[Third Person Pov]

“Are you freaking insane?!” All of Lucian’s friends shouted at him at once, their voices overlapping in a mix of disbelief, outrage, and raw panic. Some stared at him as if he had lost his mind entirely, others looked almost afraid—afraid not of Poseidon outright, but of what Lucian was willingly provoking.

Lucian only laughed.

“Hahaha! What are you all talking about?” he said, throwing his head back as his laughter echoed against the wind. “Since when was I ever sane to begin with?”

His gaze lifted skyward, eyes locking onto the massive visage forming among the clouds. Water droplets gathered unnaturally, shaping themselves into the unmistakable face of Poseidon, vast and furious, looming over the horizon like a living storm given thought and form.

“You have grown arrogant, Son of Hades!” Poseidon roared, his voice carrying the full, crushing weight of the sea itself. Thunder boomed in time with his words. “Polyphemus was already defeated by Percy! You had no right to kill him!”

The ocean churned violently beneath the god’s fury.

“You knew Polyphemus was my son!” Poseidon continued, his rage only intensifying. “You knew that by killing him, you would incur my wrath! Your actions were deliberate—done with the sole intention of hurting me! And as a god, I cannot forgive such an insult!”

Lucian snapped his head up, his own fury blazing just as fiercely.

“Of course it was deliberate!!” he roared back, his voice cracking with raw emotion. The ground beneath his feet trembled as his body slowly began to rise, lifted by unseen forces as though gravity itself was loosening its grip on him. “Do you honestly think I’m ashamed of that?! Or terrified of you enough to lie about it?!”

He rose higher, fully levitating now.

“I knew it would hurt you if I killed your son,” Lucian continued, teeth clenched, eyes burning. “That is exactly why I did it!! You have no one to blame but yourself, Poseidon. I’m ashamed to even call you Uncle with such false familiarity!”

The golden fleece draped over his bare shoulder fluttered wildly in the rising wind, its radiant threads gleaming as Lucian’s dark hair whipped around his face. His power pulsed visibly now, the air around him shimmering.

“For what you did to Medusa,” Lucian said, his voice lowering, growing heavier with venom. “To my god-mother. There will always be animosity between us—an animosity that can never be forgiven, never erased!”

“This is what this is about?!” Poseidon thundered.

His fury spilled outward uncontrollably. The sea several meters ahead erupted into chaos—towering waves rose without warning, whirlpools twisted violently into existence, and even the solid ground beneath them shook as if protesting the god’s wrath.

“Don’t you dare speak as if this is a simple matter!!” Lucian shouted back.

His own rage answered Poseidon’s in kind. Magical energy surged through his body erratically, bursting and flaring around him in unstable flashes, barely restrained by his will.

“It may mean nothing to you,” Lucian continued, voice shaking with passion, “but it means everything to her! She has never once forgotten what you did to her—and because of me, neither will you!!”

Lucian spread his arms wide as if embracing the storm itself.

“This is my declaration to you, Poseidon—God of the Seven Seas! Earthshaker! Stormbringer! Father of Horses!” he proclaimed. “For all the pain you inflicted upon her, I shall become your curse! One that will never allow you to forget! For every bad day you suffer, for every pain you endure, for every misfortune that befalls you—let it all be attributed to me!”

Poseidon’s features twisted violently within the storm clouds, contorting into an expression so terrifying it made everyone below feel their hearts drop into their stomachs. Fear coursed through their bodies with every thunderous pulse. They all understood one undeniable truth:

The wrath of a god was not something to be taken lightly.

And yet, that was exactly what Lucian was doing.

“Fine!!” Poseidon bellowed at last. “If this is how you choose to behave, then so be it! But mark my words, Lucian Blackheart—you will regret the day you named me your enemy!”

Though his tone attempted restraint, the rage beneath it was unmistakable.

Lucian narrowed his eyes, staring unflinchingly into the storm. His eyes glowed faintly as his magic sharpened his perception, allowing him to see what no one else could: a dense, blue aura gathering within the clouds. A curse—ancient, malicious, and coiling with divine intent.

“For the act of slaying my son while he was defenseless,” Poseidon intoned, each word feeding the growing power above. “For your arrogant defiance. For your bold and blasphemous declaration against a god—”

The storm intensified with every syllable.

“—The very seas shall become your enemy! All living creatures within my domain will attack you on sight! In your presence, the waves will rise and seek to swallow you whole until they succeed!”

Lightning split the sky.

