The Path Of Glory (Annabeth Chase x Male Reader)

19. In The Face Of War

A Coast Guard boat picked them up, but they were too busy to keep them for long, or to wonder how five kids in street clothes had gotten out into the middle of the bay. There was a disaster to mop up. Their radios were jammed with distress calls.

They dropped them off at the Santa Monica Pier with towels around their shoulders and water bottles that said I'M A JUNIOR COAST GUARD! and sped off to save more people.

Y/N, Annabeth, Ethan, Percy and Grover stumbled down the beach, watching the city burn against a beautiful sunrise. Y/N felt as if he had just come back from the dead—which he had.

"I don't believe it," Annabeth said. "We went all that way—"

"It was a trick," he said. "A strategy worthy of Athena."

"Hey," she warned.

"You get it, don't you?"

She dropped her eyes, her anger fading. "Yeah. I get it."

"Well, I don't!" Grover complained. "Would somebody—"

"Percy . . ." Annabeth said. "I'm sorry about your mother. I'm so sorry. . . ."

Percy pretended not to hear her. "The prophecy was right," he 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 else 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."

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

Y/N stopped in his tracks, looking down the beach. "Gee, let me think."

"Don't know why, but I've got the impression that this person is right here," Ethan said.

There he was, waiting for them, in his black leather duster and his sunglasses, an aluminum baseball bat propped on his shoulder. His motorcycle rumbled beside him, its headlight turning the sand red.

"Hey, kids," Ares said, seeming genuinely pleased to see them. "You were supposed to die."

"You tricked us," Y/N said. "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?" Annabeth said. "Clarisse? She was there at the winter solstice."

The idea seemed to amuse him. "Doesn't matter. The point is, kids, you're impeding the war effort. See, you've got to die in the Underworld. Then your parents 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 he took out a ski cap—the kind bank robbers wear—and placed it between the handlebars of his bike. Immediately, the cap transformed into an elaborate bronze war helmet.

"The helm of darkness," Ethan 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 gave us the backpack in Denver," Percy said. "The master bolt was in there the whole time."

"Yes and no," Ares said. "It's probably too complicated for your little mortal brain to follow, but the backpack is the master's bolt sheat, 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? Anyway," Ares continued, "I tinkered with the magic a bit, so the bolt would only return to the sheath once you reached the Underworld. You get close to Hades. . . . Bingo, you got mail. If you died along the way—no loss. I still had the weapon."