Part I: The Monster at the Table
Dinner that night was an exercise in segregation.
Tantalus had reinstated the ancient, strict rules about cabin seating. That meant Percy sat alone at the Poseidon table, but because Tyson was technically a "guest" (and a monster), Tantalus made him sit at the head table, right next to him, like a freak show exhibit.
The whispers were loud.
"He's a menace," I heard a Demeter kid mutter. "Did you see him snap that bull's horn? He could snap us like twigs."
"He smells like a sewer," an Aphrodite girl wrinkled her nose.
I sat at the Zeus table—Table One. I was alone, as usual, but being alone gave me a perfect vantage point. I saw Tyson hunching his massive shoulders, trying to make himself small. He wasn't eating his barbecue; he was just staring at his hands, probably wondering why everyone hated him for saving their lives.
I stood up.
The chatter in the pavilion died down. People watched me. I was the Siege Commander. The guy who broke Ares's ankle. When I moved, people paid attention.
I walked over to the head table.
"Mr. D isn't here," I said to Tantalus, who was currently trying to chase a fleeing corn on the cob. "But usually, guests choose where they sit."
Tantalus glared at me. "He sits where I can see him, Valerius. Unless you want to join him in detention?"
I ignored him. I looked at Tyson.
"Hey, Big Guy," I said. "Poseidon table is over there. Go sit with your brother."
Tyson looked at Tantalus, terrified.
"Go," I said gently. "If he tries to stop you, I'll shock his chair."
Tyson scrambled up and ran to Percy's table. Percy shot me a grateful look.
I walked back to my table, passing the Ares table on the way. Mark, one of Clarisse's brothers, stuck his foot out to trip me.
I didn't break stride. I stepped on his foot. Hard. With a combat boot.
"Ow!" Mark yelped.
"Watch your step, Mark," I said without looking back. "The floor is slippery for idiots."
Part II: The Engineering of Violence
The next few days were a blur of preparation. Tantalus, in his infinite madness, revived the Chariot Races.
Most campers saw it as a death trap. I saw it as a tactical exercise.
I found Charles Beckendorf in the forge. He was the head counselor of Hephaestus, a guy built like a linebacker with hands that could crush rocks but move with the precision of a surgeon.
"I need a ride," I told him.
Beckendorf wiped grease off his forehead. "I heard. You want to win, or you want to survive?"
"I want to dominate," I said. "Clarisse has the Ares chariot. It's got scythes, spears, and probably a landmine dispenser. I need something heavier."
Beckendorf grinned. He walked over to a tarp in the back of the forge and pulled it off.
"I call it the Juggernaut," he said.
It was magnificent. It wasn't built for speed; it was built for impact. The chassis was solid celestial bronze, reinforced with iron. The wheels were thick, treaded for off-road mud. The front guard was shaped like a battering ram.
"It's heavy," Beckendorf warned. "Slow off the line."
"I don't need speed," I said, hefting Thunderclap. "I have horsepower. What are we using to pull it?"
"My automata," Beckendorf said. He whistled.
Two bronze horses trotted out of the shadows. They didn't have skin; just gears and pistons hissing steam. Their eyes glowed orange.
"We team up," I proposed. "Hephaestus drives. Zeus defends. We call the team Heavy Metal."
Beckendorf offered a massive, calloused hand. "Deal. Let's go wreck some chariots."
Part III: The Race
Race day dawned hot and humid. The track—a dirt oval carved around the perimeter of the strawberry fields—was lined with cheering (and terrified) campers.
We lined up.
Lane 1: Ares (Clarisse driving, Mark defending). Their chariot was red, spiky, and looked mean.
Lane 2: Athena (Annabeth driving, Percy defending). Their chariot was sleek, aerodynamic, lightweight.
Lane 3: Apollo. Pure gold. Flashy.
Lane 4: Hermes. Looked rusty, but I knew the Stoll brothers had probably rigged it with unmatched speed.
Lane 5: Heavy Metal (Us).
