[Third Person POV]
Lucian, Thalia, and Annabeth slithered quietly through the cruise corridors, their disguises holding strong as they passed by rows of window vendors. The vendors behind them all wore welcoming smiles, so disarmingly friendly that it bordered on uncanny. Not one frown among them, not a single furrow of doubt in their brows.
"It's seems like no one was spared from the charm," Thalia muttered, narrowing her eyes as she studied their placid expressions. "No one's that cheerful. It feels unnatural… unsettling."
Her words hung heavy in the air, and at that very moment, the shadows rippled by their feet. A flicker of black smoke stirred, and from the darkness, a sharp pair of eyes appeared before Nox slowly rose, his head and shoulders peeking from Annabeth's silhouette. His voice was low as he reported, "There's an army of monsters onboard… not mere stragglers either. I counted Scythian Dracaenae, Laistrygonian giants, a pack of hellhounds… and a Drakon. It's being kept like some sort of… pet."
Annabeth's face was stoic, but her mind was racing. "Good work," she whispered with a small nod. In their psychic tether, she saw everything Nox had witnessed: the coils of the Drakon locked in a reinforced pen, the obedience of the hellhounds, the soldiers all too comfortable walking the halls among humans. With a final flicker, Nox dipped his head respectfully and dissolved back into her shadow, leaving a faint chill in his absence.
Annabeth and Thalia both turned to glance at Lucian. He had been suspiciously quiet this whole time, his usual sarcastic remarks notably absent. But when they found him, they both nearly tripped in exasperation. Lucian was staring down at his own chest with the utmost seriousness, his hands squishing against his new breast as he whispered under his breath, "Boing… boing… boing…"
Their faces twitched. Thalia's lips curled in annoyance before she snapped her hand, and a gust of wind materialized into a hardened construct shaped like a staff. Without hesitation, she smacked him over the head with it.
"ACHK! What was that for?!" Lucian yelped, clutching his skull as he staggered back. "I wasn't even bothering anyone!"
"You know exactly what that was for," Thalia said flatly, though her eyes betrayed the amusement she was trying to suppress. She rolled them with practiced ease, like she'd done a thousand times when dealing with his antics.
Lucian scowled dramatically. "Well excuse me for never having touched a pair before! Very soft. Very tender. The only one I ever touched were my mother's!"
Both Annabeth and Thalia froze mid-step, their expressions warping into a mixture of confusion and horror. Slowly, they both turned their heads toward him in disbelief.
Lucian looked at them with a completely deadpan stare and clarified, "I was a baby. Being breastfed. Don't make it weird."
In unison, both girls let out a long, drawn-out sigh that carried more exasperation than words ever could. They decided, without even saying it aloud, that it was best not to dignify him with a response.
The group pressed on, rounding the next corner until they came across a tall, ornate door. It loomed with polished golden handles, and upon pushing it open, they were met with the rich scent of roasted meats and spices. The door had led them directly into the banquet hall.
Inside, the chamber stretched wide and lavish, with long buffet tables glistening under chandeliers. Humans and monsters alike mingled freely. Scythian Dracaenae slithered by with plates balanced in their claws, Laistrygonian giants crouched awkwardly at tables designed too small for their hulking frames, and hellhounds sat in line waiting for food, occasionally licking their lips in anticipation.
The sight made the trio instinctively tense. Thalia's forked tongue slithered out of her mouth as she sniffed at the air, her tongue brushing against her teeth. "What is that smell?" she muttered, shivering as the odor sank deep into her senses. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, but it was sharp, almost enticing.
"Demigods…" Annabeth and Lucian whispered together, their tones low and grim.
Indeed, their disguises as monsters allowed them to catch the scent the same way the true beasts did: the bloodline of the divine. The banquet was laced with it, carried on the breath and sweat of those who had chosen to side with Luke.
"So these are the defectors," Thalia figured, watching them move through the hall with an unnatural ease. "The ones who betrayed the camp and joined Luke's army."
They pressed deeper into the shadows of the room, keeping close enough to overhear the monsters' conversations.
"They are ssstarting to become restless, they come and go," one Scythian Dracaenae hissed to her companion as she ladled food onto her plate. "Three left us yesterday, but we gained two back. Cowardsss… they fear the Black One's wrath. But rumor says he weakens… says he plans to take on a quest soon."
"Sksksksk." Her partner's hiss came out in a broken laugh, sharp and mocking. "What a fool. He'll only find death waiting. Perhaps it's better that way. Let him die, and let the rest learn who it is they truly need to fear."
Her companion smirked, her tone dripping with mock pity as she added, "But if there are no more deserters… then what will feed our little pet?"
The two Dracaenae slithered away together, their laughter echoing faintly in the cavernous hall.
Annabeth's expression hardened as she glanced at Thalia and Lucian. "Well," she muttered with a scornful scoff, "that was surprisingly easy. Useful information handed to us on a silver platter."
