Rick Riordan
Percy Jackson and the Olympians
65
65
"Percy," Annabeth said, "let me come with you."
"Too dangerous," I said. "Besides, I need you to help Michael coordinate the defensive line.
I'll distract the monsters. You group up here. Move the sleeping mortals out of the way. Then you
can start picking off monsters while I keep them focused on me. If anybody can do all that, you can."
Michael snorted. "Thanks a lot."
I kept my eyes on Annabeth.
She nodded reluctantly. "All right. Get moving."
Before I could lose my courage, I said, "Don't I get a kiss for luck? It's kind of a tradition,
right?"
I figured she would punch me. Instead, she drew her knife and stared at the army marching
toward us. "Come back alive, Seaweed Brain. Then we'll see."
I figured it was the best offer I would get, so I stepped out from behind the school bus. I
walked up the bridge in plain sight, straight toward the enemy.
When the Minotaur saw me, his eyes burned with hate. He bellowed—a sound that was
somewhere between a yell, a moo, and a really loud belch.
"Hey, Beef Boy," I shouted back. "Didn't I kill you already?"
He pounded his fist into the hood of a Lexus, and it crumpled like aluminum foil.
A few dracaenae threw flaming javelins at me. I knocked them aside. A hellhound lunged,
and I sidestepped. I could have stabbed it, but I hesitated.
This is not Mrs. O'Leary, I reminded myself. This is an untamed monster. It will kill me and all
my friends.
It pounced again. This time I brought Riptide up in a deadly arc. The hellhound disintegrated
into dust and fur.
More monsters surged forward—snakes and giants and telkhines—but the Minotaur roared
at them, and they backed off
"One on one?" I called. "Just like old times?"
The Minotaur's nostrils quivered. He seriously needed to keep a pack of Aloe Vera Kleenex
in his armor pocket, because that nose was wet and red and pretty gross. He unstrapped his axe
and swung it around.
It was beautiful in a harsh I’m~going~to-gut~you~like~a~fish kind of way. Each of its twin
blades was shaped like an omega: Ω—the last letter of the Greek alphabet. Maybe that was
because the axe would be the last thing his victims ever saw. The shaft was about the same height
as the Minotaur, bronze wrapped in leather. Tied around the base of each blade were lots of bead
necklaces. I realized they were Camp Half-Blood beads—necklaces taken from defeated demigods.
I was so mad, I imagined my eyes glowing just like the Minotaur's. I raised my sword. The
monster army cheered for the Minotaur, but the sound died when I dodged his first swing and sliced
his axe in half, right between the handholds.
"Moo?" he grunted.
"HAAA!" I spun and kicked him in the snout. He staggered backward, trying to regain his
footing, then lowered his head to charge.
He never got the chance. My sword flashed—slicing off one horn, then the other. He tried to
grab me. I rolled away, picking up half of his broken axe. The other monsters backed up in stunned
silence, making a circle around us. The Minotaur bellowed in rage. He was never very smart to
begin with, but now his anger made him reckless. He charged me, and I ran for the edge of the
bridge, breaking through a line of dracaenae.
The Minotaur must've smelled victory. He thought I was trying to get away. His minions
cheered. At the edge of the bridge, I turned and braced the axe against th e railing to receive his
charge. The Minotaur didn't even slow down.
CRUNCH.
He looked down in surprise at the axe handle sprouting from his breastplate.
"Thanks for playing," I told him.
I lifted him by his legs and tossed him over the side of the bridge. Even as he fell, he was
disintegrating, turning back into dust, his essence returning to Tartarus.
I turned toward his army. It was now roughly one hundred and ninety-nine to one. I did the