[Camp Half-Blood, Continuation of the part before Chiron mentioned where Sally was...]
The silence that followed Chiron's words pressed heavy against the walls of the Big House. The hearth crackled, the smell of hay and old parchment clung to the air, but Percy could hear none of it. His chest was heaving, hands curled into fists at his side.
"Zeus believes Poseidon has taken the master bolt," Chiron said gently, as though gentleness could soften the blade of accusation. "The Cyclopes dwell beneath the sea. They forged Zeus' weapon in the first place. If your father commanded it, they could forge more. And now..." His eyes flicked toward Percy, regret written in the lines of his face. "Now Poseidon has openly claimed you. You were in New York during the winter holidays. You could have slipped into Olympus unnoticed. To Zeus, the conclusion is obvious."
"Obvious?" Percy's laugh cracked like ice. "That's not obvious, it's idiotic, for a god such as him. I wasn't even in New York during that time."
His voice trembled, raw fury threaded into every syllable.
Adamas, seated close, placed a hand lightly on his shoulder. Her touch was cold, steady—an anchor against the storm. "Poseidonas," she said, her blood red eyes glinting in the dim light, "Tone down your aura." She then turned to look at Chiron. "He's right. We weren't on New York back then. We were in Los Angeles."
That made Chiron glanced at them in confusion. "Los Angeles? What were you two doing in there?"
Percy turned toward him, but did not bother even look at him. That made Chiron flinched in unknown primal fear. "My mother's book signing."
Adamas continued where he left of, "Those Hollywood jackals who call themselves as directors were circling around her to try and steal all the credits of her very own manuscript."
The memory rose unbidden, vivid as the ink that had stained Sally Jackson's hand that day. The signing table at the edge of the bookstore. Fans with eager eyes. And then the directors—the kind with slick smiles and contract folders—offering to "polish" the 『Memoirs of the Damned』.
Percy had snapped back then, voice low but burning with anger, "It's her story. You don't get to butcher it for your box office."
"They wanted to rewrite the whole thing," Percy muttered now, the anger flaring anew. "Claim her words as theirs. Change everything she wrote."
"And we managed to stopped them," Adamas said. "That foolish King of Olympus should know better than a Hollywood scavenger. If Zeus cannot even check the truth of where we were—" She let the thought hang, heavy with disdain.
Grover fidgeted, his hooves scraping against the floorboards. "She's right," he said at last. "I, um... I remember. Sally told me before she went. She wanted me to make sure that in case I would be looking for them that she'd be gone for her signing and that she'd bring Percy and Adamas as well."
His eyes darted nervously between Percy and Chiron. "It's true."
Chiron's brow furrowed, but he did not contradict them.
Grover swallowed hard, then asked the question Percy had not expected. "But... Perseus, think about it. If you were Zeus, and you already thought your brother was plotting to overthrow you, then suddenly your brother admits he broke the oath he swore after the war... fathering a child who could be used as a weapon against you..." He shifted uncomfortably. "Wouldn't that put a twist in your toga?"
The words hung sharp in the air.
Percy sneered, lips curling in contempt. "Ridiculous. They're gods. Gods do not need support. They need not scheme nor they need not rely on anyone else. I have told you of this before. And yet, they accuse me without evidence?" His voice climbed, trembling with suppressed rage. "Why did they not ask Apollo? Isn't he the god of truth? Or does truth not matter when paranoia is easier?"
The room trembled with the weight of his scorn.
"Poseidonas," Adamas said again, sharper this time, her grip on his shoulder tightening. "Breathe and calm down."
Her command cut through the storm. Percy clenched his jaw, breath dragging ragged through his teeth, but he forced the fury back down into the pit of his chest. The fire in his eyes dimmed to embers.
Chiron released a breath he had been holding. "You are right, Perseus. The gods... are not perfect." His gaze lingered on Adamas, as if acknowledging the truth in her words as well. "But whether their suspicion is fair or not, the accusation stands. And there is only one path forward."
He straightened, his old frame filling with the weight of destiny. "You must seek the Spirit of Delphi. The Oracle will guide you."
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[The Attic of the Big House...]
The attic of the Big House smelled of dust and rot.
Percy climbed the narrow steps with Adamas and Grover at his side. Shadows clung to the rafters. Old trunks and broken armor littered the space like the remains of forgotten wars.
And then he saw it—the figure seated in the rocking chair, skin shriveled to parchment, eyes sunken deep into a face that should have been a skull. A woman's body, long dead, yet still upright, wrapped in the tattered remains of a tie-dyed dress.
The Oracle.
