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Chapter Text

The crevice swallowed him whole, the jagged walls pressing tight against his chest as he forced his way deeper. The air grew thick and damp, heavy with the musty scent of ancient earth and the faint tang of monster filth. Riptide’s glow cast flickering shadows across the uneven stone, illuminating the path just enough to keep him from stumbling. The rifle clattered faintly against his back with each step, a reminder of the world above he was leaving behind. The drag marks stretched ahead, a grim breadcrumb trail leading him into the belly of the Labyrinth.

The passage widened after a few suffocating yards, opening into a tunnel carved by time. The walls were slick with moisture, etched with faint, spiraling runes that pulsed dimly in the sword’s light—remnants of the maze’s creator, Daedalus, or whatever twisted power still sustained it. Percy’s boots splashed through shallow puddles, the sound echoing unnaturally in the oppressive silence. His breath came in short, controlled bursts, every sense straining for a hint of Thalia—or her captors.

The trail veered sharply to the right, and he followed, ducking beneath a low-hanging slab of rock. The tunnel stretched on, its twists and turns disorienting even to someone who’d navigated its depths before. But just because he had been down here before didn’t mean squat. The only way to truly navigate the maze was using a clear-sighted mortal or Ariadne’s string, both of which he didn’t have. His jaw clenched as he forced down the panic and memories. Now was not the time to relive such things. Thalia was down here, and he was not about to let this place swallow her like it had so many others.

The air grew even colder as he pressed on into the claustrophobic darkness. Walking a few more feet with only his sword’s light to guide him, his eyes caught on to something ahead—a glint of silver among the stone. He knelt, heart lurching as he picked up a single arrowhead, its shaft snapped clean off. Thalia’s work, no doubt. She’d fought back, even as they dragged her deeper. The thought fueled him, stoking the fire in his chest as he pocketed the arrowhead next to her circlet and pressed on.

The tunnel split suddenly, forking into three paths. The drag marks faded here, smeared into chaos by multiple sets of heavy footprints—Orcs, at least a dozen by the look of it. Percy cursed under his breath, scanning each passage. The left was narrow, barely a crack, with a faint breeze carrying the stench of sulfur. The middle sloped downward, its walls slick with condensation and marked by deep gouges—claw marks, fresh and deliberate. The right curved out of sight, the ground littered with broken stone and a faint smear of blood that glistened wetly in the dim light.

He hesitated, gripping his weapon tighter. The blood could be hers—or an Orc’s she’d managed to wound. The claw marks suggested a struggle, but the blood looked somewhat fresh. His gut screamed at him to choose, to move, but the Labyrinth thrived on indecision. Pick wrong, and he’d lose her trail entirely—or worse, stumble into a trap.

A distant sound broke his paralysis—a low snarl, faint but unmistakable, echoing from the middle path. It was followed by a sharp clatter, like metal striking stone. Thalia. She was still fighting. Percy didn’t think twice, plunging down the sloping middle tunnel, his boots slipping slightly on the wet rock as he descended.

The passage twisted violently, narrowing until he had to turn sideways to squeeze through, Riptide’s light bouncing off the walls in frantic bursts. The snarls grew louder, joined by the harsh rasp of Orcish voices—grunts and guttural commands in a tongue he didn’t need to understand to know meant trouble. He slowed, crouching low as the tunnel opened into a wider chamber, its ceiling lost in shadow. As he scanned the darkness, hoping to find the origin of the sounds of battle, his heart sank once he realized what had happened. 

It was all a trick. The chamber was empty of any real fight—no Thalia, no clash of steel, no defiant shouts. Just darkness and stone.

“Damn it,” he muttered, the words echoing against the walls. The Labyrinth was playing him, weaving illusions from the threads of his desperation. He should’ve known better. He’d seen it before, how this place could twist your senses, make you chase ghosts until you were too lost to turn back. He took a slow step back, forcing his breathing to steady, but found his back pushing up against a wall that hadn’t been there moments before. Once again, he cursed his stupidity. The maze was ever-shifting, like a sentient being, laughing at him in its silent, suffocating way.

He gritted his teeth, fighting the surge of claustrophobia that clawed at his chest. Pushing himself off the wall and beginning to trek into the darkness that he didn’t know where it led, he tried not to think of himself as a rat locked in a cage. 

“Fine,” he growled, gripping Riptide until his knuckles bled white. “You want to play games? Let’s play.”

He moved forward, senses straining, refusing to let the Labyrinth’s tricks unravel him again. He traversed the uneven floor until the chamber spat him into another tunnel, its ceiling dipping low enough that he had to duck to avoid cracking his skull. There were no more drag marks for him to follow nor sounds of battle. Just the howling tunnel wind that softly caressed his hair. He felt Thalia’s circlet in his pocket, growing heavier by the second. He tried not to think what those monsters might be doing to her. Every second he spent walking in this darkness was a second that she could be getting hurt. She was here, somewhere. He’d find her, even if he had to tear this cursed place apart stone by stone.

The tunnel stretched on, a relentless labyrinthine sprawl that seemed to mock Percy’s every step. The air grew heavier, thick with the dampness of ancient stone and moss. His boots crunched over scattered bones—some human, some monstrous—remnants of those who’d wandered too far into the maze and never found their way out. Each sound reverberated, a hollow reminder of how alone he was down here. Or how alone he thought he was.

He pressed forward, his free hand brushing Thalia’s circlet in his pocket, keeping his emotions in check against the rising tide of frustration. The Labyrinth thrived on confusion, on doubt—it fed off the fear of the lost. He wouldn’t give it the satisfaction. His jaw tightened as he scanned the tunnel ahead, searching for any sign: a scuff in the dirt, a drop of blood, anything to prove he wasn’t chasing shadows.

The passage split again—two paths this time, both shrouded in gloom. The left slanted upward, its walls unmarred, as if rarely traveled. The right dipped downward, the floor slick with moisture and littered with faint scratches—claw marks, too deliberate to be natural. He ran his hands over the indents in the wall. Something had passed through here recently. His gut tugged him toward the right, a faint instinct he couldn’t explain but had learned to trust over years of dodging death. He supposed this time, he was walking toward it. 

He decided to go down it, descending deeper into the maze’s depths. The air grew even colder, the dampness seeping into his bones, but he pressed on, Riptide’s faint glow casting long shadows that danced across the walls. The scratches grew more frequent, etched into the rock like a frantic message he couldn’t decipher. His fingers brushed over them again, feeling the rough edges—too precise for an animal, too erratic for a tool. Whatever had made them was desperate, or angry, or both.

The tunnel narrowed, forcing him to hunch as he moved, the ceiling brushing against his hair. The rifle on his back clinked softly against the stone, a reminder of its uselessness in these tight quarters. He considered ditching it, but the weight was a strange comfort—a tether to the world above, where sunlight and fresh air still existed. His breath misted in the chill, and he fought the urge to call out for Thalia. If she was close, he didn’t want to alert whatever else might be lurking.

The path twisted sharply, and the scratches abruptly stopped, replaced by a faint smear of black ichor glistening on the wall. Percy froze, his heart thudding against his ribs. Orc blood. He crouched, examining the stain—still wet, streaked as if something had brushed against it in passing. The trail led around the bend, and he followed, moving slower now, every sense on edge.

The tunnel opened into a small, circular chamber, its walls rough and pocked with shallow alcoves. The air here was stagnant, heavy with the stench of sulfur and decay. In the center, he could faintly make out a figure hunched over something, wet gurgles and snarls seeping from its mouth. His grip on Riptide tightened as he crept closer, the glow illuminating the chamber just enough to reveal the hulking silhouette. The figure was massive, its broad shoulders hunched as it tore into something with wet, ripping sounds that echoed off the stone walls. Black ichor dripped from its hands, pooling on the ground in slick, glistening patches. The stench hit him harder now—sulfur, rot, and the coppery tang of fresh blood. His stomach churned, but he swallowed it down, edging along the wall to get a better view.

