[Third person POV]

Thalia braced herself just in time as a deafening shockwave slammed into her with brutal force, nearly sending her flying across the battlefield. The violent gust kicked up a thick, choking cloud of dust that swallowed the area whole, masking the ground in a haze of grey as the initial clash between Lucian and Luke’s weapons sent tremors through the air.

Before the dust could settle, another resounding clash rang out, louder and sharper than the first, instantly clearing the fog as the two combatants vanished in synchronized bursts of teleportation.

The demigods scattered, ducking low, their eyes wide with a mix of awe and terror. They couldn’t track the movements of Lucian and Luke—each reappearance was marked by destruction. Trees split in half, the earth cracked and groaned under the pressure. Wherever they blinked into view, something was either cleaved apart or blown to pieces. To the onlookers, the battle was a blur of movement—they couldn’t see the strikes, only the aftermath.

High above the ground, the two reappeared mid-air. Lucian twisted his body and slashed downward with his scythe in one fluid motion. The blade connected with Luke, carving a deep gash across his chest and sending him hurtling back toward the earth like a meteor.

Lucian didn’t let up. He conjured his bow in a single swift motion, nocked a trio of flaming arrows, and unleashed them into the rising dust cloud below. The arrows exploded on impact, each one blooming into a fiery inferno that turned the entire battlefield into a blazing storm of destruction.

But Luke emerged once more from the smoke, blood dripping from the wound across his chest, his face twisted in fury. He appeared behind Lucian, his sword already arcing toward his opponent’s back.

Lucian spun around, casually deflecting the blow with his bow. Without missing a beat, he stepped back and pointed three more arrows directly at Luke’s heart.

“Lock-On,” Lucian whispered coldly, activating his Curse Speech Magic.

Luke blinked away in an instant, teleporting across the field—but the arrows followed. They twisted and turned midair, pursuing him with ruthless precision. He teleported again. And again. But the arrows were relentless, as if possessed, weaving through obstacles and ignoring physics.

Desperate, Luke grabbed a nearby demigod and yanked him in front of him like a shield. But to his surprise, the arrows veered around the terrified boy, their target unwavering. His eyes widened in disbelief.

Lucian scoffed, unimpressed. Without hesitation, he began crafting another spell. Holding his bow in front of him, he pulled back the string with one eye closed. In front of him, a spinning magic circle manifested, glowing with ancient runes and blackened light. As he pulled, an arrow of pure, impenetrable darkness formed between his fingers. More supporting circles spun into place, humming with destructive power.

Meanwhile, Luke had landed hard and slid back across the cracked earth. He was struggling to deflect the enchanted arrows still on his tail. Each one carried enough force to level a small building. As one struck his arm, he screamed—the arrow embedded itself deep before exploding.

With a grisly boom, his hand was blown clean off, a burst of blood and black fire consuming the limb. His severed arm hit the ground, engulfed in shadows before crumbling into ash.

“AAARRRGHHHH!!” Luke howled, clutching the smoking stump as tears of pain welled in his eyes. He glared at Lucian, hatred burning behind his eyes—but his rage turned to terror as Lucian released the darkness arrow.

The projectile passed cleanly through the primary magic circle, then shot forward faster than Luke could react. It didn’t aim for his body—but rather, it pierced directly into the ground at his feet, impaling his shadow.

Luke froze.

He tried to teleport—tried to escape—but his body wouldn’t move. He looked down in disbelief, realizing the truth. His shadow was pinned, anchoring him in place like a cursed chain.

The dark arrow glowed ominously for a second… then detonated.

The explosion didn’t resemble fire or force. Instead, it unraveled into a swirling black vortex that opened beneath Luke’s feet, dragging him upward into a cyclone of dark energy.

“AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!” Luke’s scream tore through the battlefield as the tornado consumed him, shredding through armor and skin alike. The darkness howled like wind, but each gust cut like thousands of blades. His body was caught in a storm of razor-sharp shadows, tearing him apart, stripping his defenses layer by layer.

Lucian hovered slowly toward the carnage, savoring the sight and the screams. He moved with grace, almost serene, watching the maelstrom unravel and reveal his opponent’s broken figure.

When the vortex died down, Luke collapsed to the ground, a bloodied heap. His once-pristine armor lay in tatters, his skin marred with countless lacerations. The slash from Lucian’s scythe still burned across his chest, seared into his flesh like a brand.

He dropped to his knees, barely conscious, blood dripping onto the earth beneath him. His injuries were beginning to mend—his demigod physiology fighting to keep him alive—but it was slow. Too slow. Even his arm was beginning to regenerate, but it would take at least another hour before the damage fully reversed.

Lucian landed lightly a few feet away, eyes cold, watching Luke struggle to stay upright.

“Luke… I’m going to keep you alive,” Lucian said, his voice devoid of emotion.

“W-What…?” Luke gasped, blood dripping from his split lips, his eyes barely able to focus on Lucian’s figure towering above him.

Lucian’s gaze softened, but not out of mercy—out of revelation. “I just realized something about myself,” he murmured, almost dreamlike. “Seeing you like this… hearing you scream in agony… it brought me so… So much joy, I can’t even describe, Unimaginable. Divine, even.”

