The sky turned dark and cold. Shadows thickened. A harsh war horn sounded, and

as the dead soldiers formed up ranks with their guns and swords and spears, an

enormous chariot roared down Fifth Avenue. It came to a stop next to Nico. The

horses were living shadows, fashioned from darkness. The chariot was inlaid with

obsidian and gold, decorated with scenes of painful death. Holding the reins was

Hades himself, Lord of the Dead, with Demeter and Persephone riding behind him.

 

Hades wore black armor and a cloak the color of fresh blood. On top of his pale

head was the helm of darkness: a crown that radiated pure terror. It changed

shape as I watched — from a dragon's head to a circle of black flames to a

wreath of human bones. But that wasn't the scary part. The helm reached into my

mind and ignited my worst nightmares, my most secret fears. I wanted to crawl

into a hole and hide, and I could tell the enemy army felt the same way. Only

Kronos's power and authority kept his ra nks from fleeing.

 

Hades smiled coldly. "Hello, Father. You're looking . . . young."

 

"Hades," Kronos growled. "I hope you and the ladies have come to pledge your

allegiance."

 

"I'm afraid not." Hades sighed. "My son here convinced me that perhaps I should

prioritize my list of enemies." He glanced at me with distaste. "As much as I

dislike certain upstart demigods, it would not do for Olympus to fall. I would

miss bickering with my siblings. And if there is one thing we agree on — it is

that you were a TERRIBLE father."