacket tight, and closed my eyes.
Part IV: The Dream of the King
Usually, demigod dreams are vague. You see snippets of the villain, or your friends in danger.
This wasn't vague. This was 4K Ultra HD.
I was standing on a floor of polished black marble. Above me, the sky wasn't a ceiling; it was the actual sky, filled with swirling, angry storm clouds. Lightning flashed constantly, illuminating massive white columns that stretched up into the stratosphere.
Mount Olympus. Or at least, the throne room.
The air was thin. It smelled of ozone and power—so much power it made the air in the truck feel like a vacuum.
In the center of the room sat a throne. It wasn't gold. It was platinum, sleek and terrifying.
And on it sat Him.
Zeus.
He was twenty feet tall. He wore a dark blue pinstripe suit that seemed to be woven out of rain clouds. His beard was gray and neatly trimmed, crackling with static. His eyes were the same electric blue as mine, but colder. Infinitely colder.
He wasn't looking at me with fatherly love. He was looking at me like I was a tool he had just forged and was inspecting for cracks.
"Valerius," his voice boomed. It shook the floor. It vibrated in my chest.
I tried to speak, to say something cool like, 'Sup, Dad?, but my voice wouldn't work. The pressure of his presence clamped my throat shut.
"You are loud," Zeus stated. It wasn't a compliment. "You draw attention. You break things. You have no subtlety."
He leaned forward. The storm above intensified.
"Good."
I blinked.
"My brother Poseidon thinks he can hide his boy," Zeus rumbled. "He thinks his son can sneak through the world, humble and quiet. He is wrong."
Zeus stood up. He towered over me, casting a shadow that felt like a physical weight.
"You are not here to hide, Valerius. You are my lightning. Lightning does not whisper. It strikes. It destroys. It announces its presence and leaves nothing but ash."
He raised a hand. In his palm, a ball of pure white energy formed. It was terrifyingly beautiful.
"But do not mistake power for invincibility," he warned, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "You are mortal. You can break. If you fail to retrieve my Bolt... if you let the Sea Spawn outshine you... do not expect mercy from me."
He crushed the ball of energy. Thunder exploded.
"I do not need a son," Zeus said coldly. "I need a champion. Prove you are one, or I will let Hades keep you."
He snapped his fingers.
Part V: The Awakening
I woke up gasping, slamming my head against the side of the truck.
"Val?" Percy asked from the darkness. "You okay? You were sparking."
I looked down at my hands. Tiny arcs of blue electricity were dancing between my fingers, illuminating the dark trailer. The smell of ozone was thick in the air, overpowering the smell of the lion cage.
I clenched my fists, extinguishing the light.
"I'm fine," I lied. My heart was racing.
That wasn't a pep talk. That was a threat.
I do not need a son. I need a champion.
I looked at Percy. He was looking at me with concern. He didn't know. Poseidon probably sent him dreams of beaches and encouragement. My dad just told me to win or die.
"Just a nightmare," I said, leaning back against the turnip sack. "Go back to sleep, Jackson."
I stared into the dark.
Okay, Dad, I thought, a bitter smile touching my lips. You want a weapon? You got one. But don't be surprised when the weapon decides to fire back.
The truck rumbled on through the night, carrying us closer to Vegas, and closer to the war.