The creature straightened slightly, its head turning just enough to catch the son of Poseidon in the shadows. Percy’s breath caught in his throat as he watched whatever this thing was stand up to a towering height of ten feet, its head barely scraping the ceiling.

The figure loomed larger as it rose, its silhouette filling the chamber with an oppressive presence. The orange glow danced across its form, revealing a grotesque hybrid of muscle and menace. Its skin was a patchwork of greenish-gray and pallid flesh, stretched taut over a frame that blended the raw power of an Orc with the leaner lines of a human. Scars crisscrossed its body, some fresh and oozing black ichor, others old and puckered like battle trophies. One eye glinted a sickly yellow, the other clouded white, sunken into a face that bore jagged scars and a flattened nose. Tusks jutted from its lower jaw—shorter than a full Orc’s but sharp enough to rend flesh—and its hands ended in claws that glistened with the blood of its meal. The Orc corpse at its feet was a mangled ruin, its chest torn open and ribs splayed like broken fingers reaching for the ceiling.

Percy’s heart thudded as recognition slammed into him. It had been years since he’d last seen him but despite whatever had happened to him, he still could recognize that face. He remembered that blind eye and the nose that he had personally broken during the Titan War.

Ethan Nakamura.

But not the Ethan he’d known—the bitter, one-eyed demigod who’d died fighting for revenge on Olympus. This was something else, something that couldn’t be explained. Never, in all his years, had he seen such a thing. Why was Ethan here? Hadn’t he died? And why was he like this? Why did he look like an Orc? So many questions raked his brain to which he had the answers to none. The only thing he did know was that the Father must’ve played a part in this. There was no other explanation. 

Ethan’s head snapped fully toward him, the yellow eye narrowing as it caught the glimmer of the bronze sword. A low growl rumbled from his throat, guttural and wet, like something drowning in its own rage. The chamber seemed to shrink under his presence, the air thickening with the promise of violence. Percy tightened his grip on his sword, shifting his stance as he braced for what was coming. He didn’t know if Ethan still had a shred of humanity left—or if he even recognized him—but he wasn’t about to take chances.

“Ethan,” he said calmly, raising a hand in a calming gesture. “It’s me. Percy.”

The creature tilted its head, a flicker of something—confusion, recognition?—crossing its scarred face. For a heartbeat, he thought he saw the old Ethan in there, the sharp-witted demigod who’d helped Olympus in the end. But then the moment shattered. Ethan’s lips peeled back in a snarl, revealing jagged teeth stained with blood and flesh, and he lunged.

The son of Poseidon dove to the side, the claws missing him by inches as they gouged deep furrows into the stone wall. The impact sent a shudder through the chamber, dust and stone raining from the ceiling. He rolled to his feet, Riptide slashing upward in a tight arc. The blade caught Ethan’s arm, slicing through the tough hide and drawing a spray of black blood. The hybrid human roared, more in fury than pain, and swung a backhand that forced Percy to duck or lose his head.

“Damn it, Ethan, snap out of it! I know we weren’t the best of friends, but it doesn’t have to be like this! Let me help you!” He shouted, circling to keep the creature in front of him. The chamber was too small for a drawn-out fight—every move had to count. He feinted left, then drove his sword toward its chest, aiming for a quick end. But the former demigod was fast, faster than any Orc he’d faced, and twisted away, the blade grazing his ribs instead of piercing his heart.

The hybrid beast retaliated with a brutal kick, catching Percy in the stomach and sending him crashing into the wall. The air rushed out of him, pain exploding across his ribs as the rifle dug into his back. He gasped, barely raising his weapon in time to block a claw aimed at his throat. The force of the blow reverberated down his arm, and he gritted his teeth, shoving back with all his strength.

For a moment, they were locked there—sword against claw, sea-green eyes meeting that sickly yellow white glare. Up close, he could see the torment etched into his warped features, the humanity buried beneath layers of corruption. Whatever the Father had done, it hadn’t just twisted his body—it had broken something deeper.

“K… Ki—Kill… m-me.” The words rasped from Ethan’s throat, taking all his strength to even utter them. His yellow eye flickered, a storm of anguish and desperation swirling within. The claw pressing against Riptide trembled—not from weakness, but from sadness. The former demigod was doing all he could to hold back, to let Percy kill him before it was too late. 

The son of Poseidon seized the chance and, without hesitation, angled his sword upward, driving it with all his strength through Ethan’s skull. The blade punched through the underside of his jaw, the celestial bronze tearing through sinew and bone with a sickening crunch. His head snapped back as Riptide erupted from the top of his cranium, splitting his skull in a jagged, gory fissure. Black ichor sprayed in a violent arc, splattering across Percy’s face and chest, the stench of sulfur and decay choking his senses.

Ethan’s body convulsed, his claws twitching as if grasping for something he could no longer reach. The yellow eye rolled back, a horrific, wet gurgle escaping his ruined throat as the light in it guttered out. Percy yanked his weapon free with a savage twist, the blade scraping against shattered bone as it exited, dragging strings of dark, viscous matter with it. The hybrid’s head lolled forward, nearly cleaved in two, the split exposing a glistening mess of brain and ichor that oozed down his chest in thick, tar-like rivulets. His towering frame crumpled, hitting the ground with a heavy thud that shook the chamber, the mangled remains of his skull smearing a dark stain across the stone.

Percy slumped against the wall, chest heaving. His hands trembled as he wiped the ichor from his face, the sticky warmth of it clinging to his skin. He’d wanted to save Ethan, to pull him back from whatever abyss had claimed him, but that plea— “Kill me” —had been the last shred of the demigod he’d known, begging for release. The Father’s corruption had left nothing else behind to save.

The chamber fell silent, save for the drip of ichor falling off his skin. His gaze lingered on the broken body, the reality of the Labyrinth sinking in deeper. This place didn’t just kill—it twisted, it consumed, it turned friends into monsters. He clenched his jaw, forcing his focus back to Thalia. He wouldn’t let this hellhole claim her, too.

He straightened, shaking off the lingering shock as he wiped his sword clean on his sleeve. The black ichor smeared across the fabric, a grim reminder of what he’d just done—what he’d had to do. Ethan’s lifeless form sprawled at his feet, a grotesque monument to the Father’s cruelty, but there was no time to question. Thalia was still out there, and every second he lingered was a second she slipped further from his reach.

He scanned the chamber, finding that most of the alcoves along the walls were empty, save for dust and the occasional glint of bone, but the far end of the room revealed an archway—a continuation of the tunnel, its edges rough and uneven as if clawed out by desperate hands. Taking a breath, he stepped over the corpse and pressed foward into the darkness. The air grew colder still, biting at his skin, and the distant howl of the tunnel wind returned, a low moan that seemed to whisper his name.

He walked down the tunnel for what felt like hours, though time twisted in this place, stretching and folding in ways that defied reason. His legs ached, his boots scuffing against the uneven floor, but he refused to slow. The walls pressed closer with every step, the ceiling dipping low enough that he had to duck again, his shoulders brushing against the slick stone. He hated how narrow these tunnels were. It hadn’t been like this the last time he was down here. Perhaps the maze knew of his claustrophobia and was playing to it. Shaking his head and pushing down the panic rising in his throat, he pushed further. 

The tunnel suddenly curved sharply, opening wider and revealing a faint glow through the gloom ahead—not the shimmer of Riptide, but a warm, flickering orange. Torches. Percy’s eyes widened as he capped Riptide and pushed himself into an indention in the wall, letting the darkness envelope him. The air carried new sounds now: the shuffle of heavy feet and the clink of metal armor. The damp stone chilled his back as he held his breath, hearing whatever was at the end of the tunnel approaching closer. The flickering orange light grew brighter, casting shadows of burly figures that danced along the tunnel walls. 

