𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐀, percy jackson!

𝐗𝐕. malachi takes after his father (loser!)

──★ Chapter seventeen

"The prophecy was right," Percy said. "You shall go west and face the god who has turned.' But it wasn't Hades. Hades didn't want war among the Big Three. Someone else pulled off the theft.

Someone stole Zeus's master bolt, and Hades's helm, and framed me because I'm Poseidon's kid. Poseidon will get blamed by both sides. By sundown today, there will be a three-way war. And I'll have caused it."

Adira shivered. She was drenched from head to toe, her clothes clinging to her skin, just like the others—Percy included. The Coast Guard had just dropped them off, and now the four of them stood in a tight circle as they began to unravel the threads of the recent events.

Grover shook his head, mystified. "But who would be that sneaky? Who would want war that bad?"

Adira, her voice laced with an obvious tone, responded without missing a beat. "Maybe someone who is literally the god of it?" Her eyes flicked towards the others, the statement so clear it barely needed saying.

And as if summoned by her words, Ares appeared. He stood a few feet away, waiting for them with a smug, knowing grin. His black leather duster flared slightly in the wind, his sunglasses reflecting the fading sunlight. An aluminum baseball bat was propped casually on his shoulder, and beside him, his motorcycle rumbled.

"Hey, kid," Ares said to Percy, his voice dripping with a twisted sort of amusement. "You were supposed to die." The words rolled off his tongue casually, as if discussing the weather.

Percy's jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides as he took a step forward. "You tricked me," he said, his voice low and edged with anger. "You stole the helm and the master bolt."

Ares grinned. "Well, now, I didn't steal them personally. Gods taking each other's symbols of power-that's a big no-no. But you're not the only hero in the world who can run errands."

"Who did you use? Clarisse? She was there at the winter solstice."

Ares chuckled, clearly amused by the accusation. "Doesn't matter," he said, waving a dismissive hand. "The point is, kid, you're impeding the war effort. See, you've got to die in the Underworld. Then Old Seaweed will be mad at Hades for killing you. Corpse Breath will have Zeus's master bolt, so Zeus'll be mad at him. And Hades is still looking for this..."

From his pocket, Ares pulled out a ski cap—the kind bank robbers might wear—and placed it between the handlebars of his bike. Immediately, the cap transformed into an elaborate bronze war helmet.

"The helm of darkness," Grover gasped.

"Exactly," Ares said. "Now where was I? Oh yeah, Hades will be mad at both Zeus and

Poseidon, because he doesn't know who took this. Pretty soon, we got a nice little three-way slugfest going."

"But they're your family!" Annabeth protested.

Ares shrugged. "Best kind of war. Always the bloodiest. Nothing like watching your relatives fight, I always say."

"You're sick." Adira spat.

"Thank you," he responded with a smirk, as if her insult was the highest compliment he could receive.

"So, the master bolt was in Jackson's backpack the whole time?" she asked.

"Yes and no," Ares said. "It's probably too complicated for your little mortal brain to follow, but the backpack is the master bolt's sheath, just morphed a bit. The bolt is connected to it, sort of like that sword you got, kid. It always returns to your pocket, right?"