The Path Of Glory (Annabeth Chase x Male Reader)

24. Bull-Fighting At Camp Half-Blood

Mythologically speaking, there are some things you prefer to avoid. For Y/N, it was snakes. Last year, he'd had what you'd call a hard time on top of Half-Blood Hill with the Amphisbaena—his right palm still had the brand the venom of its fang had marked on it. For Percy, it certainly was bulls he hated, since the Minotaur had tried to kill him.

So coming back to camp surely wasn't what you'd call a nice beginning of holidays for Percy.

Up on Half-Blood Hill were two bulls. And not just regular bulls—bronze ones the size of elephants. And naturally, they breathed fire, but this goes without saying.

As soon as they exited the taxi, the Gray Sisters peeled out, heading back to New York, where life was safer. They didn't even wait for their extra three-drachma payment. They just left them on the side of the road, Annabeth with nothing but her backpack and knife, Tyson and Percy still in their burned-up tie-dyed gym clothes, Ethan with his eyes still slit-pupiled from the ride, and Y/N his sword in hand.

"Oh, man," Annabeth said, looking at the battle raging on the hill.

What worried Y/N the most weren't the bulls themselves. Or the ten heroes in full battle armor who were getting their bronze-plated booties whooped. What worried him was that the bulls were ranging all over the hill, even around the back side of the pine tree. That shouldn't have been possible. The camp's magic boundaries didn't allow monsters to cross past Thalia's tree. But the metal bulls were doing it anyway.

One of the heroes shouted, "Border patrol, to me!" A girl's voice—gruff and familiar.

Border patrol? Y/N thought. But the camp doesn't have a border patrol.

"It's Clarisse," Annabeth said. "Come on, we have to help her."

Normally, rushing to Clarisse's aid would not have been high on Y/N's "to do" list. She was one of the biggest bullies at camp. She was also a daughter of Ares, and he had had a very serious disagreement with her father last summer, so now the god of war and all his children basically hated his guts.

Still, she was in trouble. Her fellow warriors were scattering, running in panic as the bulls charged. The grass was burning in huge swatches around the pine tree. One hero screamed and waved his arms as he ran in circles, the horsehair plume on his helmet blazing like a fiery Mohawk. Clarisse's own armor was charred. She was fighting with a broken spear shaft, the other embedded uselessly in the metal joint of one bull's shoulder.

"Tyson, stay here," Percy said. "I don't want you taking any more chances."

"No!" Annabeth said. "We need him."

Y/N stared at her. "Um . . . Annabeth, he's mortal. He got lucky with the dodge balls but he can't—"

"Y/N, do you know what those are up there? The Colchis bulls, made by Hephaestus himself. We can't fight them without Medea's Sunscreen SPF 50,000. We'll get burned to crisp."

Knowing that there was a Sunscreen SPF 50,000 was useless, but oddly enough, Y/N knew it would stay in his head for life.

"Look, I don't know what you're talking about," Percy said, "but I'm not going to let Tyson get fried."

"Percy—" Annabeth started to say.

"Tyson, stay back." Percy raised his sword. "I'm going in. Y/N, let's go."

Tyson tried to protest, but they were already running up the hill toward Clarisse, who was yelling at her patrol, trying to get them into phalanx formation. The few who were listening lined up shoulder-to-shoulder, locking their shields to form an ox-hide–and-bronze wall, their spears bristling over the top like porcupine quills.