The God of War and the Shadow Behind Him
After leaving the car wash, the first thing they did was walk to a nearby restaurant to get something to eat.
They still had part of Percy's food left—quite a lot, actually—but Annabeth, sensing that strange healing power that radiated from him (something that, while not on par with ambrosia or nectar, was still far superior, especially in terms of regeneration and endurance), told him to save it for real emergencies, not for simple walks or whenever he got hungry.
Inside the restaurant, the waitress looked them up and down, her eyes lingering on their dirty, worn-out clothes before asking in a distrustful tone,
"Do you even have money to pay?"
Percy sighed and pulled out a thick wad of cash, placing it in front of her with the attitude of a spoiled rich kid.
"Please, bring us two full hamburgers and lots of fries," he said with a slightly arrogant smile.
"Ah, sure thing," the woman replied the moment she saw the money, and hurried off to get their order as fast as possible.
Around them, families and regular people were eating quietly, chatting without realizing what was really sitting just a few tables away.
"At this rate, we'll never get there," Percy muttered, a little irritated.
"And what are we supposed to do? We can't keep going like this…" Annabeth began, but before she could finish, a loud roar shook the restaurant.
The powerful sound of a motorcycle engine made everyone turn toward the entrance. The motor thundered like a storm before dying down, and the door burst open.
What entered looked straight out of a nightmare.
The motorcycle was enormous, black and gleaming, its frame covered with red markings that looked as though they had been painted with fire. On each side of the seat, two metallic holsters held shotguns that were clearly not for show.
The man riding it wore a blazing red leather jacket over a black shirt.
Military boots, biker pants, and a body that looked built for war.
His face had such sharp lines it seemed carved with a knife; a dangerous grin crossed his lips, and his eyes—red as burning embers—glowed beneath dark sunglasses.
His short hair and soldier-like presence completed an aura that radiated pure violence, as if every muscle in his body were aching for a fight.
He walked toward the entrance of the restaurant, and the moment he stepped inside, everyone jumped to their feet in alarm… but with a mere flick of his hand, they all sat back down as if nothing had happened. The forced calm returned, though the air seemed to burn around him.
The man scanned the room slowly until his gaze locked on the trio.
He advanced with heavy, deliberate steps toward their table, sitting right beside Annabeth, forcing her against the wall.
Percy watched him silently, his expression neutral, though something inside him was boiling. He could feel his emotions pushing to the surface, but he remembered his teacher's words.
And as a good disciple of Miraak, he took a deep breath and held them in.
"What's up, brats?" the man said with an arrogant grin. "Looks like you're having a pretty comfy day… when you should be busy."
Percy opened his mouth to respond but decided to close it without saying a word, keeping his face completely calm and his gaze fixed on the man's sunglasses.
"Hm? Cat got your tongue?" the man taunted, slowly taking off his shades.
His eyes, now visible, burned like living flames.
And when Percy met them directly, he felt his whole body tense.
Hatred. Destruction. A burning urge to smash that man's face for daring to speak to him like that.
But he restrained himself. Difficult, but possible.
His master had taught him well: control your emotions; channel anger into your attacks, but never let it cloud your judgment.
He knew that if he spoke now, he would lose control to his fury. So he remained silent… though he never once broke eye contact with the being before him.
Ares. The god of war.
Seconds passed that felt like centuries. Finally, Percy managed to steady his breathing before speaking.
"What could the great Lord of War possibly want from us?" he said with contained calm.
"Hmm, how boring," Ares replied mockingly, noticing Percy's resistance to his presence.
"You're nothing like the old seaweed," he added with a crooked smile.
"I came because I thought you might need some help… though honestly, it's useless anyway," he said with disdain.
At that moment, the waitress returned with their plates.
She froze when she saw Ares, her expression shifting from nervousness to sheer fear.
But the god merely glanced at her, waved his hand, and she bolted out of the room without looking back.
Ares grabbed a few fries without asking and ate them casually.
"What do you mean by that?" Grover stammered.
"Hmm… that it's useless. Useless. This war will happen regardless. It's not like you can finish anything," Ares said, his tone mocking yet eerily calm. "You think you can change something? How foolish," he chuckled under his breath.