"If I had to guess, the 'Black One' they were referring to is you," Thalia said, her eyes flicking toward Lucian with sharp certainty. She kept her voice low, but there was no disguising the edge in her tone. "Your presence alone seems to be stirring unrest in our grandfather's little army. Probably because of that humiliating beating you gave Luke. Word must've spread, and some are starting to lose confidence in him. But at the same time… rumors about you being weakened, corroded by miasma—it makes them think you'll die on your quest. And so, they throw their lot in with Luke, thinking he's their only chance."
Lucian didn't look at her immediately. He merely slithered along in silence, hands folded behind his back like some smug general surveying a battlefield. His eyes, however, gleamed faintly in amusement.
"And that's not the worst of it," Annabeth cut in grimly. She adjusted her stance, her analytical mind piecing together the puzzle with ease. "Those who've lost faith in Luke have tried to cut ties. But instead of being allowed to walk away, they're… fed to the Drakon. A public punishment, meant to send a message. That fear—knowing there's no leaving once you've sworn loyalty—will keep the rest bound tighter to Kronos' cause. It's psychological warfare, using terror as shackles."
Lucian finally scoffed, his tone biting and arrogant. "Pathetic strategy." He waved his hand dismissively. "It seems dear ol' granddad hasn't learned a single thing from his last defeat. Ruling through fear breeds only rebellion."
Annabeth gave a curt nod, agreeing.
With a flick of his wrist, Lucian motioned for them to move forward. As they slithered past the edge of the banquet hall, the pack of hellhounds stationed nearby suddenly turned their heads in unison. Their glowing red eyes locked onto him. Some growled softly before barking, others lowered their heads in a surprising gesture of respect. One even whimpered and crouched, its tail wagging slightly, as if greeting royalty.
Thalia arched a brow, smirking. "They still recognize you, it seems."
Lucian's lips curved into a self-satisfied smile. "Of course they do. As much as I can shift my body, my form, my appearance—I cannot change what I am. To them, I'll always be the prince of their kingdom." He straightened his posture, pride radiating from him as he slithered ahead, chin lifted ever so slightly.
Annabeth and Thalia exchanged a quick smirk behind his back. Still, they followed him, moving away from the banquet and toward their next objective.
As they walked, Lucian's eyes flicked toward Annabeth, and with a subtle tap to his forehead, he gave her the silent signal.
She nodded, understanding instantly, and reached inward to forge the invisible link. A strand of thought braided between the three of them, connecting their minds in a psychic tether. Words no longer needed to be spoken aloud; their voices now lived in each other's thoughts.
They reached another door, this one leading to the outer deck of the ship. The hinges groaned as it opened, and the sea air rushed over them, carrying with it the faint scent of salt and brine.
The sun was sinking low, painting the horizon in molten orange and gold, the waves catching the light like shattered glass. Passengers and monsters alike dotted the deck—some lounging on deck chairs, others leaning against the rail to watch the ocean stretch endlessly into the distance.
And there, at the center of it all, Luke sat on the edge a reclining chair, his posture tense. But his eyes were sharp, calculating, restless. Two massive, hairy giants flanked him, each one armed with brutal weapons.
Luke turned his gaze lazily toward them as they approached. For a moment, his expression was unreadable, but his attention quickly shifted to his companions instead.
"From what I've gathered," Luke began, his tone carrying the edge of irritation, "Lucian and the others have already left on their quests. No one knows where they've gone or what exactly they're after." He clicked his tongue in annoyance.
One of the giants, Agrius, gripped his spear and frowned. "Why worry so much? Didn't you say he was weakened? If he's rotting from that miasma, then your chance is better than ever. You should be able to cut him down."
Luke let out a bitter laugh, though his eyes darkened with something closer to fear and trauma. "Shows what you know. That bastard is probably thrilled he's weaker than before. You don't get it—he's more dangerous like this than when he's at full strength."
The giant blinked in confusion. "How's that make sense?"
"Because," Luke said, his voice dropping low and venomous, "ever since I've known him, he's always held back. Always fought with one hand tied, just to make the fight interesting. But now? Now he's forced into limitation. He doesn't get the luxury of playing games anymore. That means every move he makes is lethal. He won't hold back."
Luke let a shuddering breath, his body shaking slightly as he still remembered the beating from a few days ago.
But then, the moment shattered as three Scythian Dracaenae slithered up behind him, circling in. Luke stiffened and narrowed his eyes, his hand drifting toward the hilt of his blade.
"What do you three want?" he demanded, his gaze hardening as he stared at the leader of the group. Her smile was wide, almost too bright, her fangs gleaming in the dying sunlight.
The leading figure chuckled, her voice lilting and husky, underlined by a subtle hiss. But when she spoke, Luke's eyes narrowed further in suspicion.
"Nothing," she purred smoothly. "We're merely interested in your little conversation. Surely, you wouldn't mind if we joined in?"
The cadence of the voice was wrong.
Familiar and unfamiliar all at once.
Because though her appearance was that of a Dracaenae, the smile behind her fangs belonged to Lucian.
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