Decree |The Anak Series| [COMPLETED!]

Thirteen

A mere drop of ichor fell from a graze on Ouranos' jaw, but it spoke mountains. Percy would fight at whatever cost; personal death isn't something you have the luxury to consider when saving billions of lives.

Ouranos reeled back in shock. "I'm sorry as well, but Percy, you've left me no choice." He flexed his shoulders. "Asteria," he ordered, "deal with Olympians." He caught Percy's eyes. "I'll pull the Cloak off of his remains."

Percy threw himself at Ouranos. The power inside of him was uncontrollable, a raging force breaking him from the inside out.

Ouranos pushed Percy back as Asteria flashed away. "Draw your sword for the last time, Percy" he ordered. Percy drew Sight without hesitation. Stalking toward the Primordial, he glowered. "No, not for the last time."

"The sheer exertion of standing against me will send you past Tartarus," Ouranos raised his hand to the sky, drawing his spear from the tendrils of thunder surrounding them. "You hold the remains of my power faded through time, but even now, you have no hope."

"Guardian," he mocked. "You hold no power over me."

Percy steeled himself, inching towards Ouranos. Somehow, before the greatest challenge he faced, Percy found a sudden peace. It was as if he was in Camp-Half Blood, sparring with Annabeth.

Of course, Percy won. Brandishing Sight, Percy raised his chin. He would win again.

Percy exhaled.

He would win again.

For them, his family.

Percy immediately fell to the defensive. Ouranos' spear gave him a decisive advantage. He parried, blocked, and dodged, testing Ouranos' own patience with his spear.

For his size, Ouranos was perfectly balanced, moving faster than mortal eyes could comprehend. Artemis was faster.

The realization pumped adrenaline through his veins. Percy was created to do the impossible. Percy suddenly pushed aggressively.

The Guardian sidestepped. Ouranos' spear only managed to singe Percy's armor, yet he could smell the ozone oozing from the spear.

Taking the small opening of chance, Percy slashed Ouranos aggressively. The Primordial stepped back, barely surviving a definite demise.

Ouranos raised his eyebrows. "You can handle a sword, Percy, but understand this, I am a Primordial."

"I have sliver ichor pulsing through my veins," Percy snarled. He pressed against Ouranos with increased vigor. He seemed like a madman, but that wasn't it; Percy was just a dying man.

The signs were clear. The finesse that he had crafted since he was twelve was fading.

Ouranos saw his advantage. He kept on the defensive, drawing out the fight until Percy would simply collapse from the exertion.

Percy's strength waned. A familiar black slowly edged his vision. Slowly, Ouranos gained ground. Until finally, Percy reached the edge.

The air hummed with energy. "Percy, this is your last chance. Rise, a hero, or die, a pathetic Guardian forgotten in the passage of time," Ouranos boomed. The Primordial slammed his spear across Percy's jaw.

Ichor dripping from his mouth, the white-eyed Guardian flew backward; he stretched forward, grasping on to Sight with tightly.

"We're in the Heavens, Percy. Look down at the Earth. That's a fall few have survived," Ouranos chuckled darkly. Without warning, Ouranos slammed his spear through Percy's hand.