Fury of a God, Voice of a Dragon
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N/A: I would like to give credit for the Pinterest image; but for some reason the creator's name does not appear. So, credit to whoever it belongs to and I am sorry.
By the way, I hope you enjoy the chapter. e,e
…
Percy was standing with his feet sunk into the seawater; the waves brushed against his ankles as if trying to pull him away from the place, although he did not move an inch. In front of him rose the god of war. A being who could kill him with a single glance; a monster who enjoyed crushing his enemies in the most humiliating way possible.
The smell of salt and burnt plastic from Ares's sunglasses floated in the air, as if Ares's very presence corrupted even the sea breeze.
And even so, Ares agreed to fight the way Percy wanted; not to give him honor or show superiority, but to destroy him. To break his pride completely and then take his life. That was a daily pleasure for Ares… a hobby, even.
"That thing you call master will not come to save your life, brat. Even if he comes, he will end up in the same place; under the sole of my shoe," Ares said. Although he meant the Underworld, the way he said it sounded far more arrogant and disdainful than usual.
"My master would never lose to someone like you," Percy replied in a surprisingly calm tone, while the emotions inside him stopped thrashing and began to concentrate. It was not that they disappeared; it was different. He was channeling them toward where they truly mattered; his hands, his sword, his strength.
His master repeated it constantly. It did not matter if Percy let himself get carried away by his nonsense daily, if he acted like an idiot when he wanted to, or if he behaved impulsively. But during a battle; especially against someone who, in all likelihood, surpassed him in power; those emotions had to aim toward one single objective: destroy your enemy before he destroys you.
That was how it was. Miraak would never say something foolish like "try to survive". No. The best way to survive was to eliminate the enemy standing before you. And every emotion had to be directed toward that single point.
A battle is not a game; it is the place where only one of the two will remain standing. Where only one of the two will remain alive; where only one will be the victor.
Even if a god were standing in front of you… and you had no choice but to fight, you must never surrender. Because the more powerful a being is, the greater its arrogance; and sometimes, that arrogance is its own sin.
And if you were going to die, at least tear a piece off the scum standing before you.
"Although I would rather not die," Percy thought with a hint of irony as he remembered his master's words. He kept his eyes fixed on Ares and on the greatsword the god held with absolute ease.
Ares looked at him with mockery, as if Percy were an ant about to be crushed. Then he swung his sword in a swift motion, straight toward the boy's neck. He did it using only one hand; as if he did not need even a fraction of his real strength.
Percy ducked in time, dodging by a hair. The attack had been so fast that his body reacted purely on instinct. As he dropped down, he launched a slash toward Ares's leg with his black sword; but the divine blade was already descending from above, ready to cut him in two.
Percy stopped his attack and rolled over the water, splashing foam. Even so, a sudden kick struck his stomach with violence, sending him flying several meters. He bounced once on the sea's surface before managing to get up with a strangled gasp.
He did not even have time to touch his abdomen when Ares was already in front of him again; it was as if the god did not move, but simply appeared wherever he wanted. Percy's eyes widened when he saw the enormous sword coming straight at his face in a clean, perfect, deadly thrust.
The wind pushed by the blow moved Percy's hair backwards, as if announcing that the end was near.
Percy crossed both swords in an X just in time; he deflected the greatsword upward, although the impact numbed his arms. Even so, he received a second kick to the chest that sent him backward again.
This time Ares did not follow him; he only watched as Percy bounced on the water once more and got up with visible pain. His expression showed no anger or haste; only cruel amusement.
"What are you trying to do, brat?", Ares asked in a mocking tone, as if he enjoyed watching an idiot attempt something impossible. It was not a real question; it was a provocation.
Percy was breathing with difficulty, but he could feel the seawater beginning to heal his body, closing the internal damage and restoring his stability. He regained his breath and held it.
"Defeat an idiot god," he said with total seriousness.
Ares frowned at such insolence.
"Oh, really?" he replied before propelling himself upward, jumping almost two meters. He fell upon Percy with both hands gripping the greatsword, aiming to split him from above.
Percy raised the black sword, but not to block; to strike the water.
The impact created a small burst of force; and the sea, obeying the enchantments on the blade, rose around Percy and froze instantly. In less than a second, an improvised shield of ice formed; a sort of crystalline bubble encasing the boy.
But Ares fell upon it with all his strength, and the bubble opened as if it were paper. The ice split in two with a dry crack.
Percy was on the edge of one of the fractured pieces, and he used the momentum to launch himself toward Ares. He aimed Riptide straight at his throat, determined to sink the blade without hesitation.
Ares moved slightly to the side, with an amused smile.
"Oh, you do have something there…" he said as he felt the murderous instinct that had brushed his neck. "But it is not enough."
Then he grabbed Percy's wrist with a single hand; the force he applied was not brutal, but absolute. He lifted him and threw him backward as if he were a rag. The water parted and Percy crashed into the wet sand below, leaving a visible mark on the ground.
"Percy!" Grover and Annabeth shouted, horrified as they saw Ares raise his greatsword with his other hand. He turned it, pointed the tip downward and brought it down straight toward the boy's chest, as if he wanted to end everything in that instant.
