Isabella used to believe that the gods of Olympus were the only divinities in the world.
It was an irrevocable truth she had accepted with the same ease as the fact that the sky was blue and that grass was green. Not many of her memories before she arrived in Camp Half-Blood remained, but everything that came after was crystal clear. She remembered each and every one of Chiron’s lessons. Zeus ruled the skies. Poseidon was the king of the seas. And the earth was the physical body of the primordial goddess Gaea.
Any stories her fellow half-bloods brought with them about fantastical gods like Thor and Shiva, no matter how entertaining and interesting they may be, were nothing but fiction. Fanciful tales imagined by humankind to return meaning to their world after Hecate took away everything that made it vibrant when she shrouded it in Mist.
Ladora Buné, the devil, had liberated her from that falsehood. It was only now that she could properly appreciate the irony in that. When they first met, her understanding of his race—or faction, as he called it—had been shallow. She knew that the religion he was a part of was monotheistic. They worshipped only one god—a divine figure who was supposed to be all powerful—and reviled one of his sons, who they believed to be the root cause behind all that was wrong in the world.
The fallen angel, Lucifer.
The Devil.
He ruled over their underworld, which they referred to as Hell. A place only the most wicked of souls passed to.
Such knowledge had not been enough for her. There was simply too much context she was missing. She knew better than to judge Ladora based on childhood stories—which would paint him and his people as irredeemable villains—but even the most outlandish of tales usually contained at least a grain of truth.
In the end, Isabella had refused his offer. Not because she wasn’t tempted. To leave behind this inhospitable land and travel to somewhere far away, with people as eager to seek out adventure as she was. To venture into the unknown—where she would finally be free to do as she pleased—for the first time in her life.
It sounded like a beautiful dream.
She had wanted to say yes. She really did. But she couldn’t. She did not understand him—not who he was, nor what he wanted. And without understanding, there could be no trust. Why was he so intent on making an enemy of not one, but two Olympians? No matter how she looked at it, if the gods didn’t even want their children to know about the existence of foreign Pantheons, there was no way they would allow them to join one of them.
Ladora had to know that.
Why would he risk their wrath like this? What could she possibly offer him that he could not attain elsewhere? What could Audrey? There were bound to be a plethora of demigoddesses out there whose parents were much less possessive, and jealous, than the gods of Olympus.
Instead of being angry at her rejection, Ladora had simply agreed to give her more time to think things through. In return, she had defied her teacher‘s orders and found a way to infiltrate the Quest—where she was supposed to assume the role of Percy‘s guardian.
In the following weeks, Isabella had interrogated dozens of dedicated Christians on their journey across the United States—of which there were far more than she could have ever expected. She had even gritted her teeth and struggled through her learning disability to read the entire Ars Goetia from front to back. In that dusty old tome she had found hidden away in one of the darker corners of the Lotus Hotel’s library, she had discovered a detailed record of the hierarchy among the Devils' Pillars who had rallied behind Lucifer.
With every new bit of information she had learned about devils, her already fragile trust in the sincerity of the boy‘s offer had eroded. Isabella had never been one to believe in biological determinism. After all, not every child of Hephaestus was a smith, and not every child of Athena was a bookworm—just as not every daughter of Aphrodite was nothing but a pretty face.
However, she was also not blind to the fact that the supernatural world worked on a different set of rules than the physical one. Her mother was the personification of love. That truth would never change. And because of it, Isabella could no more abandon the pursuit of that elusive feeling than Percy could live out the rest of his life in a desert.
So when people from every state they had passed through told her that devils were the embodiment of sin and deception, that they rejoiced in despoliation—she believed them.
Isabella had seen firsthand what happened to the people Ladora Buné had made dealings with. They had ended up at the riverbank of Styx, as spectral souls, to be beaten down relentlessly by merciless skeletal soldiers. No matter the circumstances, it was clear that they had trusted him—and that he had betrayed them.