“This is my curse upon you, Prince of the Underworld,” Poseidon finished coldly. “Let it serve as a lesson—know your place, and learn when to hold your tongue.”

“HAHAHAHAHA!! DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHO YOU’RE TALKING TO?!”

Lucian’s laughter erupted into the sky, wild and unrestrained, echoing unnaturally as if reality itself were forced to carry the sound. His energy surged violently, growing fiercer by the second until it could no longer be contained. A black-red aura engulfed him completely, writhing like a living flame—hungry, volatile, and utterly malevolent.

The air around him warped and distorted, bending as though the world itself were recoiling from his presence. His magical aura roared like an inferno given form, pressure crashing outward in invisible waves that made it difficult to breathe. Every word he spoke felt less like sound and more like a proclamation carved directly into existence.

His voice thundered outward, carrying not just power, but authority—a declaration meant for gods, mortals, and fate itself.

“I am the Begetter of Malician!” Lucian proclaimed, arms spreading slightly as the aura flared higher. “The Architect of Curse Energy! The Artificer of Spells and Magic! I sire curses and darkness unlike any other being!!”

The aura pulsed violently, answering his words.

“I AM LUCIAN BLACKHEART!!” he roared.

“THE KING OF CURSES!!”

Slowly, Lucian exhaled.

His shoulders dropped in a lazy, almost bored manner, as if the immense power surrounding him was nothing more than a casual display. He tilted his head back slightly, crimson eyes narrowing with cold amusement, arrogance dripping from his expression.

“And you are a fool,” he said calmly, his voice suddenly quiet—far more terrifying than his earlier roar, “if you believe your pathetic excuse for a curse would ever work on me.”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips.

“I laugh at the notion.”

Poseidon merely scoffed.

The god of the seas looked utterly unimpressed, his divine patience already exhausted by Lucian’s blatant defiance and complete disregard for authority. Without hesitation—without even the courtesy of a warning—Poseidon unleashed his curse.

Lucian felt it instantly.

He was the only one who could.

The moment the divine malice descended upon him, Lucian reacted on pure instinct. His arms shot skyward as he released his own counter-curse, power erupting violently from his core and surging upward like a reversed lightning strike aimed at the heavens themselves.

Everyone felt it.

The moment the two curses collided midair, a bone-deep pressure slammed into their bodies. Hair stood on end. Skin prickled painfully. The very air screamed as raw energies crashed together, and the clash finally became visible to mortal eyes.

The sky split in two.

The upper heavens burned a deep, oceanic blue—crackling with divine wrath—while the lower half was drowned in violent crimson, stained by Lucian’s curse energy. The boundary where they met twisted and churned, the collision point wracked by constant explosions of power.

“W-What… what is that power…?” Scylla whispered, hugging herself tightly as her body trembled uncontrollably. The pressure was unbearable, like standing too close to a roaring abyss.

“That’s Lucian’s magic,” Annabeth said grimly.

Her eyes tracked the clash above as arcs of energy burst outward from the point of impact, crackling like cursed lightning and forking wildly across the sky.

The bolts struck the ground at random.

Where they landed, curses were born.

Grass withered and crumbled to ash in seconds. Trees twisted and reshaped themselves into shrieking animals before fleeing in terror. Massive boulders were cleanly bisected, splitting apart as if cut by an invisible blade.

“But I’ve felt Lucian’s magic before,” Scylla gasped, clutching her chest as breathing became difficult. “During his battle with Circe… it wasn’t like this. It wasn’t so—so suffocating! I can barely breathe!”

The others weren’t faring any better.

Annabeth swallowed hard before answering.

“You have to remember,” she said quietly, “Lucian was incredibly weakened during his battle with Circe. What you felt back then was only a fraction of his true power.”

She closed her eyes briefly and then opened them again—this time activating her mystic vision to the occult potions.

“Lucian…” she murmured, awe and dread mixing in her voice. “Lucian is a being made of magic.”

Through her enhanced sight, the truth was laid bare.

“He wasn’t just taught magic,” Annabeth continued softly. “He wasn’t just gifted it. He was born to be magic.”

With her mystic eyes, Annabeth could finally see the true forms of the clashing spells.

Descending from the heavens was Poseidon’s curse—shaped like a colossal trident forged entirely from malicious divine energy, vibrating with absolute authority.

Rising to meet it was Lucian’s—

A massive scythe of cursed power, black-red and jagged, its blade screaming as it carved against the trident in a relentless struggle for dominance.

Two curses.

Two wills.

