The Last Olympian

back. Ethan Nakamura and Prometheus stood nearby, out of slicing range. Ethan was fidgeting with his shield straps, but Prometheus looked as calm and collected as ever in his tuxedo.
    “I hate this place,” Kronos growled. “ United Nations. As if mankind could ever unite. Remind me to tear down this building after we destroy Olympus.”
    “Yes, lord.” Prometheus smiled as if his master’s anger amused him. “Shall we tear down the stables in Central Park too? I know how much horses can annoy you.”
    “Don’t mock me, Prometheus! Those cursed centaurs will be sorry they interfered. I will feed them to the hellhounds, starting with that son of mine—that weakling Chiron.”
    Prometheus shrugged. “That weakling destroyed an entire legion of telkhines with his arrows.”
    Kronos swung his scythe and cut a flagpole in half. The national colors of Brazil toppled into the army, squashing a dracaena .
    “We will destroy them!” Kronos roared. “It is time to unleash the drakon. Nakamura, you will do this.”
    “Y-yes, lord. At sunset?”
    “No,” Kronos said. “Immediately. The defenders of Olympus are badly wounded. They will not expect a quick attack. Besides, we know this drakon they cannot beat.”
    Ethan looked confused. “My lord?”
    “Never you mind, Nakamura. Just do my bidding. I want Olympus in ruins by the time Typhon reaches New York. We will break the gods utterly!”
    “But, my lord,” Ethan said. “Your regeneration.”
    Kronos pointed at Ethan, and the demigod froze.
    “Does it seem,” Kronos hissed, “that I need to regenerate?”
    Ethan didn’t respond. Kind of hard to do when you’re immobilized in time.
    Kronos snapped his fingers and Ethan collapsed.
    “Soon,” the Titan growled, “this form will be unnecessary. I will not rest with victory so close. Now, go!”
    Ethan scrambled away.
    “This is dangerous, my lord,” Prometheus warned. “Do not be hasty.”
    “Hasty? After festering for three thousand years in the depths of Tartarus, you call me hasty? I will slice Percy Jackson into a thousand pieces.”
    “Thrice you’ve fought him,” Prometheus pointed out. “And yet you’ve always said it is beneath the dignity of a Titan to fight a mere mortal. I wonder if your mortal host is influencing you, weakening your judgment.”
    Kronos turned his golden eyes on the other Titan. “You call me weak?”
    “No, my lord. I only meant—”
    “Are your loyalties divided?” Kronos asked. “Perhaps you miss your old friends, the gods. Would you like to join them?”
    Prometheus paled. “I misspoke, my lord. Your orders will be carried out.” He turned to the armies and shouted, “PREPARE FOR BATTLE!”
    The troops began to stir.
    From somewhere behind the UN compound, an angry roar shook the city—the sound of a drakon waking. The noise was so horrible it woke me, and I realized I could still hear it from a mile away.
    Grover stood next to me, looking nervous. “What was that?”
    “They’re coming,” I told him. “And we’re in trouble.”
    The Hephaestus cabin was out of Greek fire. The Apollo cabin and the Hunters were scrounging for arrows. Most of us had already ingested so much ambrosia and nectar we didn’t dare take any more.
    We had sixteen campers, fifteen Hunters, and half a dozen satyrs left in fighting shape. The rest had taken refuge on Olympus. The Party Ponies tried to form ranks, but they staggered and giggled and they all smelled like root beer. The Texans were head-butting the Coloradoans. The Missouri branch was arguing with Illinois. The chances were pretty good the whole army would end up fighting each other rather than the enemy.
    Chiron trotted up with Rachel on his back. I felt a twinge of annoyance because Chiron rarely gave anyone a ride, and never a mortal.
    “Your friend here has some useful insights, Percy,” he said.
    Rachel blushed. “Just some things I saw in my head.”
    “A drakon,” Chiron said. “A Lydian drakon, to be exact. The oldest and most dangerous kind.”
    I stared at her. “How did you know that?”
    “I’m not sure,” Rachel admitted. “But this drakon has a particular fate. It will be killed by a child of Ares.”
    Annabeth crossed her arms. “How can you possibly know that?”
    “I just saw it. I can’t explain.”
    “Well, let’s hope you’re wrong,” I said. “Because we’re a little short on children of Ares. . . .” A horrible thought occurred to me, and I cursed in Ancient