A hiss filled the attic. Green mist coiled upward from the corpse's mouth, snaking across the beams and curling around Percy's ankles. The air thickened, heavy with prophecy.
Percy frowned as the mist coalesced into a shape. The voice came—hoarse, layered, as though countless echoes spoke through one throat.
You shall go west, and face the god who has turned.
You shall find what was stolen, and see it safely returned.
You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend.
And you shall fail to save what matters most, in the end.
The mist dispersed with a hiss. The mummified Oracle slumped back into stillness, as if it had never moved.
Percy stood rigid, the words branding themselves into his skull. Fail to save what matters most. Is she saying that I won't be able to save my mother?
Adamas' silver gaze lingered on him, unblinking.
"What did she say?" Grover asked, his voice small.
Percy clenched his fists. "It doesn't matter. It said the gods are dragging me into their mess." Failure is not an option. I will defy the Fates. He thought in his mind, already on the verge of wiping out everyone who got in his way.
Adamas touched his arm lightly. "You need not forget that I am here, Poseidonas," she murmured. "We'll save Aunt Sally and finish this fool's quest."
He gave her no answer. Only the quiet burn of defiance in his eyes.
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[The next morning...]
The morning was sharp with mist when Chiron met them at the border of camp. His hooves shifted restlessly against the gravel as he looked over the three figures preparing to leave.
"Perseus. Adamas. Grover," he said, his voice steady though his eyes betrayed unease. "Your path west will not be simple. Monsters will sense your presence. The Furies are still hunting. Trust each other."
Percy gave no response beyond a short nod. His jaw remained set, his knuckles white around the strap of the duffel bag slung elegantly across his shoulder. Adamas walked beside him, silent, her red hair glinting faintly even in the muted light of dawn. Grover lingered a step behind, adjusting his reed pipes nervously.
Chiron gave Percy the cursed pen, Anaklomus and exclaimed what it is. Percy only scoffed at him and rejected it. Adamas ended up taking the pen from him instead and told him that she'll somehow "convince" him to use it, to which Chiron relented.
Chiron's gaze then softened. "The Oracle has spoken. Whatever weight it laid upon you, Perseus... remember you are not alone."
Percy's lips curved in something that might have been a smile, though it was twisted with darkness and anger. "Alone is how the gods want it, isn't it? The heroes they raised just to bleed while they watch."
Before Chiron could answer, a fourth voice cut across the air.
"Which is exactly why you need me."
From behind the nearest pine tree, Annabeth Chase stepped into view. Her storm-gray eyes burned with determination, a Yankees cap dangling loosely from her hand.
Grover bleated in surprise. "Annabeth! You—how long have you—"
"Since the Oracle," she admitted bluntly. "You'd be lost without me."
Percy's gaze sharpened, his expression caught between irritation and reluctant acknowledgment. "Sneaking around. Typical child of Athena."
Annabeth didn't flinch. "You'll need more than a weapon and attitude to survive out there. You need strategy. And you need me."
Adamas tilted her head, studying the girl with faint amusement. "Such a bold child," she murmured. "Poseidonas, perhaps we should let her come with us. Let her see just how powerful we really are."
Percy sighed in defeat, not quite agreement but not outright refusal either. "Alright. Just don't expect us to give you thanks if you end up slowing us down, halfling."
Annabeth slightly shivered in fear but masked it with defiance and pride. "Try to keep up."
And so the four of them—an unwilling son of Poseidon, a fallen goddess, a satyr with nerves of glass, and a daughter of wisdom with too much pride—set their feet on the road west.
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[Days later...]
The days blurred together in a haze of asphalt, bus tickets, and monsters.
On the bus out of New York, the Furies struck, their shrieks splitting the air as leathery wings unfurled in the cramped aisle. Percy's trident flashed into existence, cleaving through shadow, while Adamas' scythe-like sword glimmered like moonlight, her strikes precise and merciless. The bus exploded into chaos, flames devouring the vehicle as mortals screamed and fled.
They escaped into the rain, lungs heaving, Annabeth's face pale with the realization that the monsters were not going to stop.
And all the while, Annabeth watched both Adamas and Percy with primal fear and calculating eyes, as if measuring them against her expectations—and finding something she could not yet name. She also did not expect that Percy already has a weapon of his own too. A very exquisite trident that looked like it was forged for a god instead of a demigod.
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It was near dusk when they stumbled upon a quaint roadside shop, its sign half-hidden by creeping ivy. The sign translated to as Aunty Em's Garden Gnome Emporium.
The statues out front were eerily lifelike. Too lifelike.
Annabeth's hand tightened around her knife. "I sense danger," she warned.