Right then and there, she had considered cutting ties with the devil. The thought had further solidified in her mind on their journey to the palace. The only problem with that decision would have been convincing Audrey to do the same. She had only seen them together once, but Isabella could easily recognized the way her friend had looked at the devil.
The two of them had known each other for a spell, and yet she treated him with more ease and familiarity than even her own siblings. Convincing her to denounce him would have been difficult—perhaps even impossible.
Fortunately, Isabella no longer saw any reason to put herself through that effort.
With her waning faith in the devil, her trust that he would honor their agreement and rescue her, should the Quest prove insurmountable, had faded. And if he wouldn’t even save her, the chances of him doing so for one of her comrades were nonexistent. A desperate gamble at best.
And yet, that was exactly what happened. Ladora had rescued Annabeth from Hades' very own palace, all because she asked him to. He incurred the wrath of an elder god—and the only thing he asked for in return was some future favor.
Her understanding of Ladora Buné‘s character had cracked—then shattered completely when he teleported away.
Leaving camp behind had made her realize that almost every supernatural she had ever met could be considered beautiful—at least by human standards—but even among them, there were differences. She and her siblings were without equal.
Naturally.
Not only because their features were simply more refined and perfect than those of their less fortunate kin, but because of their presence—their very essence broadcasted the fact that they descended from the Origin of all beauty.
What Isabella had felt when she first set eyes on the devil was very similar to that. He was beautiful, and his presence was seductive—utterly enticing in its entirety. He likely could have attempted to sell her the very clothes she was wearing that night, and at least some small part of her would have thought it a tempting offer.
And yet, if anyone had caught sight on Ladora’s face the moment the whip wrapped around her neck, they never would have believed it. He looked monstrous then—in a way that gave even her pause. His features twisted into a hideous expression, while his crimson eyes burned with wrath that bordered on madness.
To her surprise, it had not detracted from his beauty. Not to her. If anything, she found herself feeling intrigued. Fascinated, even. She had not Charmed him, nor had they spent enough time together to justify him devolving to such a state on her behalf.
So why did it happen?
"We meet again, little girl."
The whip around her neck tightened, the metallic barbs running along its length still failing to penetrate her skin. In truth, the sensation was more inconvenient than it was painful—so she ignored it and swept her gaze across the surrounding area instead. A translucent dome had manifested around the beach, its golden walls stretching from the top of the hill to her right, far into the sea to her left.
A trio of cloaked men stood atop the hill, their dark robes covering them from neck to toe. Their hands were clasped in front of them as they sang inaudibly—the sounds they must have produced deafened by the spherical barrier around them.
They were each adorned by a gilded cross around their necks.
"Are you curious about them?" the same voice from before asked. "I wonder how much that devil boy told you."
Isabella’s gaze snapped toward the god she had done her best to ignore until now. Unlike last time, Ares wasn’t wearing his glasses. The red flames burning in the sockets of his eyes were on clear display. A trace of anger bubbled up in her chest. She squashed it before it could become a problem. The bloodlust the gods' presence spread like a creeping poison would not get the better of her again.
She was the one who made people loose their composure, overwhelmed by their lusts. There was no word in which the opposite could happen.
"Ares," Isabella forced out. The golden dome cast its light on the cruel face of the war god striding toward her.
Her voice gained a melodious edge as she threaded it with divinity. "Was this supposed to do something?" She wrapped her fingers around the whip and pulled, just once, tearing the mundane material apart. Despite herself, she could not fully resist sucking in a shallow breath once the lingering discomfort had faded.
Ares' heavy boots pounded against the rocky beach as he came to a rest a few dozen feet in front of her—the sound too loud to have occurred naturally.
"Don't get ahead of yourself, girl," he scoffed. "This is but a toy." He twisted his wrist and carelessly tossed the ruined weapon into the sea. A moment later, it was swept away by a receding wave.
"It has fallen out of fashion as of late, but mortals used to discipline their offspring with tools just like it."