His fingers hovered over his pen, itching to uncap it at the slightest provocation. The first Orc lumbered into view, its frame filling the tunnel. It was shorter than Ethan’s monstrous form, maybe seven feet, but no less menacing. Its skin was a gray, pocked with scars and patched with crude armor—plates of rusted metal strapped over its chest and shoulders. A jagged sword hung loosely in one hand, the blade chipped and stained with dried blood. Its piggish eyes glinted in the torchlight, scanning the tunnel ahead as it snorted, a plume of foul breath misting in the cold air.

Behind it came another, then a third, each one uglier than the last. The second carried a torch, its flame spitting and crackling as it illuminated the group. The third dragged a heavy chain, the links clanking against the stone floor. Percy’s gut twisted as he peered through the shadows—no sign of Thalia, sadly. These guys must be a scouting party or something. 

He counted five in total as they passed his hiding spot, their stench—a mix of sweat and rot—washing over him. The last one lagged slightly, looking slightly drunk as it lolled its head side to side. He pressed himself tighter into the crevice, the rough stone biting into his back as he held his breath, hoping that the monster wouldn’t hear it. The creature’s armor clinked faintly with each clumsy step, dented metal and leather that barely clung to its frame. Its head swayed, tusks gleaming wetly in the dim light, and a low grunt escaped its throat—a sound halfway between a belch and a snarl.

Then it stopped.

Right in front of him.

Percy internally cursed as he watched the monster approach, its piggish eyes squinting into the darkness where he hid. It snorted, a thick glob of spittle dripping from its maw to splatter on the stone floor. The creature fumbled with its free hand, tugging at the crude belt around its waist, and he realized with a mix of disgust and dread what it was about to do. A rasping chuckle gurgled from its throat as it angled itself toward the wall—toward him. He was not about to let that happen.

With a silent surge, he lunged from the shadows, one hand clamping over the Orc’s slobbering mouth while the other drove Riptide—uncapped in a flash—into its side. The blade sank deep, celestial bronze slicing through flesh and scraping against bone. The creatures muffled roar vibrated against his palm, its body jerking as he dragged it backward into the darkness of the crevice. The torch clattered to the ground, its flame guttering before dying off. 

He stabbed again, twisting the blade up under the ribcage, aiming for the heart. Black ichor sprayed, hot and sticky, coating his arm as the Orc thrashed, its claws scrabbling uselessly against the stone. A third thrust, then a fourth—each one faster, more desperate, until the creature’s struggles weakened, its massive frame sagging against him. The weight nearly pinned him to the wall, but he shoved it off with a grunt, letting it slump to the floor in a heap of twitching limbs and pooling blood. 

The tunnel plunged back into near-darkness, the only light now the faint glow of Riptide in Percy’s blood-slicked hand. His chest heaved as he stood over the Orc’s corpse, ears straining for any sign that the others had heard the scuffle. The distant clatter of armor and voices continued unchanged, fading as the scouting party moved further down the tunnel. He’d gotten lucky—this one had been too drunk or too stupid to call out before he silenced it. He wiped his blade on the Orc’s tattered leather, the ichor leaving a dark smear that glistened faintly. 

His stomach churned at the stench—rotting meat and stale sweat—but he forced it down, focusing on the task ahead. Thalia was still out there, and these bastards were his best lead. He dragged the body deeper into the crevice, wedging it behind a jutting rock where it wouldn’t be easily spotted before slipping back into the tunnel.

The air grew thicker as he followed the path the four monsters had taken, the walls widening slightly to reveal more signs of passage: scuffed dirt, a broken axe head discarded in a puddle, and faint smears of black blood on the stone. His boots moved silently now, each step deliberate as he tracked the flickering torchlight ahead. The tunnel sloped downward, the air growing colder and damper with every yard, until the distant growl of voices sharpened into something he could almost understand—harsh, barking commands in that guttural Orcish tongue.

He stopped just before the passage rounded a corner. Kneeling low, he craned his head outward slightly and noticed the four Orcs entering through what seemed to be an old, wooden door. The hinges groaned under their weight, a low creak that echoed faintly down the tunnel before the door thudded shut behind them. The flickering torchlight vanished with it, leaving him with the suffocating darkness once more. He waited, counting his breaths, letting the silence settle to ensure no stragglers lingered behind.

Satisfied he was alone, he crept forward, keeping low as he approached the door. It was ancient, the wood warped and splintered, its surface scarred with deep gouges and stained with dark smears. A rusted iron ring served as a handle, and faint runes—similar to those he’d seen earlier—were etched along the frame, their edges worn smooth by time. He brushed his fingers over them, feeling a faint hum of power, a whisper of magic that made his skin prickle. Whatever lay beyond this door, it wasn’t just another tunnel.

He gripped the iron ring, the metal cold and slick under his palm, and pulled. The door resisted at first, its swollen wood scraping against the stone floor, but it gave with a reluctant shudder, opening just wide enough for him to slip through. He stepped into the space beyond, his sword capped but ready.

The chamber was vast—far larger than anything he’d encountered so far in the maze. The ceiling arched high above, lost in shadow, supported by thick, white marble columns. Torches lined the walls, their flames spitting and dancing in an unseen draft, casting shadows that writhed across the floor. The marble floor was uneven, littered with broken weapons, shattered bones, and patches of dark, congealed ichor—a battlefield long abandoned, or perhaps a slaughterhouse.

Ahead, the four Orcs trudged across the chamber, their torchlight bobbing as they moved toward a massive archway on the far side. Beyond it, Percy glimpsed a faint reddish glow, pulsing like a heartbeat, and the distant rumble of something alive—growls, shouts, the clatter of metal. That had to be where they were keeping her. Thalia was close—he could feel it, a pull he couldn’t explain but refused to ignore. 

He pressed himself against one of the marble columns, watching the monsters disappear through the archway. Their heavy footsteps faded into the distant clamor, leaving the chamber eerily still. He scanned the space, taking in the details: the cracked columns, some toppled and strewn across the floor like fallen giants; the faint carvings of battles and monsters etched into the stone, worn by time but still legible; the air thick with the scent of mildew and blood. This wasn’t just a random cavern—it felt like a temple, or a tomb, repurposed by the filth that now infested it.

He slipped from the column’s shadow, moving low and fast toward the nearest wall. The marble was cool against his back as he edged along it, keeping the archway in his peripheral vision. The reddish glow pulsed stronger now, casting an unnatural hue across the chamber’s far end. 

As he neared the archway, the sounds sharpened—snarls, the clang of metal, and a low, rhythmic chanting that vibrated through the stone. He crouched behind a toppled column, peering around its edge. The archway opened into a cavernous hall, its walls rougher than the chamber behind him, carved from raw earth and streaked with veins of dark tendrils. Torches lined the space, but their light was dwarfed by a massive pit at the center, glowing with that same crimson radiance. Thick chains dangled over its edge, swaying slightly, as if something had just been lowered—or raised—from its depths.

Around the pit stood a dozen Orcs, their hulking forms clad in mismatched armor, wielding crude weapons that glinted dully in the firelight. But they weren’t alone. Among them moved a figure Percy hadn’t expected—a person that brought back memories he never wanted to relive.

Koios 

He stood tall and imposing, his Stygian iron armor gleaming with an otherworldly sheen in the crimson glow of the pit. The bear-shaped helmet rested under his arm, revealing a face etched with cold calculation—sharp features framed by blue-white hair, eyes glinting like shards of ice. The diamond on his breastplate pulsed faintly, a heartbeat of power that seemed to sync with the eerie light emanating from below. His presence dominated the chamber, the Orcs shifting uneasily under his gaze as he barked orders in a language that sounded like a twisted blend of ancient Greek and their native tongue.

Percy’s blood ran cold. Koios—the Titan of intellect and foresight, one of the old powers of the Golden Age. He’d faced him before, briefly, in that hellish pit where gods and monsters alike had nearly broken him. Back then, the Titan had been a shadow of his former self, weakened by eons of imprisonment. Now, though, he radiated strength, his every movement deliberate, purposeful. How was he here? Why? What was one of the great Titan brothers down in the labyrinth, ordering around Orcs no less?

