We had stopped before a McDonald's that was surprisingly still open. Well, not really before it, more on a rooftop on which the streets, people and The McDonald could be seen. It seemed it didn't matter the world was ending because capitalism only cared about money even if money probably wouldn't be enough to save you. It would be something completely different if you had fuck you money like Midas.

 

Annabeth and Chrysaor had left us to go buy food for all of us. We had been driving for what had felt like an eternity even with the fact that I was sure we probably broke the sound barrier many times while Chrysaor was driving.

 

I sat with Percy on the hood of the car. The clouds over us were dark, angry, menacing. Dark angry clouds without lightning because the master Bolt was missing, because Zeus thought Percy had stolen it.

 

The world was falling into a war that would probably be as monstrous and violent as the Titanomachia.

 

It would be fair, logic to say that this war couldn't be called a simple mere war. This was an Olympiomachy and my best friend was in the middle of it.

 

It was the world against us, immortal beings older than civilization against us.

 

The worst is that they didn't care how many would die. The gods didn't care about the destruction they would surely bring to the world, to nature by fighting.

 

I hated humans to be honest. I hated the way they destroyed and ruined the world around them. I hated how they twisted and changed things from beautiful to ugly.

 

They were inherently poisonous to this world. This was in their nature. The exceptions amongst them, the ones worthy of respect like Sally Jackson were not strong enough to do, to change anything.

 

I hated them for what they were doing to what was Pan’s domain yet I didn't want to suffer the way they did.

 

I didn't want horrors to rise from the sea and hurt them. I didn't want them to die, to be cursed for things that weren't their fault.

 

There were a lot of things I wanted. There were a lot of things I wanted to be different but I was just like those humans I both despised and felt pity for.

 

I was just a useless Satyr with too many failures. I wasn't brave. I wasn't smart. I wasn't born talented.

 

Maybe if I was, I could have helped my uncle Ferdinand. There weren't any messages or announcements of his death but we all knew.

 

Uncle loved his family, he loved us, he loved me. If he was still alive, I'm sure he would have contacted us, talked to us, or sent us letters or something but he didn't and it most likely meant that he was dead.

 

I wonder, did he feel scared? Was it quick? Was it slow? I hope it was the former.

 

Maybe if I was more than useless Grover, Grover who always fuck things up, Thalia would still be there, maybe Percy’s mom would too.

 

My fingers played with the strings of the guitar that had been given to me by Percy’s dad. The simple melody it created felt calming and comforting.

 

I didn't know what to think of the God. He was everything and nothing I expected him to be.

 

Who didn't know of the legendary wrath of the lord of the sea? Who didn't know in the moonlit world of the atrocities he committed in a fit of rage? Of the Civilizations, Islands that sank to the bottom of his realm? Of the way, he left in his wake only destruction. Humanity would have been way more advanced if it hadn't suffered so much from the anger of the god.

 

I knew of the fact that he personally made the life of Odysseus hell because of what the man did to Polyphemus.

 

The thing is that I would have never thought he would do something similar because of Percy. Polyphemus may be a monster but monsters are immortal. The line between a god and a monster is thinner than most know.

 

At least, that’s what being a Satyr made me think.

 

Percy was a demigod, half god but also half mortal. Gods didn't care about half-bloods. The grass was green, the sky blue and Gods didn't care about demigods.

 

Well, maybe they did when those demigods could be useful. We all knew this. This was the norm.

 

This is why Poseidon declaring war against Zeus, against all of Olympus because of his brother was unexpected.

 

The god had a lot to lose yet instead of doing what was expected, Poseidon chose his son. The Lord of the Ocean was risking everything because of a simple demigod.

 

This was madness, this was wonderful, this was terrifying.

 

I turned my gaze toward Percy. One of his hands was playing with the pearls of his collar while his gaze seemed fixed on the streets and the humans walking. He had changed.

 

He wasn't the Percy I had met in Goode. It wasn't as if he had grown 6 feet or something crazy but it was clear to my eyes that things were different.