But hunger gnawed at them, and Medusa's voice was honey over steel when she beckoned them inside.
She was veiled, her face hidden, but her presence filled the room. The smell of stone dust and polished marble clung to the air.
"Children," she cooed, her gaze settling on Percy. "And... oh, how the Fates twist the threads. You look so much like him."
Percy only scowled when he realized who she was referring to. "I am not like him. That disgusting Sea King is not worthy to be my father."
Her laugh was bitter, jagged. "Oh, but you are, albeit slightly. Your father. That wretched Sea King. He violated my temple, defiled me before Athena's eyes. And then—" Her voice broke, dripping venom. "He abandoned me. Left me cursed, left me hated, left me to rot in the shadows while Olympus whispered my shame."
The veiled head tilted. "And now here you are. His mirror. His arrogance. His face. I will carve my revenge into your flesh. I will turn you into the stone image of his failure."
Annabeth raised her knife, voice low. "Don't look at her—"
But Percy had already moved.
He manipulated the waters from the air, shaping it into his signature trident. The trident then materialized in his hand with a burst of light. His stance shifted—not like a boy fumbling with new power, but like a god who had wielded this weapon for billions of years. His grip was firm, his movement fluid, graceful, and elegant, every inch of him echoing the god he once had been.
Medusa hissed, her veil sliding away as serpents writhed and shrieked atop her head. Her gaze burned toward him—
And Percy did not hesitate.
SHIIIIKKK!!!
With a single, sweeping strike, he swung the trident in a deadly arc. The weapon cleaved through flesh and bone before her eyes could meet his.
The world fell silent as Medusa's head toppled to the floor, her body collapsing in a heap. Only her head had remained as her body dissolved into ash.
Grover gaped. Annabeth froze, her knife halfway raised. Adamas alone remained composed, though her red eyes gleamed with pride for her "brother".
Percy didn't even look at the corpse. He cleaned the trident with a flick of his wrist, the sea's essence shimmering briefly before the weapon dissolved back into nothingness.
"She talked too much," he muttered coldly.
The others said nothing. The air was heavy with the finality of it, with the realization that Percy Jackson—Perseus, Poseidonas, whatever name he carried—was not like other heroes. He killed with the precision of someone who had done it countless times before.
Adamas stepped closer, laying a hand against his arm. "Her words were poison," she murmured. "No need to dwell in it any longer, Poseidonas."
Percy only sneered. He gave no answer, only lifted the severed head by manipulating the water into tendrils while wrapping it in cloth with grim efficiency. He dared not touch it, less the monster's filth stained his hands.
Annabeth finally found her voice, though it trembled. "You—you didn't even look away."
Percy did not bother to even look at her. "Why should I? She wasn't worth the breath it would take to fear her."
Silence followed, and none of them challenged him.
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They left the Emporium behind, the weight of Medusa's head stowed in Grover's pack. The road stretched before them, dark and uncertain.
Adamas walked close to Percy, her presence steady, her hand brushing his when he caught her hand and grip it tightened.
Above, storm clouds gathered, as though Olympus itself was watching.
Percy didn't look up. His voice was low, bitter. "The gods create monsters, then blame us for slaying them. And they still call themselves divine."
And that so-called father of mine is not worthy to be my father. Nor he carries my perfect essence. He is all but a failure, He continued in his mind, rejecting that disgusting Sea King who claimed to be his father.
No one answered. There was nothing to say.
The four of them pressing westward, the shadows lengthening, danger thick in the air. Somewhere beyond, the Mother of Monsters stirred.
And soon, they would face Echidna.
Just high above them, multiple holographic screens floated above them. The words flickering.
「The Constellation "The One Who Twists The Plotline" says that things are finally stirring in a different direction.」
「The Constellation "Sadistic A■■ & R■■" grins sadistically at the chaos that the incarnations caused.」
「The Constellation "■ ■■■ ■■" only looked at the incarnations with an eerie smile.」
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[On the same day as they defeat Medusa, unknown area in the Underworld...]
Meanwhile, in the Underworld, a person whose silver hair gleamed in the darkness, felt something. Her heterochromic eyes slightly widen in realization.
"I see. S■ t■ t■e ■s f■■■y c■."
She clenched her own fist and then opened it again. A golden light appeared as it slowly formed into a form of fountain pen along with a book. It then slowly dropped down to her own hands.
The book itself slowly opened on its own. Numerous texts written in an unknown language flowed right outside the book.
She then use the pen to slowly write in mid-air.
"A ■t ■ m■ m■■r■s h■ f■■■y r■t■d. N■, ■ ■ t■e f■ m■ ■ wr■ ■ n■t a■."