He supposed the numerous cages dangling from the ceiling answered those questions. He looked up, noticing that each and every one of them was filled. Some humans, some Orcs, and some just mangled heaps of bones and flesh. He tightened his grip on the capped Riptide, his mind racing. Koios was experimenting. That was the only explanation. It made sense. He is the Titan of Intellect and Knowledge, after all. 

Percy’s eyes darted from the cages to the pit, the pieces clicking into place with a sickening clarity. The Father must have enlisted Koios for this twisted purpose. The Titan’s intellect wasn’t just a weapon; it was a tool, reshaping flesh and bone into abominations like Ethan. The cages weren’t just prisons, and the pit wasn’t just a dug-out glowing hole. They were test chambers, holding the raw material for whatever nightmare was being crafted down here.

The Orcs milled around the pit, some hauling chains, others dragging crude carts piled with weapons and what looked like chunks of meat—fresh, glistening, and disturbingly humanoid in shape. Koios stood at the edge of the pit, his icy eyes fixed on the crimson glow as if peering into its depths could unravel some cosmic secret.

“Bring her up!” He ordered, raising a hand. 

Percy’s heart raced when he mentioned a her. Did he mean Thalia? Was he too late and the Titan had already begun to experiment on her? The chains rattled, a harsh metallic clanging that reverberated through the cavernous hall. The crimson glow from the pit intensified, pulsing faster. His breath caught in in throat, his fingers tightening around Riptide as he leaned forward, every nerve alight with anticipation. If it was Thalia—if they’d hurt her—he’d tear this place apart, Titan or not.

The chains groaned, and a figure began to rise from the pit, suspended in a rusted iron cage that swayed precariously. The glow illuminated her form in flickers, and Percy’s stomach dropped. It wasn’t Thalia. The woman–what was left of her–was smaller, her skin melted to the bone and strips of blonde hair clinging to her oozing scalp. Her mouth was open in a silent scream, black tendrils seeping out of the corner of her lips like snakes. 

Koios stepped closer to the pit’s edge, his expression unreadable but his eyes glinting with a cold, analytical hunger. “Another failure,” he muttered. He waved a hand dismissively, and the Orcs halted, the cage dangling midair. “The essence isn’t binding. The vessel’s too frail—too human .” His lip curled in disdain as he turned away, pacing toward a slab of stone covered in tools and scrolls etched with spiraling runes.

“Dispose of it,” Koios said, not even glancing back at the swaying cage. “Bring me the next one. Something stronger. The hybrid stock this time—perhaps the half-blood will hold.”

The son of Poseidon felt his blood run cold. Half-Blood? Oh Gods, that could only mean Thalia.  If Koios was looking for something stronger to withstand whatever dark power that was in the pit, she’d be a prime candidate. He scanned the hall again, his eyes darting from the pit to the cages dangling above. Most were too shadowed to make out their occupants clearly, but the shapes inside varied—some slumped and motionless, others twitching faintly as if clinging to life. The Orcs moved with purpose now, two of them lumbering toward a row of levers along the far wall while another dragged a cart of lumped flesh toward Koios. The Titan barely acknowledged them, his attention fixed on a scroll he unfurled across the stone slab, muttering to himself. 

The monsters at the levers grunted as they worked, the chains above rattling as another cage began its descent toward the pit. Percy’s gaze flicked upward, tracking the movement. The cages were suspended by a network of thick ropes and pulleys, their paths crisscrossing the ceiling like a spider’s web. The cage creaked as it lowered, the chains grinding against the pulleys with a sound that set Percy’s nerves on edge. His eyes strained in the dim light, trying to make out the figure inside as it descended toward the pit’s crimson maw. The glow pulsed hungrily, tendrils of red light licking upward as if eager to claim its next victim. His heart hammered against his ribs—every instinct screamed that this could be her, that Thalia could be the “hybrid stock” the Titan demanded.

The cage came into view, swaying slightly as it hovered above the pit. The figure inside was slumped against the bars, head bowed, dark hair matted with grime and blood. His breath stopped—it was too familiar, too close to the shape of her, the way she carried herself even in defeat. He edged closer, risking exposure as he leaned out from behind the column, Riptide’s capped form trembling in his grip.

Then the figure shifted, and the torchlight caught her face. Thalia. She was beaten, bloody, and stripped bare, her skin marred with bruises and shallow cuts that glistened wetly in the flickering glow. Her hands gripped the bars, knuckles white despite the exhaustion that weighed her down. Her stormy blue eyes glared defiantly at the Titan below, even as her chest heaved with ragged breaths. She was alive—barely—but alive.

Koios turned from his scrolls, his icy gaze locking onto her as the cage settled just above the pit. A faint smirk curled his lips, a predator sizing up its prey. He stepped forward, his armored boots clanking against the floor, and reached out with a gauntleted hand. His fingers brushed against her neck before lowering to her breast. Thalia flinched but couldn’t move away due to how cramped the cage was.

“A pity I can’t keep you for myself. You’d make a fine prize.” The Titan murmured, his hand lingering on her skin as if testing its resilience, before he withdrew with a reluctant sigh. “But the Father’s will demands more than mere trophies. Your strength will serve a greater purpose.”

Percy’s vision tunneled, rage boiling up from his core like a tidal wave. His fingers fumbled with Riptide’s cap, nearly dropping it in his haste to uncap the blade. The soft shriek of celestial bronze extending was drowned out by the Orcs’ grunting and the pit’s ominous hum, but it steadied him, turning his fury into something sharp and lethal. He couldn’t wait any longer—not with Koios touching her, not with that pit ready to swallow her whole.

“Koios!” He shouted, appearing out from the shadows, sword in hand and eyes blazing with rage. 

The Titan’s head snapped toward the commotion, his eyes narrowing as recognition flickered across his sharp features. The Orcs froze, their chatter falling silent as they turned to face the intruder, weapons clattering into ready grips. Thalia’s gaze shot up from the cage, her bruised face lighting with a mix of shock and fierce hope. “Percy!” she weakly rasped.

Koios tilted his head, rage consuming his features as he stepped away from the pit, his armor glinting in the crimson glow. “The sea spawn!” he spat, his voice cutting through the chamber like a blade. 

Percy didn’t waste breath on a reply. His boots pounded against the marble as he charged, Riptide flashing in a deadly arc toward the nearest Orc. The beast roared, swinging its jagged sword to meet him, but he ducked under the blow, driving his blade up through its gut. Black ichor sprayed as he twisted and yanked Riptide free, the Orc collapsing with a wet gurgle. The others surged forward, a wall of muscle and steel, their snarls echoing off the cavern walls.

He didn’t hesitate. The air thickened with the scent of blood and sulfur as he moved, every strike fueled by the sight of Thalia caged and Koios’s smug face. One Orc lunged with a spiked club, but Percy sidestepped, slashing its throat in a spray of dark fluid. Another came from his left, axe raised—too slow. He spun, driving Riptide through its chest, the celestial bronze sizzling as it tore through armor and flesh.

The remaining Orcs—seven now—fanned out, their piggish eyes glinting with rage. Koios watched from the pit’s edge, his expression eager. “Leave him alive!” he ordered fiercely. “I want to repay him for causing me to remain stuck in Tartarus during Mother’s war!” 

The monsters charged as one, a thunderous stampede of claws and steel. Percy’s heart pounded, but his mind sharpened, the chaos narrowing to a single point of focus. He needed to end this fast before the Titan decided to just drop Thalia in the pit. He needed more. He needed her out of that cage. And he needed them dead.

His gaze flicked to her, hands still gripping the bars, her eyes locked on him with a fire that refused to die. Then to the Orcs, their blood-streaked forms closing in, ichor dripping from their wounds and weapons. Ichor. He could feel it—the pull of it, the dark current that hummed in his veins. He felt a detached, sinister smirk curl on his features. He let his thoughts, his emotions, take a back seat and let the monster inside him show itself. Outstretching a hand, he seized the ichor coursing through the Orcs’ bodies, his will latching onto it like a vice. The sensation was sickening—hot, thick, alive—but he didn’t flinch. He pulled.

