The Price of Blood
Percy roared as he strained with all his strength and forced open the hand that had locked around him like iron. At last he broke free and fell heavily to the ground.
Without hesitation, he grabbed the closest thing within reach. The giant was still reeling from the sudden blow. And what lay nearest was the very hammer Tyson had thrown.
Percy seized it with both hands and drove it straight into the giant's stomach.
The impact was brutal. Polyphemus expelled the air from his lungs almost instantly. But that did not stop him from swinging wildly at Percy. He already knew his time was running out. So if he was going to die, he would drag the monstrous brat down with him.
Unlike monsters, demigods do not come back.
And with that thought burning in his mind, he was determined to take Percy with him into death.
Percy dodged the uncontrolled strike by leaping backward as the massive palm smashed into the ground, sending dirt flying and cracking the rock beneath.
He seized the opening.
He raised the hammer and brought it down with crushing force onto the Cyclops' hand. The blow was just as devastating.
"Graaah!" Polyphemus howled in pain.
But he did not stop. Though his hand was completely ruined, he still swung the arm in a desperate attempt to strike. And with the mangled stump of the other, he lunged at Percy.
Percy saw the giant throw himself forward and reacted instantly. He twisted and rolled across the ground, avoiding the ton of flesh and fury crashing down where he had stood.
The giant fell heavily, drenched in blood. Riptide still pierced his eye, and one arm was nothing but a stump. Yet even then he did not stop. He dragged himself toward the sound of Percy's movement, biting at the air, trying to devour him.
Percy saw that grotesque mouth closing in.
He pivoted the war hammer and delivered a sideways strike. The blow knocked the bite off course, and most of the giant's teeth shattered, scattering across the ground amid blood and white fragments.
But the maddened monster did not relent.
With his ruined hand he lashed out again. Percy barely managed to block with the hammer, yet the force drove him backward until he slammed against the cave's entrance wall.
The rocks tore at his back.
He did not complain.
He clenched his teeth and lifted the hammer again, ready to attack or defend against the next blow.
Then he noticed something strange.
The giant had stopped.
His breathing was beginning to slow.
"Curse you…" Polyphemus muttered, realizing he had failed to drag Percy down with him. "Curse you… I… I was only protecting my island. You… you are the real monsters…"
His voice weakened. Bloody tears streamed from his remaining eye.
Percy stared at him. For a moment, he tightened his grip on the hammer.
Then he loosened it slightly.
"Always… always the heroes… always…" the giant murmured as his eye slowly began to close.
Percy lowered the hammer, watching as the Cyclops' breathing faded. He was supposed to be his brother, like Tyson. A son of Poseidon.
A flicker of guilt crossed his face.
But suddenly—
The giant surged upward, using the last of his strength. With one arm reduced to a stump and the other shattered, he lunged at Percy with his mouth wide open, trying to swallow him in a single bite.
"I fooled you!" he roared.
Percy tightened his grip on the hammer with renewed force and swung upward in a brutal arc.
The monster's jaw took the blow with absurd power. His neck bent at an unnatural angle before he crashed down heavily beside Percy.
This time, his breathing vanished almost at once.
The last trace of life left the monster.
His body began to dissolve into dust.
As it did, the hammer started absorbing a brilliant energy that rose from the giant. A soul gem slipped from the handle, as if it had been waiting for this very moment, ready to capture what remained of his essence.
Percy stood there, breathing slightly hard.
Not only from the exhaustion of the battle and the wounds covering his body.
But because, in part, the giant truly had deceived him.
Like Luke had once said, the struggle between monsters and demigods was nothing more than a spectacle created by the gods, so they could entertain themselves watching them slaughter one another.
"Tsk…"
Percy clicked his tongue, picked up Riptide, and walked to retrieve his black sword.
…
After splitting from Percy, Grover and Clarisse ran across the wooden bridge toward the other side, straight to where Tyson stood. He ran toward them as well.
The three met in the middle. They laid Annabeth gently on the ground and covered her with the true Golden Fleece.
The golden wool began to glow softly over her, and her wounds started closing before their eyes, healing at a startling speed.
"You two watch her. I am going to help the idiot," Clarisse said quickly as she grabbed her spear.
"Right," Tyson replied with a nod.
But before he could say anything else, his expression shifted. He suddenly grew serious and began scanning the surroundings.
Clarisse felt it too.
Something was wrong.
Then an arrow flew toward her.
With a clean motion, she deflected it with her spear.
Tyson stepped protectively in front of Annabeth, while Grover rose at once, turning in every direction.
"Who is there?" Clarisse shouted toward the forest, where heavy footsteps and snapping branches echoed under thick boots.
They did not have to wait long.
When the figures emerged, everyone recognized them instantly.
Luke stepped forward first, his expression grave. His eyes moved from Clarisse to Annabeth, then to the Fleece, before settling again on the daughter of Ares.
Behind him stood the two bear men, spears in hand and hunger written across their faces.
Farther back, bow drawn and arrow ready, stood Alison, her disdainful gaze fixed especially on Annabeth.
"Luke Castellan," Clarisse said, anger tightly restrained in her voice.
"Clarisse. It seems it has been a while since we last met. Apologies for that. Alison tends to shoot first and ask later," Luke replied calmly, looking at her directly. "It appears you have something to hand over to me."
Clarisse frowned. "The only thing I would hand you is a blade through your heart."
"Mm. Interesting. Did your father not tell you?" Luke asked, lifting an eyebrow slightly.
"My father?"
At that, Clarisse stared at him. Then her expression shifted. As if something suddenly clicked, her grip on the spear tightening.
After all, the last thing her father had told her was that she was to deliver the Fleece to someone he would send.
But if that person was Luke…
"Looks like you remembered," Luke said, noticing her reaction. "Then this will be easier. Hand over the Golden Fleece."
Grover looked at Clarisse in shock. Even Tyson stared at her, confused. They had not expected her to be working with Luke.
But judging by her face, it was clear she had not known either. Not until that moment.
She was in shock.
Confusion. Sadness. And something deeper.
Disappointment.
Grover stepped in immediately.
"Wait, Luke. If you take the Fleece now… Annabeth…" he said quickly. "Just wait a moment. When she is stable, you can take it."
Luke lifted his gaze with open mockery.
"And then Percy will finish his fight with Polyphemus and come rushing to save you, correct?" he said in an amused tone, seeing straight through Grover's attempt.
"We could also just take Annabeth with us," he added, his smile slowly fading, replaced by a colder look as he stepped forward.
But Clarisse had already steadied her emotions.
She shifted into a guard stance at once, raising her spear toward him.
"I am sorry. We need the Fleece to save the camp," she said firmly.
"I am sure your father will be disappointed," Luke replied.
Clarisse did not hesitate.
"Then it means he does not deserve to be my father."
For a second, even Luke and the others widened their eyes in surprise.
Then faint smiles formed on their faces.
"What a shame," Luke said as he drew his sword.