[Third Person’s PoV]

Nox and Lucerna stood tall in their full-body forms, Lucerna’s wings neatly withdrawn. Both nodded respectfully toward Hades and Medea.

“Greetings, Grandfather, Grandmother. It is our pleasure to make your acquaintance,” they said in unison, their words smooth and practiced, almost like a rehearsed line.

Medea circled around them, eyes sparkling with excitement as she examined them from head to toe.

“These are Homunculi—no, more than that—artificial magical spirits! And they’re truly alive. That’s remarkable. I can sense Lucian’s magic in both of their cores.”

“Yup! They were technically given consciousness through my spiritual power,” Annabeth said, blushing as she swayed side to side, hands holding her cheeks. “So, in a way, it was kind of like a union between Lucian and me~”

She giggled before adding, “Thanks to receiving Lucian’s essence, I was able to—”

“Okay, that’s enough out of you, weirdo,” Lucian interrupted, reaching over and covering her mouth.

Annabeth’s eyes closed into little contented crescents, clearly unbothered, while Medea chuckled, amused by Annabeth’s not-so-subtle innuendo.

With a joyful gleam in her eyes, Medea pulled Nox and Lucerna into her arms, eyes misty with emotion.

“Come, let Grandmama spoil you rotten.”

Lucian glanced over at Hades, who was staring into the distance with a distracted, thoughtful expression.

“What’s got you so lost in thought?” Lucian asked, stepping around Medea as she nuzzled her cheeks against the spirits. He plopped down next to Nico and Bianca, who were barely holding back laughter as they stared at him.

“Nothing. I just…” Hades sighed. “I can’t help but wonder—when was the last time someone actually referred to me as a grandfather? Or that I even had a grandchild? You know how rare it is for me to have children because of the pact. And even when I do, most of them don’t survive long enough to have kids of their own. Honestly, I think the last one who managed it was my son—Hitler.”

Lucian immediately held up a hand. “Alright, I’m gonna stop you right there, Pops. Let’s not. I really don’t need a reminder that one of my brothers was Hitler.”

“What’s wrong with Adolf? He was a good kid. Just wanted to get into art school,” Hades said with a head tilt.

“Who’s Hitler?” Nico asked, overhearing the conversation.

Lucian placed a solemn hand on Nico’s shoulder.

“He’s our father’s most favorite son.”

“Lucian!” Hades scolded, clearly unamused.

—

Meanwhile…

“Ashes of a Roman slave…” Luke muttered, standing alone in a dimly lit hotel room. A pot simmered in front of him on a portable stove as he stirred the murky mixture inside.

He glanced at a card beside the stove, carefully reading the listed ingredients. Reaching for a worn leather pouch, he opened it and gently tipped in a small amount of cremated ash, watching as it sank into the grey liquid.

Luke grimaced slightly. “I really hope this is sanitary…” he mumbled, stirring the concoction as it shifted from dull grey to a vibrant copper green.

He exhaled deeply, his shoulders slumping as he stared into the nearly completed potion. Though he’d never say it aloud, a heavy loneliness weighed on him.

“Today should be Annabeth’s birthday…” he muttered. Then, shaking his head, he added, “Not that it’s any of my concern,” his voice echoing in the silence.

He checked the card again. “Lastly… the Armament of an Ancient.” He reached over to the counter and picked up a helmet.

Holding it with a furrowed brow, he looked between it and the potion, then gently lowered it into the pot. It floated awkwardly, and Luke couldn’t help but let out a brief laugh at the absurd sight.

Still, he followed the instructions. As he stirred, the helmet began to dissolve, its metallic form melting into the mixture, transforming the color into a rich, molten gold. The more he stirred, the faster it changed, until the liquid glowed like sunlight.

Once done, he grabbed a rag, lifted the pot, and carefully poured the potion into a vial.

He held the finished product in his hand, his grin returning.

“With this, I’m one step closer… Not just to beating him—but the gods, too.”

Without hesitation, Luke tilted the vial back and drank it in one long gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing as the golden liquid disappeared.

Luke wiped his mouth and groaned as he leaned forward on the counter, gripping it tightly. “Wow, that tasted horrible…”

He blinked slowly, trying to steady his breathing. His heart began to pound, and the world around him seemed to blur, shifting like a reflection in disturbed water. The hotel walls melted into abstract smears of color, and the ground beneath him rippled like it was alive.

“Wha… what the hell…?”

Then came the whispers.

Low at first—like a breeze curling beneath a locked door. But they grew louder. Harsher. Angry. Thousands of voices hissing, snarling, mocking.

Traitor. Failure. Puppet.

Luke stumbled back from the counter, clutching his head. “Shut up…” he hissed, teeth gritted.

The whispers laughed at him. Echoes of people he once knew—the gods, demigods, his old friends. Annabeth… Thalia… Even Lucian.

“Shut UP!” he screamed, grabbing a nearby chair and hurling it at the wall. The chair shattered, but the voices only grew louder. They were inside him now, scraping at his skull, clawing at his reason.

His legs buckled.

He collapsed onto the floor, his body convulsing. His veins glowed faintly black and sinister beneath his skin, and smoke poured from his mouth and eyes. Something inside him clawed to get out. He screamed as if he were being split in two, writhing like a dying animal.

Muscles stretched, tore, then reformed stronger. His spine popped grotesquely as he arched off the floor. His fingers twisted into claws for a moment before snapping back to normal. His teeth lengthened into fangs, then receded. He gasped, sweat pouring off him as the voices surged again.

“NNNGH—SHUT UP! I’m not YOURS!”

The whispers didn’t care.

Luke screamed until his throat bled. Blood dripped from his nose and ears. His eyes burned as if molten iron had been poured into them. His body jolted and spasmed, shadowy tendrils erupting from his back like wings of darkness before twisting violently and sinking back into him. Dark deer-like antlers broke through the skin on his forehead painting his entire face red.

He lay gasping. The world fading in and out.

His mind teetered on the edge of oblivion.

‘Lucian…’ The name slipped unbidden into his thoughts.

In that endless torment, something sparked inside him.

Rage. Envy. Obsession.

Not just hate for the gods.

But a deep, burning need—to outshine him.

Lucian, with all his gifts. Lucian, who had everything handed to him—power, love, loyalty.

And yet, he kept on taking… However he was sure he would soon be able to surpass him. All because he had something Lucian would never understand: desperation.

His fingers twitched.

“I’m… not… going to lose to you,” Luke growled through gritted teeth, voice raw. “You’re not the only one who can climb to the top.”

The whispers stilled—if only for a moment.

That sliver of clarity… of defiance… It was enough.

The darkness surged forward again, one final time, threatening to consume him whole—

But Luke roared.

The entire hotel room shook violently as unknown energy erupted from his body, incinerating the floor around him in a perfect, circular blast. The whispers shrieked and recoiled. Smoke and dust filled the room.

Then silence.

Luke rose from the cracked floor, his body steaming. His breath was ragged. Blood and sweat streaked down his face. But his eyes—his eyes glowed like blue gems, narrowed and sharp with feral determination.

He looked at his trembling hands.

“I almost lost myself…” he muttered. “But not today.”

Luke had done it, he had become a Gladiator on his own.

********************************************

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