Percy, with pain burning in his back and no air in his lungs, saw the sword approaching almost in slow motion. And then the memories began to pass through his mind; his life with his mother, his school life, the moments training with Miraak…
"Master, when will you teach me that shouting thing?" Percy asked while lying completely exhausted on the ground, looking upward. Miraak's training sword stopped just a few centimeters from his neck, after yet another practice session in which his master had defeated him effortlessly, as always.
But unlike the battle with Ares, Miraak always took his fights seriously; no mockery, no amusement. He was fast, precise, lethal. As they say, even a lion uses all its strength to hunt a rabbit.
Percy was defeated so easily that he was beginning to feel he wasn't improving at all. That was why this time he asked that question, hoping to find an answer that would allow him to become stronger.
Miraak looked at him for a moment before tossing the practice sword aside with a simple movement of his hand.
"It is far too early for you. You cannot even read your own name; do you think you could learn an entire language?" he said with a serious look, although his tone made the reasoning clear.
"If it's a language that gives you great power, I think anyone would be interested in learning it," Percy said lightly, sitting up on the ground.
"It's not just learning a language; it is putting those words into your Voice," Miraak replied calmly.
"And… that is what I'm doing now, right? My words, in my voice," Percy said. After all, his master was listening to him. Wasn't that what it meant to put your words into your voice?
Miraak let out a sigh.
"Speaking a word is not putting the word into your Voice. For example… if I say 'FUS', nothing will happen, even if it is the beginning of a Word of Power. But if I put the power into my Voice…"
Miraak inhaled ever so slightly.
"FUS," he pronounced softly.
Then, a tremor ran through the forest where they trained. The trees shook and the squirrels fled in terror; just like other small animals, as if nature itself had felt a warning.
Percy opened his eyes with a bright, sparkling excitement.
"If I learn that word, will I be able to do the same?" he asked, filled with enthusiasm.
"No," Miraak answered simply.
Because even if Percy learned it, Miraak was Dragonborn and a being who had lived so long that his control and experience were beyond anything any mortal could ever equal. Only the Last Dragonborn could come close… and that more by destiny than by raw strength.
Not even elders who trained their whole life could call themselves experts compared to Miraak.
"Please, master," Percy said with puppy eyes. Of course, that would never work on Miraak.
…
Percy remembered that exact moment just as he saw Ares's sword heading toward his heart. The god looked at him with an amused smile; the expression of someone who enjoys burning ants with a magnifying glass, just for fun.
Percy, with no air in his lungs, unable even to gasp, opened his mouth when he felt a heat rush through his body, rising from his chest up to his throat.
"FUS!" he shouted with all the strength left in his body. Even though he had no air, the word came out like a rumble that was not sound… but his Voice.
Ares opened his eyes in surprise. He felt his body shaken and lost his balance slightly. A god… losing balance?
That instant was enough for the deflected sword to change its trajectory and, instead of the heart, stab Percy's shoulder.
The pain was intense, but Percy ignored it. With the black sword in his other hand, he thrust toward Ares's leg with all his emotions concentrated in a single point. Anger, fear, fury, pride; everything pushed the hilt of the sword as if the ocean itself were assisting him.
"AAAAAH!" Percy screamed. His throat burned like living fire for having used a Shout without training, but even so he pushed forward.
And he saw his sword pierce Ares's leg from side to side.
"ARGHH!" the god snarled with a mix of surprise and pain. He looked at Percy, then at the sword, with a slight glimmer of fear before quickly moving backward. Golden blood fell into the sea and the god frowned, as if he could not believe that a mortal had managed to touch him.
Percy did not release his weapon for even a moment; the god's golden blood dripped onto the water, dyeing it in yellowish edges that briefly gleamed under the sun.
Ares lifted his gaze with an uncontrollable fury; the very wrath of war.
…
Meanwhile, not far from the battle, a man stood atop what looked like a cart floating over the sea. His armor, which any mortal would describe as "very Viking", shone with reddish and golden tones. A faint smile full of pride and appreciation appeared beneath the helmet that hid part of his face.
"Remember; we do not have much time. The old man will really get mad at me if he finds out I helped you," said a red-haired man beside him; tall as a giant, watching the battle with amusement while nodding toward Percy.
"I will not need much," replied the voice beneath the helmet, before launching himself downward.
From the air he saw Ares lift his hand toward Percy, summoning a fire so intense that it began to cover the entire beach, spreading like a wave of divine destruction.
Mortals who had been watching from afar screamed and ran without understanding what was happening.
"Die, disgusting brat!" Ares roared as the fire of war ignited in his palm and advanced straight toward Percy with the intention of erasing him from the world.
Percy stood up, crossed his swords over his body and could only brace himself, knowing that it would not help much.
Until he saw something fall from the sky.
A shadow. A silhouette.
A back he would recognize even among a thousand; a presence that made his face brighten with pure, almost childlike joy, mixed with a relief so great it gave him goosebumps.
The figure landed and the impact diverted the flames, throwing Grover and Annabeth into the water as if a shockwave had shoved them. Both felt a déjà vu that inevitably took them back to the Mississippi River.
Ares adopted a serious, almost furious expression upon seeing the arrival of someone else.
The figure walked through the flames as if they were mere shadows.
"Looks like now we can finally continue what never began," said the calm voice; the voice of a beast observing its prey.