The Orcs froze mid-charge, their roars choking off into strangled gasps. Their bodies jerked, heads snapping back as Percy twisted his fingers, bending their blood to his command. Veins and black tendrils bulged beneath their gray skin, black ichor seeping from their eyes and mouths as he tightened his grip. With a sharp, merciless yell, he clenched his fists—and their necks snapped in unison, a chorus of wet cracks that reverberated through the hall. Seven hulking forms crumpled to the ground, lifeless, their twisted limbs splayed across the marble like broken toys.

Silence fell, heavy and absolute, broken only by the faint drip of ichor pooling beneath the corpses. Percy’s chest heaved, his hands trembling as he unclenched them, the dark power receding like a tide. He hated it—hated how easy it had become, how it lingered in him like a stain. Every time he used it, Annabeth’s taunting words rang in his ears— “I’ll make you become that monster!”

Koios’s smirk faltered, his eyes narrowing as he reassessed the demigod before him. “Bloodbending,” he murmured, a note of fear in his tone. “A rare gift, one I thought only Oceanus possessed. The Father will be… intrigued.”

The son of Poseidon looked up, noticing that the Titan now held Thalia in his arms, his bulging hands gripping her in places that sent Percy’s rage flaring even brighter. 

“Let. Her. Go.” he growled, Riptide practically shaking against his grip. 

Koios’s icy eyes glinted with amusement, his hand running over her breast mockingly as she struggled weakly against him. Her bare skin pressed against the cold metal of his Stygian iron armor, her defiance flickering but unbroken despite the exhaustion etched into her features. The Titan tilted his head, his lips curling into a sneer as he regarded the demigod before him with the disdain of a god sizing up a pest.

“Let her go?” he echoed, his words dripping with mockery. “And spoil the experiment? This one’s spirit is… exquisite. A perfect vessel for the Father’s design. You, sea spawn, should be honored to witness her ascension.”

Percy’s vision blurred with red, his pulse pounding in his ears like a war drum. The sight of her—bruised, bloodied, and trapped in the Titan’s grasp—ignited something primal in him, a fury that drowned out reason. He took a step forward, his sword's celestial bronze edge humming with barely contained energy.

“I’ll fucking kill you.” He promised with no emotion. It was as if his consciousness had taken a back seat, replaced by a fury and rage not even Ares could replicate. 

Koios laughed, a cold, hollow sound that echoed through the cavernous hall. “Bold words from a boy who stinks of desperation. You think you can challenge me? I’ve foreseen a thousand paths, and none end with your victory.” He shifted the demigoddess in his arms, one gauntleted hand sliding to her throat, his fingers brushing her pulse as if savoring it.

Percy couldn’t help the growl that escaped from his throat. He knew that the Titan wasn’t just feeling her up. He was showing that he could snap her neck with a mere squeeze. That was all it would take if he took another step forward. He froze, every muscle in his body screaming to lunge, to tear Koios apart with his bare hands, but his mind—sharpened by years of battle—held him back. One wrong move, and her life would end in an instant. The Titan’s grip on her throat was a deliberate taunt, a calculated reminder of his control. Koios knew Percy’s rage, knew it would push him to the edge, and he was betting on that fury to cloud his judgment. 

The air in the hall thickened, the crimson glow from the pit pulsing faster, as if feeding off the tension from the standoff. Thalia’s eyes met his, fierce and unyielding despite death clawing at her. She didn’t speak—couldn’t, with Koios’s fingers pressing against her windpipe—but her gaze screamed at him: Don’t you dare back down! Her defiance fueled him, stoking the fire in his chest even as his hands shook with the effort of holding back.

Koios tilted his head, his stare boring into him. “You’re predictable, sea spawn. Rage blinds you, makes you sloppy. I’ve seen it in every thread of your fate—charging in, swinging that little sword, only to fall at my feet. You’re no match for intellect honed over millennia.”

“Then why are you still talking?” Percy shot back, his voice shaking from sheer rage. He shifted his weight, subtly angling himself closer. He would only get one chance at this. If it didn’t work, then both of them would die to this monster of a Titan. “If you’ve got me figured out, stop monologuing and do it.”

The Titan’s smirk tightened, a flicker of irritation crossing his features. He didn’t like being baited—good. He needed him off-balance, even if just for a second. 

Koios’s grip on Thalia tightened, eliciting a choked gasp from her as he lifted her slightly, her bare feet dangling above the ground. “Insolence,” he hissed. “I’ll enjoy breaking you—after I finish with her.” He turned his head toward the pit, raising his free hand as if to signal the Orcs that no longer stood. The realization hit him a beat too late—his minions were dead, sprawled across the floor in pools of their own ichor. For the first time, a shadow of uncertainty flickered in his eyes.

Percy seized the moment. With Koios momentarily distracted, the green-eyed demigod reached out, feeling for that same pull of ichor flowing within. The air crackled with tension as he stretched out his senses, searching for the dark thread of power that had felled the Orcs moments before. His mind brushed against it— immortal ichor, a deep, ancient current thrumming with the weight of a Titan’s essence. It was different from the Orcs’, heavier, wilder, like trying to grasp a storm in his hands. His fingers twitched, and he latched onto it, his will clashing with the Titan’s immense vitality.

For a fleeting second, he had it. The ichor surged under his command, a molten flood that burned through his senses. Koios’s body stiffened, his head jerking back as his essence rebelled against him. His grip on Thalia faltered, his gauntleted hand spasming open, and she dropped from his arms, tumbling to the cold marble floor with a pained grunt. Percy’s heart leapt—she was free, if only for a moment—but the victory was short-lived.

The power slipped. Koios’s ichor roared back, too vast, too primal for Percy to hold. It was like trying to dam a river with his bare hands—the sheer force of it buckled his control, sending a jolt of searing pain through his skull. He staggered, clutching his head as the Titan’s essence ripped free, leaving him gasping. Blood trickled from his nose, warm and coppery.

Koios recovered instantly, his blue eyes blazing with fury as he whirled to face the demigod. “You dare?!” he roared, though his voice was twinged with worry. For once, he could see fear etched on the Titan’s features, realizing that even though he was immortal, that wasn’t enough to escape a demigod’s rage. 

Percy didn’t hesitate to surge forward and attack. Despite the ache in his stomach and the pounding headache, he raised his sword and lunged with all the strength he could muster. Riptide slashed through the air, aimed for the chest. Koios reacted with inhuman speed, sidestepping the blow and swinging his armored fist in a brutal counterstrike. Percy ducked just in time, the gauntlet grazing his hair as he rolled to the side, coming up in a knee near Thalia’s crumpled form.

“Move!” he barked, his voice raw with urgency. She stirred, her hands scrabbling against the marble as she dragged herself toward the nearest column.

Koios’s eyes flicked toward her, a snarl twisting his lips, but Percy didn’t give him the chance to pursue. He sprang forward again, feinting high with Riptide before dropping low, aiming a vicious slash at the Titan’s legs.

The blade bit into Koios’s thigh, celestial bronze sizzling as it carved through the Stygian iron greaves. A spray of golden ichor erupted from the wound, splattering the floor in shimmering droplets. The Titan hissed, staggering back a step, but his retaliation was swift. He slammed his foot down, the impact cracking the marble and sending a shockwave that knocked Percy off balance. The demigod stumbled, catching himself on one knee as Koios advanced, his massive hand reaching for him.

“You’ll pay for that, sea spawn,” Koios growled, a low rumble of menace. His fingers closed around Percy’s arm, the grip like a vice, and he yanked him upward, dangling him off the ground. Pain lanced through his shoulder, but he twisted against the death grip, swinging Riptide with his free hand. The blade caught him across the forearm, drawing another spurt of ichor and forcing the Titan to release him with a roar.