 

It seemed as if he had passed a day in the Aphrodite cabin. He still looked like Percy but I would say he looked more if it made any sense as if some magic had been used on him and removed any visible imperfections and enhanced everything good.

 

He didn't look human anymore. He looked like a figure removed straight up from one of The Japanese-drawn books (’manga, she had called them manga,’ my mind whispered to me) by Drew Tanaka.

 

He looked as if he could easily call himself the child of a god of beauty. He looked like a god who had tried taking human form and had failed at copying the imperfections inherent to a human appearance.

 

I remember how he had fought against Alecto, how the world shook under their blows and how I feared and thought that each moment would be his last.

 

I remember how he held himself against a kindly one, against an enforcer of Hades, against a daughter of Nyx.

 

Maybe calling him a simple demigod wasn't right. A simple demigod wouldn't have been able to do what he did.

 

What he had done was something coming straight from the myths, from the feet of Gods and those who came so close to them that to this day, they were still immortalized like Heracles and Achilles.

 

A part of me wondered. Was Poseidon doing this because he loved his son or was it because of the great prophecy?

 

Demigods became stronger by growing up. It was why it was relatively easy for demigods to be undetected by monsters or us Satyrs when they were younger.

 

I imagined Percy at sixteen. What would he be able to do if he was capable of fighting and winning against a Kindly one while not past twelve-year-olds?

 

Would he be able to stand proud against an Olympian? Would he be able to destroy this world with his bare hands? Was Poseidon going to war for his son only because he wanted to use him to successfully dethrone Zeus?

 

Did it even matter? Things were already bad. Did it matter that they could become worse in the future when they already were?

 

Percy turned his head to look at me “Is there something on my face Grover?” Percy asked me.

 

A chuckle escaped me as I turned away from him “No, there’s nothing Percy,” I told him.

 

There was no point in fearing, doubting or worrying about the future. Percy was my friend, a loyal one.

 

He was someone who didn't deserve anything that was happening right now. I may have failed him and his mother before but I wouldn't again.

 

I don't care about what could happen to me. As long as I could help him bring back his mom, I would be content. Death came to all. I just hope that when I die, it'll be bravely without regret for something I care about.

 

 

 

*scene*

 

Gods were the strongest existence in the universe. Not being one and trying to fight against one was akin to an ant fighting against a star.

 

Fighting a smith god with weapons built by monstrous hands? It was nothing else but ridiculous, crazy yet this was what Aras did with a smile.

 

 

“THAT ALL YOU CAN DO!” yelled the Cyclops. The one-eyed monster was clad in an armour that seemed to be made from smooth scales.

 

“It is just the beginning” Hephaestus answered before throwing at his opponent an anvil the size of a mountain.

 

The son of Poseidon looked at the approaching anvil and dug his feet into the ground. Steel surged all over his form like a stream before covering his right hand.

 

“THIS IS THE RESULT OF MY TEARS, OF MY CRAFT!” the child of Poseidon shouted before throwing a punch to the mountain of celestial bronze coming at him.

 

His fist met resistance. He would have been thrown away if he hadn't dug his feet into the ground. He knew that the only reason why he hadn't been turned to paste was because of his gauntlet.

 

Mortals dreamt of, wrote and imagined mechanical wonders beyond what even existed in the world of the gods. Those things should have stayed mere fictions and would have normally been except if a god broke the world with their authorities.

 

Aras said fuck those limitations. Who decided that those things were impossible? Those rules, those impossibilities, he broke them without divine power, without blessing, just with hard and precise work.

 

All the kinetic energy of the anvil was swallowed by his gauntlet like a voracious leech with blood. Aras felt a grin split in the face “Did you really think it would be this easy!” he said to the Olympian god.

 

“Let me return your gift,” Aras said before unleashing all the kinetic energy he had absorbed in his gauntlet to fuel his throwing.