I stood on the back of our bronze tank. Beckendorf gripped the reins.
"No killing," Chiron (who had briefly returned to oversee, though Tantalus was still technically in charge) warned. "And no maiming."
"Define maiming," I muttered, locking the piston on my hammer.
Tantalus blew the whistle.
"GO!"
The Hermes chariot shot forward like a rocket. The Apollo chariot was close behind.
We lurched forward. The Juggernaut was slow to start, but once the bronze horses got moving, the momentum was terrifying. We thundered down the track, the ground shaking under our wheels.
"Incoming!" Beckendorf yelled.
The Apollo chariot tried to cut us off. Their defender, Lee Fletcher, aimed a sonic arrow at our wheel spokes.
"Nope," I said.
I didn't block it. I caught it.
I snatched the arrow out of the air—reflexes honed by a year of sparring. I snapped it in half and threw it back at them.
"Eyes on the road, Lee!" I shouted.
Up ahead, Clarisse was playing dirty. She slammed her spiked wheels into the Hermes chariot. The Stoll brothers spun out, crashing into a hay bale in a cloud of dust and curses.
"Target acquired," Beckendorf said. "Athena is pulling ahead."
Annabeth was driving perfectly. She was drafting behind Clarisse, waiting for an opening. Percy was fending off javelins with his shield.
"We need a boost!" I yelled. "Beckendorf, overcharge the horses!"
"It'll blow the gaskets!"
"Do it!"
Beckendorf hit a switch on the dash. The bronze horses roared, steam venting violently from their nostrils. We surged forward.
We pulled up alongside the Ares chariot.
Clarisse looked at me. She sneered. "Get lost, Valerius!"
She pulled a lever. A scythe blade popped out of her wheel hub, aiming to slice our axle.
"Cute," I grinned.
I leaned over the rail. I didn't use my hammer. I reached out with my left hand—the Styx Hand.
I grabbed the spinning scythe blade.
Physics says my arm should have been ripped off. Magic said otherwise.
My black glove touched the metal. I felt the cold drain out of me and into the weapon. The Styx power sucked the kinetic energy and the structural integrity right out of the steel.
CRUNCH.
The scythe blade shattered like glass in my grip.
Clarisse's eyes widened. "What the—"
"Heavy Metal rules!" I roared.
Beckendorf slammed the Juggernaut into the side of the Ares chariot. Clarisse fought for control, swerving wildly.
Part IV: The Sky Darkens
We were on the final lap. It was us vs. Athena vs. Ares.
Then, the static in my blood screamed.
It wasn't the adrenaline of the race. It was a warning. The air pressure dropped so fast my ears popped.
"Beckendorf, look out!" I yelled.
I looked up. A black cloud was descending on the track.
"Storm?" Beckendorf asked.
"No," I said, unshipping my hammer. "Birds."
The Stymphalian Birds.
They were the size of crows, but their beaks were bronze and their feathers were metallic darts. There were thousands of them. They dove like a swarm of angry fighter jets.
THWACK-THWACK-THWACK.
Metal feathers slammed into the dirt track, into the wooden benches, into the campers.
"Take cover!" Chiron shouted, galloping onto the field.
The birds swarmed the chariots. They knew we were the biggest threats.
A bird dive-bombed Percy. He blocked with his shield, but the force knocked him backward. Annabeth lost control of the reins. Their chariot flipped.
"Percy!" I yelled.
Clarisse was screaming, trying to spear the birds, but there were too many. They were tearing at her armor.
"They're stripping us!" Beckendorf yelled, ducking under the bronze dashboard as feathers pinged off our chassis. "We can't fight them all!"
I looked at the swarm. It was a chaotic cloud of metal and hate.
"Tyson!" I saw the big Cyclops running onto the field, trying to swat the birds away from Percy. The birds were bouncing off his tough skin, but they were overwhelming him.
We needed a weapon of mass destruction.
"Sound!" I remembered Annabeth talking about Hercules. "They hate loud noise!"
"We don't have speakers!" Beckendorf yelled.
