"Please," Luke groaned. "No time."

 

If Kronos evolved into his true form, there would be no stopping him. He would

make Typhon look like a playground bully.

 

The line from the great prophecy echoed in my head: A hero's soul, cursed blade

shall reap. My whole world tipped upside down, and I gave the knife to Luke.

 

Grover yelped. "Percy? Are you . . . um ..."

 

Crazy. Insane. Off my rocker. Probably.

 

But I watched as Luke grasped the hilt.

 

I stood before him — defenseless.

 

He unlatched the side straps of his armor, exposing a small bit of his skin just

under his left arm, a place that would be very hard to hit. With difficulty, he

stabbed himself.

 

It wasn't a deep cut, but Luke howled. His eyes glowed like lava. The throne

room shook, throwing me off my feet. An aura of energy surrounded Luke, growing

brighter and brighter. I shut my eyes and felt a force like a nuclear explosion

blister my skin and crack my lips.