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Son of Hades (Percy Jackson) Chapter 370: Three Birds One Stone
🕑 Added 2025-11-27 22:51:00 +0000 UTC[Third Person Pov]
“Hubris is a grave sin, young lad,” Thomas Jefferson began, his tone carrying the weary authority of a man who believed himself the voice of reason. “There’s nothing wrong with a bit of self-confidence in oneself, but an excess—an inflation—is where the sin occurs. What you need is a lesson in humility. No one is above judgement, no matter how much we’d like to pretend otherwise.”
“Hubris is only a sin when it’s wrong.”
Lucian’s reply came smooth, even, almost serene—but the firmness beneath it was unmistakable. “When a man doesn’t know his own worth, when he blindly believes himself greater than he truly is, there lies the sin. That is when humility becomes necessary. But I—” he lifted a hand to his chest, “—I know exactly where I stand. I know my worth. I am painfully aware of my virtues, my failures, my sins, and the weight they carry. And because I know myself,” he paused, “I also know that you people are not worthy of passing judgment on me.”
Minos inhaled sharply, and Shakespeare opened his mouth as though to intervene, but both stopped instantly. They could feel it—everyone could. Lucian’s aura pressed down on them like a shifting pressure front, heavy and unyielding. As Hades had mentioned not long before, Lucian’s soul had been changing, steadily sharpening, brightening, refining into something neither mortal nor demigod had any right to be. The potions he’d taken, the breakthroughs he’d made, the knowledge he'd torn from every boundary he encountered—they had transmuted him into something far beyond the ordinary.
So when Lucian spoke again, they listened.
“Just moments ago you proved, unintentionally, why you’re unworthy to judge me.” His voice lowered, resonant, controlled. “You told me I needed humility. But I disagree. Humility is as much as a sin as it is a virtue—because any virtue taken to excess becomes corruption. A man who refuses to acknowledge his strengths is as crippled as one who fabricates strengths he does not possess. A man who kneels too easily is no different from one who stands too tall—both have lost sight of themselves.”
He took a slow step forward, his eyes glowing with quiet, terrifying clarity.
“Confidence is not a sin. Ignorance is. And I refuse to make myself small to comfort those who have achieved less.”
Minos’s jaw tightened. Jefferson’s lips thinned. Shakespeare simply watched, entranced.
“I have quantified my strengths,” Lucian continued. “I have cataloged my flaws with brutal honesty. I have confronted my fears, dissected them, mastered them. I know myself with a precision the three of you could never hope to reach. And you presume to be able to evaluate me?” He swept his gaze over Minos, Jefferson, and Shakespeare slowly, deliberately, as though weighing their entire existence in a single glance. “My virtues were forged through intention, not ignorance. My arrogance is not blind—it is earned. But your judgment—” his hand flicked dismissively, “—is built on obsolete dogma and older fears.”
He raised his chin—not in defiance, not in deference—but in complete, unwavering certainty.
“You accuse me of hubris because you cannot fathom what it looks like when someone truly knows who they are.”
Silence flooded the chamber like icy water.
“And that,” Lucian finished, “is why you have no right to judge me.”
Off to the side, Hades was leaning against the obsidian wall, arms crossed, one brow inching upward. A slow grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, and a soft chuckle slipped free as he shook his head. “Oh, he's good…” he muttered.
A faint scratching sound broke the silence. Minos and Jefferson turned sharply.
Shakespeare had withdrawn a small notepad and was scribbling furiously.
“Hm?” Shakespeare blinked at their looks. “What? Like it or not, he isn’t factually incorrect. I write it down when inspiration strikes.” He tapped the notebook with his quill. “And this is very inspiring.”
Jefferson sighed into his hand. Minos looked ready to throttle the playwright.
Before either could speak, Shakespeare glanced back to Lucian. “But something’s bothering me. Earlier, you claimed this entire trial is meaningless for several reasons. So far, you’ve only given us one. What are the others?”
Lucian lowered his head, shoulders shaking faintly. A chuckle leaked out—quiet, amused, almost mischievous. He lifted his chin again, and his eyes gleamed like polished rubies.