If this was their father, it was no wonder the members of House Ares tended to turn out the way they did.
"Don’t think I didn’t notice that little trick you just tried," Ares continued. "Charmspeak. It's always the same with Aphrodite’s daughters."
Isabella did not let the irritation show on her face, donning a sweet smile instead. She tilted her head, causing her hair to spill over her shoulders like fresh ink as she bared her neck—a gesture that had never failed to attract attention.
It didn’t fail this time either.
"Is it working?"
Ares snorted and looked her in the eyes again.
"Of course not."
Her expression remained fixed in place as she studied the man for a silent moment. Her voice had never let her down before, but she had also never used it on a god.
Mr. D didn’t count.
The Fury she had charmed at the beginning of their quest was an immortal, yet she was only a spirit—although a divine one. Someone like that could never hope to match the might of an Olympian god.
"Are you sure?" Isabella asked curiously. Perhaps it would work, perhaps it wouldn’t. There was only one way to find out. She pointed toward the trio of cloaked men without taking her eyes off Ares.
"Kill them."
Her voice spread across the beach and wrapped around the motionless god like a lover’s caress. It was undoubtedly an order, yet the words held no harshness to them. The twin flames staring at her dimmed. Then his head turned to the soundlessly chanting priests. Quiet menace twisted Ares' features as he took a single step toward them.
It was working.
"That was good!"
The spell was broken, and the gods' undivided attention fell on her with the force of a battering ram. Contrary to her expectation, there was no anger to be found in his fiery gaze. If anything, he looked pleased.
"Clearly not good enough." She bit down on the inside of her cheek to vent her frustration. Was the gap between demigod and god truly so large?
Ares threw his head back and laughed. It was not a sound she had thought him capable of producing, nor did it fit the menacing image he was clearly trying to project with his dark clothes and inhuman eyes.
"I have been resisting your mother's charm for millennia, child," he snorted. "This was never a battle you could win." The humor drained from his face as he reached out his hand. "Now give me the bag."
The magical construct felt heavy on her shoulder as she nodded toward the priests, ignoring his demand. "You asked if I was curious about them." Her tone was conversational. "They’re christians, aren’t they? Priests. The 'devil boy' wasn’t very big on details, so how about you tell me instead."
A faint frown cut between Ares' brows as he slowly lowered his arm.
"Priests?" he echoed incredulously. "No. I would never deal with those pests." His voice was thick with mocking as he looked up at the cloaked trio. "They‘re Stray Exorcists. Banished Warriors of Christ." His tone made no secret of how little he thought of that. "I plucked them from the north, attempting to sneak into our realm."
Isabella nodded with an intrigued expression, more so to keep him talking than out of any genuine interest. The longer he spoke, the more time her friends would have to finish the Quest.
"So you offered them sanctuary, in return for this?" She gestured toward the towering dome surrounding them—likely a result of the fabled holy magic the Christians she had met swore up and down was real, even though they had never once seen it be cast firsthand.
"Among other things," Ares conceded. His brows furrowed with mounting impatience. Anticipating what he was about to say next, Isabella quickly spoke up. The less his thoughts lingered on the nonexistent weapon in her illusory bag, the better.
"Your plan is going to fail, you know that, right?" she asked rhetorically. "There will be no civil war. Hades already saw through your scheme, and soon, so will the others."
The shadows darkened at the mention of the elder gods' names, heralding a thick silence that blanketed the beach.
Ares' expression did not so much as twitch.
"A civil war among our family…" he sighed, shaking his head. "You think that’s all I‘m after? You think this—" He gestured between them. "Means anything? No. This is just a precursor to what’s coming. A small prank I pulled on Dad as revenge for keeping me trapped all this time."
Trapped? What was he talking about?
"You’re a god," Isabella said slowly. "How can anyone trap you?"
Ares' calloused hands twitched with agitation.
"That’s right! I am a god. The god of war." His teeth clenched, the sound reminiscent of metal grinding against stone. "And it’s been centuries since I‘ve fought in one—a real one. No more. The others may be content with confining themselves to this realm—but I‘m not." His tone lowered. "I know all about what’s happening out there. Things you could not even begin to imagine are about to transpire. Events that will shake up the very foundations of this world!"
His eyes lit up with excitement, burning in their sockets with the intensity of a spreading wildfire. "The Norse will face Ragnarok. Our savage neighbors in the south will suffer the end of the Fifth Sun. I even heard rumors that those fucking Christians are gearing up for another battle. Armageddon, they call it. Finally, this wretched era of peace is coming to an end." His voice trembled as he shuddered with pleasure. "But most importantly… Fate itself has made sure won’t be left out. I know who it is we’ll be fighting. The Great Prophecy Father has feared for so long, to the point he‘d keep himself from breeding, speaks of the Second Titanomachy. We will—"
Ares' speech cut off. Confusion etched itself across his face. Their surroundings dimmed as he blinked, his eyes returning to their usual brightness.
"Why am I telling you all this?"
Isabella stifled a wince. Damn. She had hoped to keep him monologuing for at least a little while longer. Most of what he had said sounded like nonsense to her, but as long as it bought them more time, she did not mind listening to the gods rambling.
"You’re a crafty one," Ares clicked his tongue. "Know that the only reason I don’t cut out your tongue for that is that you are your mother’s favorite." His smiling expression did not match the contents of his words. "But enough games. Hand me the Bolt, girl. Now. Perhaps I won’t get to see the glorious prologue to the Great War I longed for, but I‘ll be damned if your little group takes the credit for it."
Isabella hurriedly retreated as Ares marched toward her with forceful steps. Her muscles tensed. There was no more delaying this. The others better have reached Olympus by now.
She lifted her hands, her palms facing the approaching god. The bag hanging from her shoulder dissolved into a shower of blue sparks, coming undone at her will.
Ares halted in his tracks, staring at the fading construct with a disbelieving expression. The first hint of genuine anger spread across his face as his head snapped to the spot Ladora and her friends had teleported away from.
"You’re too late," Isabella said quickly. The words rolled off her tongue with more certainty than she truly felt.
Ares fixed her with a glare. His body glowed like a kindled torch.
"Am I?" he asked mockingly.
He was leaving.
"STOP!"
Isabella‘s shout clapped across the beach, stripped of all the subtlety she had previously employed. She swallowed, suppressing the lingering discomfort that came with overextending her power.
For a second, the god stood frozen in place. When he moved next, his expression was carved from wrathful iron. "I‘m done playing with you, girl," Ares hissed. "I have treated you well on account of my relationship with your mother. That courtesy is spent."
His voice lowered.
"Never do that again."
The oppressive presence he emitted felt almost overwhelming to her senses. If it weren't for the resistance to emotional manipulation her divine heritage granted her, she likely would have succumbed to it.
She forcefully calmed her nerves and took a single step forward. The waves crashing against the shore increased in intensity.
"You cannot leave here. I will not allow it."
Ares looked lost for words. "… You are without a doubt the single most brazen demigoddess I have ever met." He tilted his head and lifted a single, taunting brow. "How are you going to stop me, I wonder? If you attempt to Charm me again, I will kill you."
"I can think of a few ways… but I suspect we’ll both enjoy this one the most." Isabella kicked off her heels and planted her bare feet into the sand.
"Ares, god of war. I challenge you to a duel."
Her voice firmed.
"Fight me."
AN: If you enjoy my writing and want to support me—there is more on Pa/tre/one/Jaeven.
I’ve also posted some character and scenery images over there under [Collection] for anyone’s who’s interested in that.
PS: Any binge—or very attentive readers—will have realized that there was a small retcon on the reason why Isabella went on the Quest. It doesn’t really change too much, but yeah, that happened.