Percy was on the verge of losing control.
Rage was rising through his body like a contained tide, when a faint sound interrupted him—the soft clink of a glass being set down on the nearby table.
Percy turned his head slightly.
There, a man was sitting with his back to them.
He didn't need to see his face; he would recognize that jacket anywhere.
Just seeing it made all his anger vanish instantly, as if someone had poured ice over his soul.
Ares also turned his head slightly to look.
His eyes landed on the jacket of the stranger: a skull with the word "Death" embroidered beneath it.
He stared for a moment longer, then snorted with disinterest and looked away, as if the man wasn't worth his attention.
"Well, let's make this quick. I've got a lot of work to do; I'm a bit too busy to waste time with you," Ares said in his rough voice, the tone of someone who was only there out of obligation. "I want you to get something for me. In exchange, I'll help you reach your destination."
He grabbed another fry from the plate and popped it into his mouth as if he were talking about an errand, nothing more.
Annabeth frowned, her face torn between logic and resignation. She knew perfectly well they couldn't refuse a god's order—and knowing Percy, it would've been natural for him to already be on the verge of refusing or throwing out a sarcastic remark. Yet, to her surprise, he had remained silent. Ever since she'd met him, Percy had openly shown his disdain toward the gods, provoking and angering them every chance he got.
"Sure," Percy said calmly.
Grover, Annabeth, and even Ares went silent for a few seconds, surprised.
"Hmm, good to know your place," Ares muttered with a half-smile, though his tone dripped with irritation. "I left my shield somewhere. I was with my girlfriend when… something went wrong. I want you to get it back, and I'll reward you with transport heading west."
Each word came with a gesture of contempt. And as he spoke, the god studied Percy carefully; the calm in the boy's eyes infuriated him more than any insult could have. That serenity felt like a challenge.
"Just go find my shield in the amusement park and bring it back here. I'll help you get where you're going."
With that, he placed an old, yellowed piece of paper on the table—a worn-out flyer for the place they needed to go. Then he stood up, adjusted his jacket, and prepared to leave, walking toward the exit with firm, steady steps.
But before leaving, he stopped in front of the nearby table. There sat a man, calmly drinking a glass of liquor. Ares looked at him for a moment, and the man lifted his gaze with the same serene composure.
Their eyes met for only an instant.
That single exchange of glances was enough to make the air grow heavy. The windows began to crack slowly with a sharp, high-pitched sound, and a chill swept through the room. No one knew why, but the anger that had filled the air moments before turned into fear.
Absolute, primal fear—so intense that everyone present lowered their heads, trembling, staring at the floor.
It lasted only a second.
And in that brief instant, Ares simply smirked in disdain, turned on his heel, and walked out of the restaurant.
When the door closed behind him, the man at the table—or rather, his silhouette—dissolved like mist, leaving behind only a faint scent of wine and metal.
Percy was the first to raise his head and look toward the table. But there was no one left.
Only the empty glass.
"Phew," Percy exhaled, letting out a small, amused smile. He knew exactly what that meant. Miraak had said he wouldn't help him—and yet he always ended up appearing when Percy needed him most.
Typical of him.
"What's gotten into you?" Annabeth asked irritably.
She had felt that same fear too, but she assumed it was a warning from Ares himself. To her, it had been a divine message to ensure they took the quest seriously—nothing more. She hadn't noticed Miraak's presence at all.
"What?" Percy asked, genuinely confused.
"Your behavior," Annabeth replied, crossing her arms. "Normally you'd have said something sarcastic or tried to provoke the god sitting in front of you."
Percy gave a short laugh. "Mm… well. I'm an idiot, but not so much that I don't know when to behave in front of someone I obviously can't beat… yet."
He spoke calmly, picked up his burger, and stuffed it into an improvised bag.
"We should go," he added, noticing that both the waitress and the cook were watching them from behind the counter, whispering nervously.
Annabeth and Grover nodded. They packed up the rest of the fries—carefully avoiding the ones Ares had touched—and left the restaurant without looking back.
Outside, Percy unfolded the paper the god had left on the table.
The flyer was wrinkled, its colors faded with time. In large, cursive letters, it read:
Waterland: The Thrill Ride O' Love