Part I: The washed-up Warrior
Charon kicked me off the boat about fifty yards from the Santa Monica Pier.
"Get out," he grumbled. "And don't come back without a reservation."
I waded through the surf, dragging my hammer behind me like an anchor. My body felt like it had been put through a meat grinder. The cut on my leg from the skeleton legionnaire was throbbing, and my skin felt tight from the Styx water.
I collapsed onto the dry sand, gasping.
"Val!"
Percy, Annabeth, and Grover ran down the beach. They looked relatively clean (thanks, magic pearls). They looked terrified when they saw me.
"You're alive," Annabeth breathed, checking my pulse. "You look... terrible."
"I fought a civilization," I wheezed, sitting up. "And I flooded the basement. Hades is going to have a serious mold problem."
"We have the Bolt," Percy said, patting the backpack. "We need to fly to New York."
"Not yet," a deep voice rumbled.
The air temperature on the beach skyrocketed. The mist burned away. The sound of the waves seemed to mute, replaced by a low, throbbing hum—like a bass guitar amp turned up to eleven.
Leaning against a police cruiser that was parked on the boardwalk (the cop was nowhere to be seen) was Ares.
He wasn't wearing the biker outfit anymore. He was wearing full Greek battle armor—burnished bronze that shone like blood in the sunset. He held a massive baseball bat that morphed into a two-handed sword as we watched.
"You kids," Ares sighed, shaking his head. "You just don't know how to die properly."
Part II: The Setup
I stood up. My knees popped. I gripped Mjolnir-Lite.
"You set us up," I rasped. "The backpack. The Bolt."
"Of course I did," Ares grinned. The nuclear explosions in his eyes were swirling faster. "I needed a war, Valerius. Old Seabeard vs. The Sky Guy. It would have been glorious. Imagine the carnage. But you..."
He pointed his sword at me.
"...you had to go and flood the Underworld. You disrupted the supply lines. Hades is locking down his borders. You ruined the momentum."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ski mask. A helmet. The Helm of Darkness.
"So now," Ares said, attaching the Helm to his belt, "I have to kill you myself. And then I'll take the Bolt to Olympus and tell Daddy Zeus that you failed. Boom. War is back on."
"That's the Helm," Percy said, uncapping Riptide. "You stole both."
"I didn't steal them," Ares corrected. "I just... facilitated their relocation. Now, are we dancing? Or are you going to beg?"
I looked at Percy. He looked scared, but his jaw was set.
"Two on one," I whispered to Percy. "I'll take the high line. You take the low."
"He's a god, Val," Percy whispered back.
"He's a bully," I said. "And bullies bleed."
Part III: The 2v1
I moved first. My Fatal Flaw wouldn't let me wait.
"Hey, ugly!" I roared.
I channeled every last drop of electricity I had left. I sprinted across the sand, kicking up a spray of glass (the sand fusing from the heat of my takeoff).
I swung the hammer. A massive, overhead smash aimed right at Ares's helmet.
Ares didn't dodge. He raised one hand.
CLANG.
The sound was like a church bell ringing inside my skull.
Ares caught the head of my war hammer. With one hand. He didn't even flinch. His feet didn't sink into the sand. He was an immovable object.
"Cute," Ares sneered.
He twisted his wrist. My hammer—solid celestial bronze—creaked. The handle splintered in my grip.
He backhanded me.
It wasn't a punch. It was a slap. But it hit me with the force of a speeding semi-truck.
I flew backward. I tumbled across the sand, bouncing like a skipped stone. I tasted blood. A lot of it.
"Val!" Percy screamed.
Percy charged. He didn't run; he glided. The ocean responded to his anger. A wave erupted from the surf, following him like a tail.
Percy slashed with Riptide.
Ares parried effortlessly, but the water blasted him in the face. He stumbled back, spitting salt water.
"Annoying little tadpole!" Ares roared.
He swung his sword. Percy ducked, the massive blade slicing the air where his head had been.
I scrambled up. My left arm hung uselessly at my side. Broken. The pain was white-hot, blinding.
Ignore it, I told myself. Adrenaline. Use it.
"Round two!" I yelled.
I charged again. This time, I didn't swing. I tackled.
I hit Ares around the waist. It was like tackling a mountain. I didn't move him, but I locked my arms (the good one and the broken one) around him.
"Percy, hit him!" I screamed, gritting my teeth as Ares started to pry my arms off. His armor was searing hot. It was burning my skin through my shirt.
Percy saw the opening. He stepped in and thrust Riptide toward Ares's chest.
Ares looked down. He looked annoyed.
He flexed.
A shockwave of pure force exploded from his body.
It blasted Percy backward into the surf. It broke my grip and sent me flying again. This time, I hit a wooden pylon of the pier.