I looked at our chariot. Solid celestial bronze. A giant, hollow metal box.
I looked at Thunderclap. A hammer designed to hit with seismic force.
"We are the speaker!" I realized.
"Beckendorf, stop the chariot! Center of the track!"
"Are you crazy?"
"Just do it!"
Beckendorf yanked the brakes. The Juggernaut skidded to a halt in the middle of the chaos, mud spraying everywhere.
I climbed up onto the roof of the chariot's cabin. I was exposed. The birds saw me. They shrieked and turned, diving for the son of Zeus.
"Come and get it, you overgrown pigeons!" I taunted.
I raised the hammer. I closed my eyes.
I didn't just use muscle. I reached into the sky. I pulled every volt of static electricity from the atmosphere. My veins glowed blue. My eyes were blinding searchlights. The runes on Thunderclap hissed, turning white-hot.
"Cover your ears!" I bellowed to the camp.
I slammed the hammer down onto the roof of the bronze chariot.
BOOM.
It wasn't a sound. It was a physical force.
The celestial bronze vibrated at a frequency that shouldn't exist. The sound wave exploded outward in a visible ripple of distorted air.
It hit the birds.
Their tiny, magical brains couldn't handle the decibels. They squawked in agony, their formations shattering. They exploded into clouds of yellow dust or dropped out of the sky, stunned senseless.
The windows of the Big House blew out. Tantalus's Diet Coke can exploded in his hand. Every camper on the field was knocked flat.
I stood on the chariot, panting, steam rising from my shoulders. My ears were ringing so hard I couldn't hear myself think.
The sky was clear. The birds were scattering, fleeing back toward the woods.
Part V: The Blame Game
Silence returned to the track, broken only by the groans of campers and the hissing of the steam-powered horses.
"Valerius!"
Tantalus marched onto the field. He looked furious. His orange jumpsuit was covered in dust.
"You!" Tantalus pointed a shaking finger at me. "You ruined the race! You destroyed camp property! You attacked the spectators!"
I jumped down from the chariot. My legs felt shaky. That blast had drained my battery.
"I saved your life," I rasped. "Those birds were going to turn you into a shish kabob."
"They were harmless local wildlife!" Tantalus lied, his eye twitching. "You scared them! And you used unauthorized magic!"
Percy and Annabeth limped over. They were covered in mud, but alive.
"He saved us, Tantalus," Percy said angrily. "Whatever that was... it worked."
"Silence!" Tantalus roared. "The race is void! The winner is... nobody!"
He glared at the three of us—Percy, Annabeth, and me.
"You three are a menace. You attract monsters. You disrupt the order."
"The barrier is down!" Annabeth shouted. "That's why the birds got in! We need the Fleece!"
"There is no Fleece!" Tantalus yelled. "Go to the kitchen! All of you! Scrub pots until I say stop! And if I see any of you near the perimeter, I will have you expelled!"
He stormed off, chasing a muffin that had rolled under a bench.
I looked at Percy. He looked furious.
I looked at Tyson, who was picking bronze feathers out of his hair.
"Kitchen patrol," I muttered, wiping blood from my nose. "Great reward."
"We can't stay here," Percy whispered, his voice low. "Annabeth is right. We have to go."
"Tonight," Annabeth agreed. "We sneak out."
I looked at the dying pine tree on the hill. I looked at the campers, who were terrified and leaderless. I looked at my Styx hand, still trembling from the energy drain.
"You guys go," I said softly.
Percy looked at me. "What?"
"Someone has to stay," I said, gripping my hammer. "Tantalus is insane. If another attack comes... who defends them? Clarisse?"
I looked at the Ares cabin. They were strong, but they were undisciplined.
"I'm the wall," I said, repeating the thought I'd had for months. "You guys are the spear. Go get the Fleece. I'll make sure there's a camp left to heal when you get back."
Percy put a hand on my shoulder. "We won't let you down, Val."
"Just don't die," I grinned weakly. "I'd hate to be the only Big Three kid again. It's boring."