The son of Poseidon hit the ground hard, rolling to absorb the impact, and scrambled back to his feet. His arm throbbed, but he ignored it. The Titan was wounded now—golden ichor oozed from his thigh and arm, pooling beneath him—but he was far from beaten. His eyes burned with a mix of rage and calculation, his mind already spinning new strategies.

“You’re slowing down, you old bastard,” Percy taunted, circling to keep the Titan’s attention on him. “Guess a few millennia in Tartarus didn’t do you any favors.”

"You know,” Koios sneered, cracking his neck as he whipped out a sword that seemingly appeared out of thin air. “I’ve changed my mind. You clearly care for that daughter of Zeus. I think I’ll keep her for myself. She’s a warm fuckable cut of meat.”

Percy’s vision went white-hot, the Titan’s words igniting a fury so raw it felt like his bones would crack under the strain. His grip on Riptide tightened until his knuckles ached, the celestial bronze humming as if it could feel the storm raging inside him. Koios’s sneer, the casual cruelty in his tone, the way he reduced her to nothing—it was a match tossed into the powder keg of his restraint. He didn’t care about the odds, the Titan’s overwhelming power, or the throbbing pain in his arm. All he saw was Thalia, battered and broken, and the monster who dared to touch her.

“You’re dead,” he spat, low and venomous, a promise carved from the depths of his soul. He didn’t wait for Koios to make the next move. He charged, Riptide slashing in a brutal arc aimed for the Titan’s chest.

Koios met the attack with his own blade—a wicked sword forged of Stygian iron that gleamed with a cold, unnatural sheen. The weapons clashed, bronze against iron, the impact sending a shower of sparks cascading to the cracked marble floor. The force reverberated up Percy’s arm, jarring his already bruised shoulder. Their weapons locked against each other, their face mere inches apart. 

“Temper, temper,” the Titan mocked with cruel amusement. “You’re so easy to break. Just like your Father. A few words, and you’re a rabid dog.”

He pushed back against the locked blades, muscles straining as he refused to let the Titan overpower him. The air crackled with tension, the crimson glow from the pit casting their shadows in jagged, monstrous shapes across the cavern walls.

“You talk too much,” Percy snarled, twisting Riptide downward with a sudden jerk. The blade scraped free of the Stygian iron sword, and he spun low, aiming a slash at the Titan’s wounded thigh to widen the gash. Koios anticipated the move, stepping back with a fluid grace that belied his size, but not fast enough—Riptide’s tip grazed the armor, slicing a thin line through the metal and drawing another trickle of golden ichor.

The Titan hissed, his smirk replaced by a scowl of irritation. He swung his sword in a wide, punishing arc, the blade whistling through the air with lethal intent. Percy ducked, feeling the rush of wind as it passed inches above his head, and lunged forward, driving his shoulder into the towering enemy’s midsection. The impact was like hitting a wall of steel—pain exploded across his bruised frame—but it forced the Titan back a step

Koios roared, planting his feet and seizing Percy by the neck with his free hand. His grip was crushing, fingers digging into muscle like iron claws, and he hoisted him upward again, slamming him down onto the marble floor. The air rushed out of the demigod’s lungs in a sharp wheeze, stars bursting behind his eyes as his skull cracked against the stone. Riptide clattered from his grasp, skidding across the floor just out of reach.

“Pathetic,” the Titan sneered, looming over him. His sword gleamed as he raised it high, the tip poised to plunge into Percy’s chest. “The Father will be happy to learn of one less thorne in his side.” 

Percy’s vision swam, but he caught a flicker of movement behind the Titan—Thalia, dragging herself up against the column. She’d found a jagged piece of broken marble, clutching it like a makeshift dagger despite the blood streaking her arms. Her lips moved silently, urging him to fight, to get up. That fire in her gaze ignited something in him, shoving the pain aside.

With a guttural yell, he outstretched his hand once more, reaching for the ichor pulsing through Koios’s veins. The Titan’s golden essence surged beneath his skin, a chaotic torrent of power that dwarfed anything he had ever controlled before. His mind clawed at it, his will straining against the overwhelming force of an immortal’s vitality. His fingers curled, trembling with effort, and for a fleeting moment, he seized control once more.

Koios froze, his sword halting mid-descent as his body locked in place. His eyes widened, a choke escaping his throat as Percy twisted the ichor within him. Golden tendrils bulged beneath the Titan’s pallid skin, straining against his armor as if trying to burst free. His hand spasmed, the Stygian iron blade clattering to the ground, giving the demigod a precious second to breathe.

“Thalia—now!” he roared, the words raw and ragged, every ounce of his focus poured into holding Koios in that agonizing stasis. Blood streamed heavily from his nose, his head pounding with the strain, but he didn’t let go—not yet.

She didn’t hesitate. With a feral snarl, she launched herself from the column, her battered body moving on pure adrenaline. The jagged marble shard gleamed in her hand as she closed the distance, her bare feet slapping against the cold floor. Koios’s head jerked toward her, his face contorting in fury and disbelief, but Percy tightened his grip on the ichor, forcing the Titan’s limbs to seize. Golden veins pulsed grotesquely along his neck and arms, his body trembling under the unnatural restraint.

She leapt onto his neck, driving the makeshift dagger downward with all the strength she had left. The shard plunged into the side of his neck, right where an artery should be for a human. The Titan’s roar shattered the air as Thalia twisted the marble deeper, tearing through muscle and flesh. Golden ichor erupted in a violent geyser, spraying across her face and chest, the molten liquid sizzling as it hit the marble floor. His armored frame buckled, but she wasn’t done.

With a scream, she yanked the shard free and stabbed again, this time lower, ramming it into the soft hollow at the base of his neck. The jagged edge ripped upward, shredding through flesh and cartilage, splitting his throat in a grotesque fountain of ichor. Koios’s head snapped back, his mouth gaping in a silent howl as the golden blood poured down his chest, pooling around his knees. His arms flailed, grabbing Thalia by the neck before ripping her off him, throwing her to the ground. 

The son of Poseidon’s grip on the ichor faltered as he watched her hit the marble with a sickening thud, her body skidding across the floor before coming to a stop near the pit’s edge. The Titan’s golden blood sprayed wildly, his massive frame staggering as he clutched at his ruined throat, ichor bubbling between his fingers. The sight of Thalia crumpled and motionless snapped something in Percy—his rage surged anew, drowning out the pain screaming through his skull and the exhaustion dragging at his limbs.

Reaching into his pocket, he was glad to feel Riptide had reappeared. The blade erupted from the pen with a sharp shink, driving straight into Koios’s chest as Percy surged upward from the ground. The sword plunged deep, piercing through the diamond-encrusted breastplate like it was parchment, the metal cracking and splintering under the force. Golden ichor exploded outward in a torrential spray, the molten lifeblood searing the air with a hiss as it splattered across his face and arms, burning his skin where it landed. The impact rocked Koios back, his towering form lurching as the blade sank to the hilt, grinding against bone and flesh with a wet, sickening crunch.

The Titan’s icy eyes widened in shock, his ruined throat gurgling as he tried to scream, but all that came was a choked, bubbling wheeze. His massive hands clawed at the sword embedded in his chest, fingers scrabbling uselessly against the bronze as ichor poured from the wound in thick, shimmering streams. Percy twisted Riptide savagely, feeling the blade tear through muscle and whatever passed for a Titan’s heart, the resistance giving way with a grotesque snap. The diamond on the armor shattered, fragments raining to the ground like broken teeth, each piece glinting in the crimson glow of the pit.

Koios staggered, his legs buckling as the strength bled out of him. Percy yanked his sword free with a brutal wrench, the blade exiting in a gush of golden gore that painted the marble floor in a radiant, steaming pool. The Titan’s knees hit the ground with a thunderous crack, the marble splitting beneath his weight. His head lolled forward, ichor streaming from his mouth and nose, dripping in thick ropes that sizzled against the stone. His once-imposing frame trembled, the Stygian iron armor clanking as he swayed, clinging to the last threads of his immortal life.