CRACK.
I slid down to the sand. I couldn't breathe. My ribs felt like jigsaw puzzle pieces.
Part IV: The Beatdown
Ares walked toward me. He ignored Percy, who was struggling to stand in the water.
"You have potential, Valerius," Ares said, looming over me. He kicked my hammer away. "But you're mortal. You have limits. I am War. I have no limits."
He placed his boot on my chest. He pressed down.
I gasped, black spots dancing in my vision.
"You want to be strong?" Ares mocked. "Strength isn't about muscles, kid. It's about enduring pain."
He pressed harder. I felt a rib snap. I screamed.
"Valerius!" Annabeth yelled from the sidelines. She threw a rock. It bounced harmlessly off Ares's helmet.
Ares laughed. He raised his sword for the killing blow.
"Goodbye, Sparky."
Part V: The Sea Strikes Back
Suddenly, the ground shook.
Ares faltered. He looked at the ocean.
Percy was standing up. He wasn't looking at Ares. He was concentrating. The veins in his neck were bulging.
The ocean was receding. It was pulling back from the shore, leaving fish flopping on the wet sand. A wall of water—a solid, dark blue wall—was building behind him.
"You hurt my friend," Percy said. His voice wasn't loud. It was cold. It sounded like the crushing depths.
Ares took his foot off my chest. "What is this?"
Percy raised his sword.
The wall of water crashed down.
It wasn't a wave. It was a hydraulic press. Thousands of tons of water slammed into Ares.
The God of War was swept off his feet. He tumbled in the surf, his armor heavy, dragging him down. He sputtered, flailing.
I saw my chance.
I couldn't stand. But I could crawl.
I dragged myself through the sand. I found my hammer. It was bent. The handle was cracked.
Ares burst out of the water, roaring in rage. He was soaked, seaweed draped over his shoulder.
"I WILL KILL YOU!" Ares bellowed at Percy.
He didn't see me. I was in his blind spot, lying in the wet sand.
As Ares stepped forward to charge Percy, I swung.
I didn't aim for his head. I aimed for his heel. The only vulnerable spot on a Greek warrior.
WHACK.
The hammer connected with his ankle.
"ARGH!" Ares howled. He stumbled, hopping on one foot.
It wasn't a fatal blow. It was a distraction.
"Now, Percy!" I wheezed.
Percy didn't hesitate. He lunged.
Riptide flashed.
The celestial bronze blade sliced through Ares's heel—right where the armor had a gap.
Golden ichor—the blood of the gods—spurted out onto the sand.
Part VI: The Retreat
The world went silent.
Ares looked down at his foot. He looked at the gold blood.
His face turned a color I didn't have a name for. A mix of purple and void.
The air began to burn. The water in the ocean started to boil.
"You..." Ares whispered. "You ants."
He raised his sword. He was going to turn us into ash. He was going to reveal his true form and melt our eyeballs.
I tried to get up to shield Percy, but my body refused. I was done.
Then, time stopped.
A presence colder than the ocean and darker than the Underworld washed over the beach. It came from the pit. From Kronos.
Do not destroy my pawns, Ares, the wind seemed to whisper.
Ares froze. He lowered his sword. He looked terrified for a split second.
He looked at me, lying broken in the sand. He looked at Percy, standing defiant with a bloody sword.
"You got lucky," Ares snarled. "You didn't win. You just survived."
He snapped his fingers.
His body dissolved into a column of fire. The heat was intense, singing my hair.
When the light faded, Ares was gone.
Left behind on the sand was the Helm of Darkness.
Part VII: The Aftermath
The Furies—Mrs. Dodds and her sisters—descended from the sky. They landed on the boardwalk.
They looked at the Helm. They looked at Percy.
"We saw," Mrs. Dodds hissed. "You did not steal it."
Percy kicked the Helm toward them. "Return it to Hades. Tell him the Bolt goes to Olympus. The war is off."
Mrs. Dodds snatched the Helm. "You have bought yourself time, hero. Do not waste it."
They flew away.
Percy dropped Riptide. He ran over to me. Annabeth and Grover were already there.
"Val!" Annabeth was crying. "Don't move. You have broken ribs. Maybe a punctured lung."
"I'm fine," I coughed, tasting copper. "Did you see... did you see him limp?"
"I saw," Percy smiled, though his eyes were wet. "We beat him."
"We annoyed him," I corrected. "But I'll take it."
I looked up at the sky. The sun was gone. The Solstice was in twelve hours. We were in Los Angeles. Olympus was in New York.
"We need a plane," I whispered. "And I need... a lot of nectar."
I closed my eyes. The pain was overwhelming, but the satisfaction was sweeter.
I had fought a God. And I was still breathing.
Level Up, I thought, as the darkness took me