𝓟𝓻𝓪𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓪 - (𝓟.𝓙𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓼𝓸𝓷)

11.

vol i
➵ chapter eleven ➵

"One on one," Percy challenges Luke. "What are you afraid of?"

Luke curls his lip. The soldiers hesitate, waiting for his order.
Before he can say anything, Agrius, the bear-man, bursts onto the deck, leading a flying horse.
It's a pure-black pegasus with wings like a giant raven. The pegasus mare bucks and whinnies.

Percy can understand her thoughts. She's calling Agrius and Luke some names so bad Chiron would've washed her muzzle out with saddle soap.

"Sir!" Agrius calls, dodging a pegasus hoof. "Your steed is ready!"
Luke keeps his eyes on Percy.
"I told you last summer, Percy," he says. "You can't bait me into a fight."

"And you keep avoiding one," Percy returns. "Scared your warriors will see you get whipped?"
Luke glances at his men, and he sees he's trapped. If he backs down, he'll look weak.
If he fights, he'll lose valuable time chasing after Clarisse.

The best Percy can hope for is to distract him, giving his friends a chance to escape.
On the downside, he knows how good Luke is at sword-fighting.

"I'll kill you quickly," he decides, and he raises his weapon. Backbiter is a foot longer than Riptide. Its blade glints with an evil grey-and-gold light where human steel has been melded with celestial bronze.
It's like two opposing magnets have been bound together. The blade has been made through tragedy—someone has died in the process.

Luke whistles to one of his men, who throws him a round leather-and-bronze shield.
He grins wickedly.
"Luke," Annabeth says, "at least give him a shield."
"Sorry, Annabeth," he says. "You bring your own equipment to this party."

The shield is a problem. Fighting two-handed with just a sword gives you more power, but fighting one-handed with a shield gives you better defence and versatility. There are more moves, more options, and more ways to kill.

Luke lunges and almost kills Percy on the first try. His sword goes under his arm, slashing through his shirt and grazing his ribs.
Percy jumps back and counterattacks with Riptide, but Luke slams his blade away with his shield.

"My, Percy," Luke chides. "You're out of practice."
He comes at him again with a swipe to the head. Percy parries, returning with a thrust. He sidesteps easily.

The cut on Percy's ribs stings. When Luke lunges again, he jumps backwards into the swimming pool and feels a surge of strength.
He spins underwater, creating a funnel cloud, and blasts it out of the deep end, straight at Luke's face.

The force of the water knocks him down, spluttering and blinding him. But before Percy can strike, he rolls aside and is on his feet again.
Percy attacks and slices off the edge of Luke's shield, but it doesn't even faze him.
Percy drops to a crouch and jabs at his legs. Suddenly his thigh is on fire, with pain so intense, he collapses.
His jeans are ripped above the knee. He's hurt.

Luke hacks downward and Percy rolls behind a deck chair. He tries to stand, but his leg can't take the weight.
"Perrrrrcy!" Grover bleats.
He rolls again as Luke's sword slashes the deck chair in half, metal pipes and all.

He claws towards the swimming pool, trying hard not to black out.
He'll never make it. Luke knows it too. He advances slowly, smiling. The edge of his sword is tinged with red.