Percy didn’t stop. His rage was a living thing now, a beast unleashed, and he swung Riptide again, this time aiming for the neck. The blade sliced through the air, meeting flesh with a wet thwack as it cleaved into the already ravaged throat. The celestial bronze bit deep, severing muscle and tendon, and with a final, ferocious pull, he ripped the sword sideways. Koios’s head tore free in a violent spray of ichor, the jagged stump of his neck erupting like a geyser as the severed head spun through the air. It landed with a heavy thud near the pit, rolling until it stopped against a broken column, the icy eyes staring blankly, mouth frozen in a rictus of fury and disbelief.

The decapitated body slumped forward, collapsing into the pool of its own ichor with a resounding crash that echoed through the cavernous hall. The golden blood spread outward, seeping into the cracks of the marble, the crimson glow from the pit reflecting off its surface in a macabre dance of light. The air grew still, the only sound now the faint drip of ichor and Percy’s ragged, heaving breaths.

He stood there, chest rising and falling like a bellows, Riptide dripping with the Titan’s essence as it hung heavy in his grip. His face and arms were streaked with golden burns and black smears from the Orcs, his clothes torn and soaked in the carnage. The pain in his shoulder, his ribs, his head—it all roared back now, crashing over him like a tidal wave, but he shoved it aside. Thalia.

He stumbled toward her, dropping to his knees beside her crumpled form. She lay near the pit’s edge, her bare skin smeared with dirt, blood, and ichor—both golden and black. Her chest rose faintly, each breath a shallow rasp, but her eyes fluttered open as he reached her. Those blue irises met his, welling with tears.

“Percy…” Her voice was a cracked whisper, barely audible. Her hand twitched, reaching for him, and he caught it in his own, his fingers trembling as they closed around hers. She was cold—too cold—but alive, her pulse faint but stubborn beneath his touch. Relief crashed through him, cutting through the haze of adrenaline and rage.

“I’ve got you,” he said with emotion he couldn’t mask. He slid an arm beneath her shoulders, lifting her gently against his chest. Her head lolled against him, her hair brushing his skin, and he tightened his grip, as if he could shield her from everything they’d just endured. “I’ve got you.” 

Her breath hitched, a shuddering gasp that broke the fragile silence of the cavern. Percy felt the tremor ripple through her, her bare body shaking against his as the weight of everything—the pain, the fear, the fight—finally caught up to her. Her fingers curled weakly into his torn shirt, clutching at him like he was the only anchor in a storm she couldn’t weather alone. And then, soft at first, a sob escaped her lips, raw and pained, tearing free from somewhere deep inside.

He held her closer once he felt the warm tears wet his skin, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other wrapped around her trembling frame. Her tears came faster now, hot and silent, soaking into his neck as she pressed her face against him.

“I—I couldn’t…” she choked out, her words muffled against his skin, fractured by the sobs she couldn’t hold back. “I tried… I fought… but they—” She broke down again, dissolving into a whimper as her grip tightened, nails digging into him like she was afraid he’d vanish if she let go.

Percy tried not to think of the implications of what was left unsaid. He instead held her silently, his arms a fortress around her trembling form, his gaze drifting over her shoulder to the lifeless heap that was once Koios. The Titan’s severed head stared blankly into the void, its eyes dulled, and jaw slack in a grotesque parody of the arrogance it had wielded moments ago. Golden ichor pooled beneath the corpse, a shimmering stain that mocked the grandeur of the so-called immortals. The sight should’ve brought him satisfaction—victory, even—but all he felt was a molten, seething hatred that clawed at his chest, raw and unrelenting.

He hated them. The Titans, the monsters, the Father, even some of the gods. He hated them for what they’ve done not only to him but to his friends. He hated how they reduced mortals to mere pawns for their twisted ambitions. How they were nothing more then just fuckable cuts of meat. His fingers tightened against Thalia’s back, her sobs vibrating through him, each one a dagger that stoked the inferno in his gut. That bastard had touched her, taunted her, reduced her to meat in his filthy hands—and for what? Some grand experiment for the Father? His teeth ground together so hard his jaw ached, his vision blurring with the sheer force of his rage.

Most of all, he hated himself—for not getting here sooner, for not tearing through the Labyrinth fast enough to spare Thalia this hell. His rage was a living beast, clawing at his ribs, roaring to be let loose, to rip apart every last shred of this cursed maze and the filth that thrived within it. He could feel it simmering beneath his skin, the dark gift that had snapped necks, popped lungs, and defied a Titan’s might. It begged to be unleashed again, to drown this place in blood and ruin until nothing remained but ash and silence. Gods, how he wanted nothing more than to just listen to it and let go. 

“Percy…” Thalia cut through the storm in his head. She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her tear-streaked face illuminated by the flickering torchlight. Her eyes, though red-rimmed and shadowed with pain, burned with something fierce—something that refused to let him sink into the abyss he teetered. “Don’t. Not now.”

He froze, the words anchoring him. She knew—gods, she always knew—how close he was to losing it, to letting the monster inside him take over completely. Her hand slid from his shirt to his face, trembling fingers brushing against his jaw, smearing the mix of ichor and blood that stained his skin. The touch was soft, a lifeline pulling him back from the edge.

“They’re gone,” she whispered. “You got me out. That’s enough.”

But it wasn’t enough —not to him. The rage still churned, a volcano ready to erupt, fueled by the sight of her broken body, the memory of Koios’s hands on her, the taunts that still echoed in his skull. He wanted to scream, to shatter the marble columns with his bare fists, to drag that piece of shit’s corpse back from the void just to kill him again—slower, more brutally, until the Titan felt every ounce of the agony he’d inflicted. His chest heaved, each breath a ragged snarl, and he could feel the ichor-stained floor trembling around him, responding to the fury he barely held in check.

Thalia’s grip tightened on his jaw, her fingers pressing harder against his skin, forcing his eyes to lock with hers. “Percy, stop,” she said shakily, noticing that her words still hadn’t resonated. “You’re here. I’m here. That’s what matters. Don’t let them win by breaking you too.”

Her words hit him like a wave crashing against a crumbling cliff, eroding the edges of his rage. He stared into her stormy blue eyes, seeing the pain etched there, the exhaustion, but also the unyielding strength that had always defined her. She was right—they hadn’t broken her, not completely. And if she could hold on, so could he. The beast inside him snarled, clawing at its cage, but he forced it down, shoving it back into the dark recesses where it belonged. For now.

His shoulders slumped, the tension bleeding out of him as he exhaled a shaky breath. The trembling in the floor stilled. He shifted his grip on her, pulling her closer, careful not to aggravate the bruises and cuts that marred her skin. Her head rested against his chest again, her breaths uneven but steadying, and he felt the weight of her trust anchoring him to the moment.

“We need to get out of here,” he murmured roughly. There was no telling how much time had passed on the surface. He glanced around the cavern—the pit still pulsed with its sinister crimson glow, the cages swayed faintly overhead, and Koios’s headless corpse lay sprawled in a pool of shimmering ichor. The maze wouldn’t stay quiet for long; it never did. Something else would come—more Orcs, more monsters, or worse—and he wasn’t about to let Thalia face it in her state.

She nodded weakly against him, her fingers curling into his shirt again. “Yeah… I’m not dying in this shithole,” she rasped, a faint spark flickering through the exhaustion. A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips despite everything—she was still Thalia, even now.

Stripping off his shirt, he softly pulled it over her, allowing her to retain some dignity. He hoped she didn’t mind the blood and ichor soaked into it. He slid his arm under her knees, lifting her as gently as he could. She winced, a sharp hiss escaping her lips, but didn’t protest. Her weight was light—too light—and it twisted something in his gut to feel how fragile she seemed, stripped of the armor and bravado that usually cloaked her. He adjusted his hold, cradling her against his chest, and grabbed Riptide from where it lay nearby, slipping the capped pen into his pocket. The rifle still hung awkwardly across his back, its strap digging into his shoulder, but he ignored it.

