Part I: The Hunger Pangs
The rain hadn't stopped for forty-eight hours. The camp was a swamp.
Dinner was a grim affair. The pavilion, usually bright with torchlight and laughter, was dim. Tantalus had ordered the torches doused to "save oil," so we ate in the gray twilight.
The food was worse. Half-rations. A scoop of cold mashed potatoes, a slice of stale bread, and a single slice of turkey.
At the Ares table, the tension finally snapped.
Sherman Yang, the acting head counselor while Clarisse was gone, stood up. He was a big guy with a shaved head and a scar running through his eyebrow. He marched over to the Hermes table, where Travis Stoll was distributing the food.
Sherman grabbed Travis by the collar of his t-shirt and slammed him onto the bench.
"This is garbage, Stoll!" Sherman shouted. "Where's the rest? I know you Hermes rats are hoarding the good stuff."
"There is no good stuff!" Travis choked, holding his hands up. "The truck didn't come, Sherman! This is all we have!"
"Liar," Sherman snarled. He raised a fist. Two other Ares campers, Mark and Ellis, stood up to back him. They drew knives.
The pavilion went silent. The Apollo kids reached for their bows. The Hephaestus kids grabbed their hammers.
Civil war. It was happening right over a slice of turkey.
Tantalus, sitting at the head table, didn't intervene. He leaned forward, eyes gleaming, watching the violence like it was pay-per-view.
I sighed. I was sitting at the Zeus table, nursing my own pathetic dinner. I set down my fork.
I stood up. The sound of my heavy combat boots on the stone floor echoed through the silence.
"Sherman," I said. My voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the rain. "Let him go."
Part II: The Challenge
Sherman looked at me. He didn't let go of Travis.
"Stay out of this, Thunder-Boy," Sherman spat. "You're not in charge. You're just Tantalus's janitor."
"I'm the guy keeping the monsters off your porch," I said, walking closer. "And I said, let him go."
Sherman laughed. "You think you're tough because you have a fancy hammer? You're nothing without that lightning."
He shoved Travis away. Travis scrambled back, gasping.
Sherman turned to face me fully. Mark and Ellis moved to flank him. Three sons of Ares. Big, angry, and hungry.
"We're tired of your orders, Valerius," Sherman said, drawing a celestial bronze broadsword. "We're tired of the rationing. We're taking what we want. Starting with the storehouse."
"If you loot the storehouse," I said calmly, "we starve in a week. It's math, Sherman. Try to keep up."
"I'm done with math," Sherman growled. "Get him!"
Part III: The Mud Pit
They didn't fight fair. They rushed me all at once.
We weren't in the arena. We were in the dining pavilion.
Sherman swung his sword at my head. I ducked, feeling the wind of the blade ruffle my hair. I stepped inside his guard and drove my shoulder into his chest, knocking him backward into a table. Food trays clattered everywhere.
Mark came from the left with a spear. Ellis came from the right with a weighted chain.
I couldn't draw Thunderclap in time. It was strapped to my back.
I had to brawl.
I caught Mark's spear shaft with my right hand just below the blade. I yanked it, pulling Mark off balance. I spun and delivered a back kick to his gut. He doubled over, wheezing.
But Ellis swung the chain. It wrapped around my legs. He yanked.
I hit the floor hard. Stone and mud.
"Get him down!" Sherman yelled, recovering.
They piled on.
This wasn't heroic combat. It was a mugging. I felt a boot slam into my ribs (the ones Ares had broken months ago). I felt a fist connect with my jaw, splitting my lip. Mud filled my mouth.
"Hold him!" Sherman roared, raising his sword pommel to smash my face.
Pain flared. Rage followed.
The static in my blood woke up. It wasn't the clean blue lightning of the sky. It was the dark, heavy pressure of the storm.
"ENOUGH!"
I unleashed a shockwave. Not a blast, but a repulsive field of static.
It threw them off me.
I scrambled up, wiping blood and mud from my eyes. I unslung Thunderclap.
"You want a fight?" I roared, my eyes glowing electric blue. "Fine. Let's dance."
Part IV: The Escalation
They came at me again, but now I had the reach.
Sherman lunged. I sidestepped and swung the hammer—not to kill, but to break. I hit his sword blade flat-on.
CLANG.