 

The anvil left Aras’s hand with a loud boom exploding and breaking the ground around him. The mountain of steel tore through the air faster than an object this size should be able to reappear before the smith god.

 

A sword appeared before the god just before the anvil could reach him. The sword split the anvil as if wasn't even real in two. The divided part of it continued behind the god of the forge and entered into contact with the ocean making an enormous quantity of water more like a tsunami fall on the island of Hephaestus making it shake.

 

Aras looked at how the water began to cover quickly everything submerging and destroying all the animal and plant life on the island. Everything had happened in less than 2 minutes and the water had already gone over his knees.

 

The creations the god had displayed had not been spared having been taken by the water only Poseidon knew where.

 

The god for the first time since their encounter truly looked at him. His vacant expression was gone now replaced by anger “I finally got your attention,” Aras said with his smile. “Good”.

 

“I'm an Olympian, boy,” the voice of Hephaestus rumbled.  The mask of indifference of the god had been lifted. What stood before Aras was the Forge God, the son of the queen of the Heavens.

 

The heart of Aras was beating. It felt hard to breathe as if something was pressing against his heart yet he wasn't sure he had felt more excited in all of his life than he did now “I know that. I already know who you are Child of Hera. The only thing you need to know about Me is that  I'm the person who will surpass you and everything you crafted!”

 

Aras and Hephaestus were the only living beings on the Island. The Cyclops could feel the attention of his father.

 

Aras has hidden what he had planned to do because he knew his sire would have tried his best to stop him.

 

“You’re a fool,” the voice of Hephaestum boomed like thunder.

 

They began to appear, with endless different yet perfectly crafted forms. Automatons, beings made by the hands of the god.

 

They seemed like an all-consuming wave of gold and silver ready to swallow, to destroy him.

 

A lot of them were replicas, replicas of monsters, of heroes. It was as if Hephaestus had deified with his forge the ones worthy of it.

 

They were armed with weapons Aras didn't need to be a smith to know were dangerous, peerless, perfect.

 

Looking at them, the cyclops began to laugh “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

 

“Have you gone mad?” the Olympian asked.

 

“TO THE CONTRARY! I AM HAPPY HEPHAESTUS!”

 

The arm of the Cyclops moved in an arc. Steel flowed from his armour like a twisted flower to take the shape of a trident.

 

‘Father,’ Aras Prayed. ‘I ask you, one thing, to not intervene no matter what may happen’.

 

Time seemed to freeze at that moment. The army of automatons stopped moving. It was also the same thing with the Smith god.

 

Poseidon had appeared just before Aras. The two of them seemed to be the only ones unaffected.

 

“What are you doing this child of mine? What are you trying to prove to me?” the god said softly.

 

Poseidon had always been a good parent to Aras but he had never been a soft and loving one the way he was right now. It seemed the rumours about his father having changed weren't wrong.

 

“I am doing it for myself Father. It is maybe one of my last chances to challenge Hephaestus. If I lose, I'll be the only one suffering. If I win, I'll have realized my dream and helped you at the same time.”

 

A sigh escaped from Aras’s father. Aras could see in the eyes of the god. He was thinking, probably about if he should respect Aras’ wishes or not.

 

The Cyclops hoped it would be the case because if his father wanted to stop him, he would have to use that when he wanted to use it against Hephaestus only.

 

“Nothing I tell you will change anything, am I wrong Aras?”

 

“No Father,” the Cyclops answered.

 

“Then win Aras,” the god said gazing in the singular eye of his son. “Don’t make me lose another child.”

 

Aras nodded at his father before the unnatural calm that had enveloped the world disappeared.

 

Aras pointed his trident to the incoming army, mystical and arcane energy flaring up around the weapon “MY FATHER IS WATCHING US HEPHAESTUS! LET HIM NOT SUFFER FROM A POOR SHOWING BY NOT GIVING YOUR BEST AGAINST ME!”

 

Could the mundane win against the divine? Could a half-formed being win against Genius? Could a half-formed being like Aras win against a god? It was time to know.