Godhood and damnation colliding.

A relentless shockwave of energy crashed into Lucian again and again, yet he did not falter. The violent pressure forced his hair back from his face, his cloak and aura whipping wildly in the storm, but his expression remained utterly neutral—cold, distant, and indifferent, as though the power battering him was nothing more than a mild breeze.

Lucian slowly closed his eyes.

He inhaled once, calmly and deeply, grounding himself amid the chaos.

“Concentrate…” he murmured to himself.

Without warning, Lucian withdrew his counterattack entirely.

The sudden absence of resistance caused Poseidon’s manifested curse—the massive trident of divine malice—to surge forward unopposed, charging straight at Lucian with terrifying speed and intent.

The air screamed.

At the very last moment, just as the trident was about to skewer him through the chest, Lucian shifted aside with effortless precision. The weapon grazed past him, missing by mere inches—

—and that was when Lucian reached out.

Invisible forces snapped shut around the trident as he seized control of its energy. The divine curse trembled violently, resisting him, but Lucian bent it to his will regardless. Slowly, visibly, the energy twisted and reformed under his influence.

A luminous blue halo flared to life around him, spinning gently as the once-hostile power obeyed his command.

Lucian spread his arms slightly backward, hovering serenely in midair. In one hand, Poseidon’s curse pulsed and churned. In the other, Lucian’s own curse manifested—dark, crimson, and alive with malice. He began to draw his hands inward, bringing the two energies closer together.

They circled each other like twin predators, chasing one another’s tails, forming two swirling tomoe of opposing yet eerily compatible power.

Lucian lifted them toward his mouth.

He made a subtle sucking motion.

The energies unraveled instantly, dissolving into shimmering wisps that flowed willingly into him. He drank them in, the distinct sensations of divine wrath and cursed malice sliding down his throat and settling deep within his body.

Poseidon’s curse energy was converted.

Assimilated.

Made Lucian’s own.

His aura expanded explosively, growing denser, heavier, and vastly more potent. Yet Lucian remained hovering in place, eyes still closed, his focus turned inward—centered on the pit of his stomach, where the absorbed power continued to churn.

Despite now belonging to him, the energies refused to settle.

They swirled violently together, colliding again and again within his core.

Previously, the overwhelming miasma that had originated deep within Tartarus had suppressed Lucian’s intuition and foresight. His predictive senses had been dulled to the point of near uselessness, partially crippled.

But now—

Now he was stronger than ever before.

As he exerted control over the storm of power inside him, Lucian’s foresight returned in full force. He saw where the energies would clash, where they would destabilize, where they would annihilate each other—and he acted before it could happen.

His intuition guided the flow.

The two distinct forms of crimson energy within him collided once more, but instead of destroying each other, they began to merge. They layered, intertwined, and multiplied, feeding upon one another rather than competing.

Outside, Lucian’s dark-crimson aura flickered and swayed effortlessly in the violent winds born from Poseidon’s personified rage.

The aura pulsed.

Flickered again.

And again.

Then sparks ignited within it.

A new color began to bloom.

Blue splotches of light flared across Lucian’s form—appearing suddenly, vanishing just as quickly—only to ignite again with greater intensity. The phenomenon repeated rapidly, the blue flashes growing more frequent, more stable.

From the center of his body—from the exact point of his navel—a brilliant flash of white light erupted.

In an instant, blue surged outward from that point, washing over the crimson aura as if it were flammable. Red gave way to blue, blue layered with white, until Lucian’s entire form was engulfed in a radiant mixture of azure and starlike brilliance.

A massive wave of energy exploded outward from him.

Blue and white light cascaded across the battlefield, resembling a clear sky filled with drifting stars. The wave washed over everyone present, gentle yet profound.

“So… pretty…” Tyson murmured softly.

White motes drifted down like snowflakes. Tyson reached out, letting them settle in his massive hands, and couldn’t help but smile as warmth spread through him—comforting, soothing, alive.

“Is anyone else confused about what just happened?” Grover asked shakily, looking around as his goat legs trembled beneath him.

Annabeth didn’t answer immediately.

She held out her hand and let the white light settle onto her palm. Slowly, she clenched her fist around it, her expression filled with wonder and certainty.

“He didn’t just absorb the curse,” she said quietly.

She looked up at Lucian, glowing against the storm.

“He became The Aberrant Weaver of Fortune and Curses.”

(A/N: Chapter 118, remember it’s his true name which is why it’s important, just felt that I needed to remind everyone since it’s been so long)

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