[Third Person's PoV]
Lucian watched as Luke retreated with an air of arrogance, his scythe resting across the back of his neck, hands casually draped over it. Tilting his head in mild confusion, Lucian spoke, his tone laced with mockery. "Let me ask you this: what gave you the confidence to think you could contend with me? You couldn't manage it when we were younger, and you certainly can't now."
Luke wiped his mouth, his cold, hateful gaze fixed on Lucian, refusing to dignify the question with an answer.
Lucian's glowing eyes flickered faintly as he foresaw Luke's next move. He let out a weary sigh. "God, you're annoying," he muttered, twirling his scythe lazily.
Luke vanished from where he stood, reappearing in an instant with his sword aimed straight for Lucian's heart. But the blade of Lucian's scythe intercepted it effortlessly, the clash sending sparks flying.
Lucian began to move, swaying in a rhythmic, almost taunting manner, his scythe spinning gracefully around him. Sparks erupted as Luke's sword struck again and again, his arm becoming a blur of motion.
Luke's narrowed eyes locked onto Lucian's, luckily for him the curse within them wasn't active. Yet, even without it, Lucian's half-lidded, bored expression spoke volumes, clearly looking down on him.
With a frustrated chuckle, Luke leaped back, creating distance between them.
"Luke, stop this already," Thalia pleaded, her voice tinged with desperation.
"Save your breath…" Lucian interrupted coldly, not even sparing her a glance.
"But Lucian—" Thalia began again.
Lucian sighed, shaking his head. "Just save it. Can't you see? There's no going back for him. This is the path he chose. No matter what you say, do, or beg, he won't change. So, I'll say it again: save your breath."
Thalia groaned in frustration, scratching her head. "But I still don't want to fight him…"
"I know," Lucian replied, offering her a warm smile. He understood her reluctance—she was too kind to battle a friend. "So leave it to me." He winked reassuringly.
Luke, watching the exchange, tightened his grip on his sword and sighed. "Looks like I'll have to use more power than I planned to reveal."
"Oooh~ I'm so curious. What mystical artifact did grandpappy give you this time?" Lucian teased, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Luke smirked but said nothing. In an instant, Lucian's eyes widened.
A sharp line of red appeared on his cheek, blood dripping from the shallow cut. The image of Luke standing before him shimmered and faded—it had only been an afterimage.
The real Luke stood several steps behind him, examining the blood on his blade with a smug expression before flicking it off.
'Fast… faster than my foresight could activate,' Lucian's lips curled into a faint grin as he wiped the blood away, the wound already healed. 'Now this is getting interesting.'
Luke hummed thoughtfully. "I meant for that to cut a bit deeper—"
His words were cut off as his eyes widened in shock. He jumped back just in time to evade Annabeth, who came hurtling down from above. Her fist slammed into the ground with immense force, causing the earth to buckle and splinter in all directions.
Annabeth rose slowly, her eyes locking onto Luke with an unsettling intensity. Her face was expressionless, but her grey eyes burned cold—a stark contrast to the warmth they once held for him as a friend.
"Luke… don't think I'll forgive you if you're truly planning to kill Lucian," she said, her voice chillingly calm. "If that's your intention, then you are my enemy. Consider your choices wisely."
Luke gave her a wry smile, leaning back slightly. "You're really one scary little girl, Annabeth. Your obsession with him? It's… unhealthy." His tone was mocking, but his words were edged with something darker.
Annabeth didn't flinch. Her cold gaze remained unyielding, unimpressed by his attempt to provoke her.
Luke leaned forward, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Which means I might need to eliminate you too, before you become a problem."
The moment his hand moved toward his sword, Annabeth and Lucian switched places in a flash. Lucian stood in her spot, his scythe intercepting Luke's blade just inches from where Annabeth's neck had been.
Sparks flew as metal clashed, the sound echoing in the tense air. Luke's teasing expression faltered when he caught Lucian's gaze. The familiar sleepy, carefree demeanor was gone. In its place were sharp, piercing eyes, as cold and calculating as Annabeth's.
With a swift movement, Lucian drove the pole of his scythe into the ground to block Luke's blade. Then, in one fluid motion, he grabbed Luke's face with one hand and his sword arm with the other.
BOOM!
The impact shook the ground as Lucian smashed Luke into the floor, splintering it into spiderweb cracks. His grip on Luke's face was unrelenting as he lifted him again and slammed him back down.
CRACK!
"What the hell were you thinking?" Lucian growled, his voice a deep, almost demonic snarl. He raised Luke's head once more and drove it back into the fractured floor with brutal force.
BOOM!
"Did you really think," Lucian hissed, his tone dripping with menace, "that just because we were once friends, I wouldn't kill you?"
BOOM!
Luke struggled, but Lucian's grip was ironclad. His eyes—now pitch black—gleamed with an otherworldly energy. The curse was active, and Luke's worst fears began to flood his mind, paralyzing him in a torrent of mental anguish.
As Luke writhed, Lucian leaned in close, his voice a venomous whisper in his ear. "Don't think death will spare you. I'll drag your soul from the Underworld myself, just so I can torment you for all eternity. All because you dared to draw your blade to her."
Lucian's grip tightened as his voice darkened further. "You can swing your sword at me all you want. I'll gladly endure it—if you can even manage to land a strike. But pointing it at her? That's a mortal sin I won't ever forgive."
Although Luke was being mentally tortured, someone who had decided to challenge the entire Greek Pantheon wasn't someone with a weak will. Gritting his teeth, he forced his way through the curse with sheer mental fortitude. With his free hand, he grabbed Lucian's sweater and yanked him forward, delivering a headbutt square to Lucian's face. The impact made Lucian wince and loosen his grip.
Taking advantage of the moment, Luke drove his knee into Lucian's gut, forcing him back. With a swift motion, Luke planted both hands on the ground behind him, propelled himself upward, and delivered a double kick to Lucian's chest, sending him stumbling, while Luke used that moment to stand back on his own two feet.
In a blur of motion, Luke surged forward, sword aimed to impale. But Lucian remained unfazed. He raised his hand, intercepting the blade with his palm. The sword pierced straight through, yet Lucian pushed it further, gripping Luke's fist with his bloodied hand.
With his other arm cocked back, Lucian unleashed a devastating punch to Luke's face. The sound of the impact echoed—a sharp crack that sent Luke hurtling through the air. He crashed through several trees, finally coming to a stop, his sword left behind in Lucian's grip.
Lucian glanced at the blade impaled in his palm and scoffed. "Trace," he murmured, activating his spell. The weapon shimmered briefly before he yanked it out, tossing it to the ground like discarded trash.
He examined the hole in his hand, blood dripping steadily and staining the grass a deep crimson. His shadows began to stir, slithering up his legs and arms before pooling around his injured palm. Slowly, the wound knit itself shut, the flesh sealing seamlessly under the shadow's touch.
Once the healing was complete, Lucian flexed his hand a few times, ensuring it was functional. Then, with deliberate menace, he brought the blood-smeared palm to his mouth and licked it clean, his cold, red eyes glinting ominously in the moonlight.