𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗿𝘂𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘀, luke castellan

ꜱᴇᴠᴇɴᴛʏ-ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ

Dust to Dust.

🧶

Rory and Percy sprang apart as Antaeus thundered forward, the earth beneath his feet shifting unnaturally, almost as if it were alive, molding to accommodate his every step. Each movement sent tremors through the arena floor, sand slithering and coiling around his legs like an extension of his own body.

Percy darted left, weaving through the loose, shifting ground, his feet barely skimming the surface as he moved. Rory shot to the right, golden light flickering around her form as she sprinted across the battlefield, her blade humming with energy.

Rory was the first to strike.

She moved like a streak of lightning, her sword flashing as she closed the distance in an instant. Her blade carved through the air with deadly precision, slashing deep across Antaeus’s side. The hit was clean, the impact sharp—but instead of flesh and blood, a cascade of sand poured from the wound, spilling like a broken hourglass.

Rory skidded back, narrowing her eyes as the wound sealed itself almost instantly, the earth surging upward to repair the damage. Sand clung to her hair, her clothes, dusting her skin in a fine layer of grit.

Antaeus barked out a laugh, shaking himself off as if the strike had been no more than an inconvenience. “Now you see why I never lose, demigods!” he boomed, his voice dripping with amusement. His predatory grin widened as he turned his gaze onto Rory. “Come here and let me crush you. I’ll make it quick!”

He swung a massive arm at her, the sheer force of the attack enough to send a gust of wind blasting through the arena. Rory ducked effortlessly, her movements fluid as water, spinning away in a flash of golden light that left an afterimage in its wake. She reappeared behind him in an instant, her blade slicing down toward his Achilles tendon.

But the sand moved with him.

The moment her strike landed, the wound sealed just as fast, the grains shifting and knitting together like living flesh.

While Rory kept Antaeus occupied, Percy took the opportunity to circle to the giant’s other side, searching for an opening. His mind raced. He had to figure out a weakness—fast. He struck out with Riptide, aiming for the back of Antaeus’s knees in a well-placed attack meant to cripple. The celestial bronze blade met resistance—something solid, but not quite human. More sand spilled from the wound like a broken dam, yet Antaeus didn’t so much as flinch. Before Percy could strike again, the sand rose up to fill the gap, erasing any trace of damage.

The giant twisted with unnatural speed, his massive foot swinging around in a brutal kick aimed directly at Percy’s ribs.

Percy barely had time to react.

He threw himself backward, feeling the rush of displaced air as Antaeus’s foot missed him by inches. He hit the sand hard, rolling to absorb the impact before springing back to his feet, grains of sand clinging to his sweat-dampened skin. His muscles ached from the sheer force of dodging, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it.

Then it clicked.

Percy’s eyes flicked to the shifting sand beneath them, to the way Antaeus’s wounds sealed almost instantly, the earth bending to his will like a loyal servant. The realization dawned on him like a slap to the face—as long as Antaeus was on the ground, he couldn’t be killed. The myth suddenly made sense. He should have figured it out sooner.

Rory, however, already knew that.

She stood a few feet away, her sword of light still glowing in her grip. Antaeus hadn’t landed a single blow on her—not for lack of trying. But Rory wasn’t like Percy. She didn’t block; she didn’t tank damage head-on. She moved. She was faster than the giant, weaving effortlessly between his sluggish yet earth-shaking swings. Every time he attacked, she was already gone, a flicker of golden light in the corner of his vision before she reappeared somewhere else.