The archway he’d come through loomed ahead, its edges framing the tunnel beyond. He stepped over the littered remains of Orcs and broken marble, his boots crunching against bone and iron as he carried her toward it. The air grew colder as they left the cavern, the oppressive heat of the pit fading behind them, replaced by the damp chill of the Labyrinth’s depths. The torchlight dwindled, and soon it was just the faint glow of the tunnel walls—those eerie, pulsing runes—lighting their way.

Thalia shifted slightly in his arms, her head tilting to look up at him. “How’d you even find me? You’re not exactly an expert navigator.” She slightly smirked at the weak attempt of humor. 

“I just followed the smell.” 

“Fuck you,” she retorted, burying her face deeper into his chest to hide her smile.

Percy’s lips twitched into a faint grin despite the ache in his arms and the throbbing in his skull.  He tightened his grip on her, careful not to jostle her bruised frame, and pressed forward into the tunnel. The air was thick and cold, the damp stone walls pressing in closer with every step, but her warmth against his chest kept him alert.

The maze stretched on, its twisting paths a relentless mockery of their escape. The faint glow of the runes pulsed erratically, casting shadows across their features. His boots splashed through shallow puddles, the sound echoing unnaturally in the oppressive silence. He didn’t have Ariadne’s string or a mortal’s clear sight to guide him—just instinct, pure determination, and the unyielding need to get Thalia out of this hellhole. Every turn looked the same, every tunnel a potential dead end, but he refused to let doubt creep in. Not now. Not when she was counting on him.

Her breathing steadied against his chest, her head resting heavier as exhaustion pulled at her. Her fingers, still curled against his chest, twitched faintly, a sign she was still with him even as her strength waned. He glanced down at her, catching the faint flutter of her eyelashes against her grime-streaked cheeks. She looked smaller like this, stripped of her usual fire, but he knew better than to think her broken. She’d fought a Titan with a shard of rock—she’d survive this too.

The tunnel forked ahead, splitting into two paths. The left sloped upward while the right dipped downward, littered with broken stone and a faint whiff of something bile. He paused, shifting Thalia’s weight to free one hand and brush it against the left wall. The stone felt warmer, less damp—a sign, maybe, of the surface drawing closer. His gut tugged him that way, and he trusted it, turning into the upward path without hesitation.

Minutes bled into what felt like hours, the incline growing steeper, his calves burning with each step. The air lightened subtly, the oppressive weight of the Labyrinth easing as a faint breeze brushed his face—clean, crisp, carrying the distant scent of clean air. Hope flickered in his chest, fragile but insistent. They were close. He could feel it.

The tunnel widened suddenly, opening into a small chamber with a crack in the ceiling. Sunlight streamed through, weak and golden, painting the stone in hues of amber. It wasn’t much—just a sliver of the world above—but it was enough. He sighed, relief surging through him as he adjusted Thalia in his arms and stepped toward the light.

“Almost there,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. She stirred faintly, her head lifting just enough to squint at the glow.

“About time,” she murmured. “You’re slower than a satyr with a hangover.”

He snorted, the sound echoing softly in the chamber. “Yeah, well, you’re heavier than you look. All that attitude’s gotta weigh something.”

She managed a weak huff, too tired to muster a real retort, and let her head drop back against his shoulder. He stepped closer to the crack, peering up. The opening was narrow, barely wide enough for him to squeeze through alone, let alone carrying her. The edges were rough and glinted in the fading light—afternoon, maybe evening. Time twisted down here, but the sun’s angle told him they’d been in the maze too long.

He set Thalia down gently, propping her against the wall. She winced, sucking in a sharp breath as her bare legs brushed the cold stone, but waved off his concern with a shaky hand. “I’m fine. Just… figure out how to get us out.”

Percy nodded, turning to the crack. He reached up, testing the edges with his fingers. The stone was solid but uneven, offering enough handholds to climb—if he could widen it. He uncapped Riptide, the blade’s glow flaring briefly before he drove it into the rock. Sparks flew as celestial bronze met stone, chipping away at the edges. But it wasn’t enough. A sharp blade wasn’t going to knock away this stone. It needed to be pure blunt force that would do the trick.

Gritting his teeth, he stepped back, eyeing the crack in the ceiling. The stone was stubborn, mocking him with its unyielding bulk. His fingers flexed, still slick with ichor and blood, and a reckless surge of frustration boiled up from his core. If the maze wanted to play hard, he’d play harder. Rearing back, he drove his fist into the stone.

His bare knuckles slammed against the rock, the impact jarring his arm up to his shoulder. Pain exploded—sharp, white-hot—but he didn’t care. Blood sprayed from his torn skin, splattering the stone in crimson streaks as his fist connected again and again. Each punch cracked the rock further, chips and dust raining down, the fissure widening under the relentless assault. His hand was a mess, skin shredded, bones screaming, blood dripping in thick rivulets to pool on the floor below. The coppery tang mixed with the musty air, but he kept going, his vision tunneling to nothing but the stone and the need to break it.

The crack groaned, a deep, tectonic rumble, and with one final, bone-shattering blow, the ceiling gave way. A chunk of rock tumbled free, crashing to the chamber floor with a thunderous boom. Sunlight poured through the widened gap, blinding and golden, washing over his bloodied fist and the raw, pulpy mess of his knuckles. He staggered back, pain pulsing through his hand like a second heartbeat. His fingers twitched, barely able to curl, but the way was open—wide enough for both of them now.

Thalia’s weak voice cut through the haze of pain. “You’re… insane,” she rasped, her head tilted against the wall, eyes half-open but glinting with something like awe. “Did you just… punch through solid rock?”

He managed a shaky grin, wiping his bloodied hand on his torn jeans, leaving a smear of red against the denim. “Yeah, well, this place just pisses me off.”

She snorted. “Understatement.”

Ignoring the throbbing agony in his hand, he knelt beside her, sliding his good arm under her knees and lifting her again. The pain flared as he adjusted his grip, but he bit it down, focusing on her weight against him, the faint warmth of her breath against his neck. The sunlight beckoned, a promise of freedom just beyond the opening. He stepped toward it, boots crunching over the shattered stone, and began to climb.

The ascent was brutal. His blood-slick hand slipped against the rough handholds, leaving smears of red on the rock. Each pull sent fresh waves of pain through his battered knuckles, but he gritted his teeth and kept moving, Thalia cradled close. She clung to him weakly, her fingers digging into his shoulder, a silent inspiration for him to keep pushing forward. The sunlight grew brighter, warmer, the air fresher with every inch he gained. His muscles burned, his vision swam, but he didn’t stop—not until his head breached the surface and the world opened up around them.

He hauled himself through the gap, rolling onto his back with Thalia still in his arms. The ground beneath him was hard, uneven—pavement, not stone. He blinked against the sunlight, his eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness after hours in the Labyrinth’s gloom. The air was crisp, tinged with the familiar bite of exhaust and concrete, and the distant hum of traffic filled his ears. He sat up slowly, cradling Thalia as he took in their surroundings.

They were in an alley, tucked between towering buildings that stretched into the sky. Graffiti-stained brick walls loomed on either side, littered with overflowing dumpsters and scattered trash. The faint pulse of neon signs glowed in the distance, their colors muted by the fading daylight. A streetlamp flickered weakly at the alley’s mouth, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement.

“You gotta be shitting me,” he muttered, looking around at the familiar buildings and streets.

Thalia stirred in his arms, her head lifting slightly as she squinted against the fading sunlight. “Where…?” 

He replied with a bitter sigh. The maze hadn’t spit them out in Montana like he had hoped. He supposed it was wishful thinking. It seemed that place, even after escaping it, still bit him in the ass in the end. 

“We’re back where it all started.”