The Last Olympian

my dad opened a special tunnel for him at the bottom of the river—an endless waterslide that would take him straight to Tartarus. The giant’s head went under in a seething whirlpool, and he was gone.
    “BAH!” Kronos screamed. He slashed his sword through the smoke, tearing the image to shreds.
    “They’re on their way,” I said. “You’ve lost.”
    “I haven’t even started.”
    He advanced with blinding speed. Grover—brave, stupid satyr that he was—tried to protect me, but Kronos tossed him aside like a rag doll.
    I sidestepped and jabbed under Kronos’s guard. It was a good trick. Unfortunately, Luke knew it. He countered the strike and disarmed me using one of the first moves he’d ever taught me. My sword skittered across the ground and fell straight into the open fissure.
    “STOP!” Annabeth came from nowhere.
    Kronos whirled to face her and slashed with Backbiter, but somehow Annabeth caught the strike on her dagger hilt. It was a move only the quickest and most skilled knife fighter could’ve managed. Don’t ask me where she found the strength, but she stepped in closer for leverage, their blades crossed, and for a moment she stood face-to-face with the Titan lord, holding him at a standstill.
    “Luke,” she said, gritting her teeth, “I understand now. You have to trust me.”
    Kronos roared in outrage. “Luke Castellan is dead! His body will burn away as I assume my true form!”
    I tried to move, but my body was frozen again. How could Annabeth, battered and half dead with exhaustion, have the strength to fight a Titan like Kronos?
    Kronos pushed against her, trying to dislodge his blade, but she held him in check, her arms trembling as he forced his sword down toward her neck.
    “Your mother,” Annabeth grunted. “She saw your fate.”
    “Service to Kronos!” the Titan roared. “This is my fate.”
    “No!” Annabeth insisted. Her eyes were tearing up, but I didn’t know if it was from sadness or pain. “That’s not the end, Luke. The prophecy: she saw what you would do. It applies to you!”
    “I will crush you, child!” Kronos bellowed.
    “You won’t,” Annabeth said. “You promised. You’re holding Kronos back even now.”
    “LIES!” Kronos pushed again, and this time Annabeth lost her balance. With his free hand, Kronos struck her face, and she slid backward.
    I summoned all my will. I managed to rise, but it was like holding the weight of the sky again.
    Kronos loomed over Annabeth, his sword raised.
    Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. She croaked, “Family, Luke. You promised.”
    I took a painful step forward. Grover was back on his feet, over by the throne of Hera, but he seemed to be struggling to move as well. Before either of us could get anywhere close to Annabeth, Kronos staggered.
    He stared at the knife in Annabeth’s hand, the blood on her face. “Promise.”
    Then he gasped like he couldn’t get air. “Annabeth . . .” But it wasn’t the Titan’s voice. It was Luke’s. He stumbled forward like he couldn’t control his own body. “You’re bleeding. . . .”
    “My knife.” Annabeth tried to raise her dagger, but it clattered out of her hand. Her arm was bent at a funny angle. She looked at me, imploring, “Percy, please . . .”
    I could move again.
    I surged forward and scooped up her knife. I knocked Backbiter out of Luke’s hand, and it spun into the hearth. Luke hardly paid me any attention. He stepped toward Annabeth, but I put myself between him and her.
    “Don’t touch her,” I said.
    Anger rippled across his face. Kronos’s voice growled: “Jackson . . .” Was it my imagination, or was his whole body glowing, turning gold?
    He gasped again. Luke’s voice: “He’s changing. Help. He’s . . . he’s almost ready. He won’t need my body anymore. Please—”
    “NO!” Kronos bellowed. He looked around for his sword, but it was in the hearth, glowing among the coals.
    He stumbled toward it. I tried to stop him, but he pushed me out of the way with such force I landed next to Annabeth and cracked my head on the base of Athena’s throne.
    “The knife, Percy,” Annabeth muttered. Her breath was shallow. “Hero . . . cursed blade . . .”
    When my vision came back into focus, I saw Kronos grasping his sword. Then he bellowed in pain and dropped it. His hands were smoking and seared. The hearth fire had grown red-hot, like the scythe wasn’t compatible with it. I saw an image of Hestia flickering in the