“Oh, that’s simple,” he said with a smirk. “After you finish reviewing my life, dissecting every moment, and finally reaching some grand, unanimous consensus… whatever verdict you decide will never come to pass.”
Jefferson’s brows furrowed. “And why is that?”
Lucian leaned forward over the podium, his posture relaxed, casual, almost bored.
“Because I never intended to stay dead in the first place.”
“Huh?” Hades blurted, caught completely off guard. “Hold on—wait—what?”
…
“I take it Lucian left you in charge of the potion?” Annabeth asked, her voice gentle but edged with curiosity as she eyed the trio approaching. A small, knowing smile played at her lips.
Nico didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached into the pocket of the jacket tied around his waist and carefully withdrew a glass bottle. Inside the vial, green and brown liquid twisted together wrestling for dominance, swirling with an unnatural weight.
Both Percy and Thalia’s eyes widened the moment they saw it. A spark of realization flickered across their faces—followed quickly by alarm.
“What’s the potion about?” Clarisse demanded, arms crossed. She glanced between the others, clearly irritated at not being in the loop.
Thalia furrowed her brows. “Is his plan to—” She stopped herself abruptly, eyes darting around. Speaking too freely about Lucian’s intentions—even now—felt dangerous. There were too many ears. Too many divinities who might take an interest.
Annabeth exhaled softly, then extended her consciousness outward, weaving a psychic link between herself, Percy, and Thalia. The world around them dimmed as their minds connected.
“There’s layers to Lucian’s plan,” Annabeth’s voice echoed within their shared consciousness. “Lucian isn’t only using his death to benefit himself—he’s using it to benefit Nico as well. His death is… a catalyst. By tying Nico to the event, Lucian ensured Nico had the perfect opportunity to finish digesting the Mortiton potion.”
Annabeth continued, her mental tone steady and analytical. “Things change after the Sixth Sequence. To advance from Sequence Six to Sequence Five, Lucian needs a ritual. Being a Curse Knight means he can’t just drink the potion and hope for the best. He has to be buried deep within the earth while ingesting it. It’s symbolic—almost poetic. A Curse Knight being ‘laid to rest’ after fulfilling his duty… then rising again as an Earth Sentinel.”
As Annabeth said this, the connection dissolved abruptly—because she had frozen in place, staring at Lucian’s lifeless form with her hand covering her mouth.
“Woah…” she whispered, struck silent by the realization.
“What?” Percy and Thalia demanded. Even Clarisse leaned in, confused and annoyed in equal measure.
But Annabeth wasn’t listening to any of them. Her mind was racing, threads connecting in ways she hadn’t anticipated. She stared at Lucian’s body, but her eyes were distant—like she was seeing something far larger.
‘Is it a coincidence? Or did he set all of this up deliberately… for me to realize it on my own?’
Annabeth’s heart thudded. ‘Lucian’s plan doesn’t just benefit him and Nico—it benefits me too. As an Occultist. This entire sequence of events… it’s a ritual. An orchestrated chain of events designed for a specific outcome.’
She could feel the potion inside her—slowly, subtly—beginning to digest.
‘That’s what a ritual is,’ she thought. ‘A sequence of steps, each building on the last, shaping thought and symbols into something beneficial. If Lucian had told us the full plan from the start, I wouldn’t have pieced it together. I wouldn’t have had to explain it to the others—wouldn’t have had the moment of insight. Wouldn’t have learned.’
Her breath caught.
The others were still watching her when she finally spoke—barely more than a whisper at first, yet carrying across the clearing.
“Just… how deep does Lucian’s foresight go to think this far ahead…?” Her voice trembled with awe.
Comments
Bryan Vargas
Lmao, I can just imagine the scene where Lucian resurrects and Annabeth starts showering him with praises and he just looks around the group confused as he thinks 'What the fuck is she talking about?'
Guto
I like how he foresight the events, but i love the ideia that all this is a coincidence and Annabeth is overthinkin
Bryan Vargas
Lol, what can I say live life on the edge 😂
Ahmed
Thank you for the chapter but still man how many cliffhangers 😂😂😂