The vibration shattered Sherman's grip. His sword flew twenty feet away. I followed up with the butt of the hammer to his solar plexus. He collapsed, gasping for air.
Mark tried to stab me. I didn't dodge. I stepped into the strike, letting the spear graze my armor plate.
I grabbed Mark by the throat with my right hand and threw him. I literally threw him over the railing of the pavilion. He landed in a wet shrubbery with a yelp.
That left Ellis.
Ellis looked at his fallen brothers. He looked at me. He looked terrified.
He dropped his chain. "I yield!"
"Smart," I panted.
But Sherman wasn't done.
The son of Ares crawled out of the mud. His pride was wounded, and that made him dangerous. He grabbed a steak knife from a fallen tray.
He lunged at my back.
"Val, look out!" Silena screamed.
I spun around.
I didn't think. Instinct took over. The darker instinct.
I didn't use the hammer. I caught his wrist with my Left Hand.
Part V: The Necrotic Grip
My black leather glove clamped onto Sherman's wrist.
Time seemed to slow down.
The moment I made contact, the hunger of the Styx Arm roared to life. It had been starving since the Dracaena fight. It wanted energy.
Sherman's eyes went wide. His scream died in his throat.
I felt the rush. It was intoxicating. I felt his strength, his anger, his heat—all of it flowing out of him and into me. It healed my split lip instantly. It soothed my bruised ribs.
But look at Sherman.
His skin turned gray. His veins turned black. The muscle in his arm began to wither, shrinking inside his sleeve. Frost began to form on his eyebrows.
"Val..." he choked out. "Stop..."
I couldn't stop. It felt too good. He had attacked me. He deserved it. He was a threat to the camp. Drain him, the voice in my head whispered. Drain him dry.
The other campers were screaming now.
"Valerius!" Beckendorf yelled, running forward. "Let him go! You're killing him!"
I looked at Sherman's face. He looked like an old man. His eyes were rolling back.
I'm killing him.
The realization hit me like a bucket of ice water.
I ripped my hand away.
Sherman collapsed onto the stone floor, curling into a ball, shivering violently. His arm looked like a dead stick.
I stared at my gloved hand. It was trembling. Smoke was rising from the leather.
The pavilion was dead silent. Even Tantalus looked disturbed.
The campers weren't looking at me with respect anymore. They were looking at me with horror.
"I..." I stammered, stepping back. "He attacked me."
"You almost withered him," Travis Stoll whispered.
I looked at Beckendorf. The big son of Hephaestus looked at me with disappointment.
"We aren't monsters, Val," Beckendorf said softly.
Part VI: The Breached Wall
I wanted to explain. I wanted to say I lost control.
But before I could speak, the ground jumped.
It wasn't an earthquake. It was an impact.
BOOM.
Then came the sound. A horn. Deep, brassy, and terrifying.
It came from the hill.
"The barrier!" Lee Fletcher yelled from the perimeter. "It's gone! The tree is dead!"
I spun around, forgetting Sherman, forgetting the hunger.
I looked up at Half-Blood Hill.
The pine tree—Thalia—had finally lost its last needle. The Golden Fleece hadn't arrived in time. The magical veil that hid us from the world dissolved.
And standing on the crest of the hill, outlined against the gray sky, was not a monster.
It was an army.
Hundreds of them. Dracaenae, Laistrygonians, Hellhounds, Cyclopes. And leading them were two massive twin giants in denim vests, carrying trees for clubs.
Agrius and Oreius. The Bear Twins.
They roared, and the sound shook the plates off the tables.
"Camp Half-Blood!" one of the giants bellowed. "Dinner is served!"
They charged.
I looked at the terrified campers. I looked at Sherman, who was too weak to stand. I looked at Tantalus, who was cowering under the table.
The mutiny didn't matter anymore. The rationing didn't matter.
"Beckendorf!" I roared, my voice snapping the camp out of its trance. "Get the injured to the Big House! Apollo, archer line! Ares... get up and fight!"
I gripped Thunderclap. I activated the piston.
I looked at the wave of monsters descending the hill.
"Shadow Council," I whispered to myself. "Plan Z."
I turned to the campers.
"If we die tonight," I yelled, the blue lightning flaring in my eyes, "we die standing! FOR OLYMPUS!"
I didn't wait for them. I sprinted toward the hill, a lone streak of lightning running to meet the dark.