His expression twisted into something dark, something gleeful. “If I kill you, that joy would end. You’d escape. You’d be free from pain, free from the consequences of your actions. Sure, maybe my father will punish you in the Underworld—but that would leave a bitter taste in my mouth. That’s not enough. That won’t ever be enough”

Lucian reached down and grabbed a fistful of Luke’s matted, blood-soaked hair, yanking his head back violently. Their eyes met—one filled with hate, the other with cruel delight.

“Death for someone like you?” Lucian sneered. “That would be a blessing. Far too merciful. No, Luke. You deserve something worse. Something eternal. Living in the same world as me… that’s the real curse. For every joy this world gives you I’ll be there to take it all away. For every sense of accomplishment, every hope you feel, I’ll be there to drag you back into despair, to remind you just how worthless you really are.”

In defiance, Luke mustered the last of his strength and spat directly onto Lucian’s helm, staining it with blood. “Do your worst, you insane bastard!” he snarled, voice trembling.

Lucian didn’t hesitate. His gauntlet-clad fist crashed into Luke’s skull, slamming his head into the ground with thunderous force. A crater formed beneath the impact. Luke let out a guttural, choking sound as blood pooled beneath his face, bones shifting from the sheer power of the blow.

Lucian’s voice dropped low, his tone carrying a haunting weight. “Your nerves are on fire.”

As his Curse Speech took hold, Luke’s body jerked violently, convulsing beneath him. Although he couldn’t take control of Luke’s mind and make him kill himself that didn’t mean he couldn’t afflict his body with curses.

“AAARRRGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!” Luke screamed, the sound tearing from his throat, raw and animalistic.

Lucian sighed in ecstasy, his breath shaky as the rush of euphoria hit him. “Ahhh… that’s what I wanted to hear… I just LOVE the sound of your despair!”

All around them, demigods stared in horror. Some turned away, shielding their eyes. Others wept silently, unable to reconcile the Luke they once trusted with the broken man being tortured before them. A few still held out hope, but that hope was now poisoned by fear—fear of Lucian.

And then Lucian grabbed Luke by the legs.

“You asked for my worst,” he whispered darkly. “So enjoy it.”

He stomped down hard—directly into Luke’s groin.

“UUUUURRRRGAAAAAHHHHHHH!!” Luke screamed and vomited, his body jerking with the wave of agony.

Lucian laughed. “HAHAHAHA!!” The laugh was wild, unhinged, deranged. “We can’t let your stupidity pass onto the next generation can we now?! HAHAHAHA!!”

He stomped again. And again. Blood splattered from beneath Luke as the others looked on in stunned disbelief.

“Ugh…” several boys instinctively crossed their legs. Others turned and vomited.

Percy quickly reached out and covered Tyson’s eyes, face pale. “Don’t look, buddy…”

“You ready for the special?” Lucian grinned as he braced his foot once more and yanked harder on Luke’s legs. With a grotesque rip, the muscles tore audibly—and then both legs came off clean from the hips, blood spraying in thick arcs.

Luke collapsed back, sobbing, cheeks streaked with tears and blood. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Lucian tilted his head. “Hm? Was that supposed to make me pity you? I’m sorry, but I’m just not feeling it.” He giggled cruelly.

“Lucian!”

The voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

Lucian snapped his head toward the entrance of the camp. Standing there, weakened and breathless, was Hestia. Her knees buckled slightly, leaning against the doorframe for support, tears silently cascading down her cheeks.

“Please, Lucian… there’s no need to go this far,” she said softly, voice trembling. “Not for my sake…”

Lucian straightened. “I’m sorry but it had to be done—”

“No,” she interrupted gently. “There are children here, Lucian. I understand your angry for what he did to me. But don’t let that pain turn you into this. You’re better than this. I know you are.”

Beside her, Annabeth stood silent, close but not touching her, watching Lucian with wide, tense eyes.

Lucian’s breath hitched. He couldn’t stand seeing her like this—the sorrow on her face, the tears she shed not for herself, but for him.

He sighed heavily, he really was weak when it came to Hestia. He let go of Luke’s severed limbs and stepped back. Slowly, he began to melt into his shadow.

Another shadow stretched toward the front of the Hestia and from it, Lucian emerged—no longer the monstrous figure clad in dark, bloodstained armor, but kneeling, humbly, before Hestia.

For the first time, he knelt before someone willingly.

“…How are you feeling? Are you okay?” he asked gently, his voice a far cry from the sadist moments before.

Hestia gave a weak chuckle, smiling through her pain. “I’d be better if… if you weren’t drenched in blood.”

Lucian gave a small smile and dispelled his armor entirely. The contrast was jarring. He looked almost peaceful, boyish even, his soft tone and posture confusing those who watched. Could this really be the same person who, moments ago, committed such horrors?

“How about now?” he asked, voice low and kind.

“Much better,” Hestia replied, smiling sadly. But the pain in her eyes was unmistakable.

Lucian closed his eyes, bowed his head, and whispered a silent prayer.

‘Lady Hecate… I pray for your assistance…’

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep