Kronos/Luke - Luke Defeats Kronos

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.
It was silent for a long time.
When I opened my eyes, I saw Luke sprawled at the hearth. On the floor around him was a blackened circle of ash. Kronos’s scythe had liquefied into molten metal and was trickling into the coals of the hearth, which now glowed like a blacksmith’s furnace.
Luke’s left side was bloody. His eyes were open—blue eyes, the way they used to be. His breath was a deep rattle.
“Good . . . blade,” he croaked.
I knelt next to him. Annabeth limped over with Grover’s support. They both had tears in their eyes.
Luke gazed at Annabeth. “You knew. I almost killed you, but you knew . . .”
“Shhh.” Her voice trembled. “You were a hero at the end, Luke. You’ll go to Elysium.”
He shook his head weakly. “Think . . . rebirth. Try for three times. Isles of the Blest.”
Annabeth sniffled. “You always pushed yourself too hard.”
He held up his charred hand. Annabeth touched his fingertips.
“Did you . . .” Luke coughed and his lips glistened red. “Did you love me?”
Annabeth wiped her tears away. “There was a time I thought . . . well, I thought . . .” She looked at me, like she was drinking in the fact that I was still here. And I realized I was doing the same thing. The world was collapsing, and the only thing that really mattered to me was that she was alive.
“You were like a brother to me, Luke,” she said softly. “But I didn’t love you.”
He nodded, as if he’d expected it. He winced in pain.
“We can get ambrosia,” Grover said. “We can—”
“Grover,” Luke gulped. “You’re the bravest satyr I ever knew. But no. There’s no healing. . . .” Another cough.
He gripped my sleeve, and I could feel the heat of his skin like a fire. “Ethan. Me. All the unclaimed. Don’t let it . . . Don’t let it happen again.”
His eyes were angry, but pleading too.
“I won’t,” I said. “I promise.”
Luke nodded, and his hand went slack.

***

The Last Olympian, Chapter 19