Kronos - Sticks Hand into Fire

I surged forward and scooped up her knife. I knocked Backbiter out of Luke’s hand, and it spun into the hearth. Luke hardly paid me any attention. He stepped toward Annabeth, but I put myself between him and her.
“Don’t touch her,” I said.
Anger rippled across his face. Kronos’s voice growled: “Jackson . . .” Was it my imagination, or was his whole body glowing, turning gold?
He gasped again. Luke’s voice: “He’s changing. Help. He’s . . . he’s almost ready. He won’t need my body anymore. Please—”
“NO!” Kronos bellowed. He looked around for his sword, but it was in the hearth, glowing among the coals.
He stumbled toward it. I tried to stop him, but he pushed me out of the way with such force I landed next to Annabeth and cracked my head on the base of Athena’s throne.
“The knife, Percy,” Annabeth muttered. Her breath was shallow. “Hero . . . cursed blade . . .”
When my vision came back into focus, I saw Kronos grasping his sword. Then he bellowed in pain and dropped it. His hands were smoking and seared. The hearth fire had grown red-hot, like the scythe wasn’t compatible with it. I saw an image of Hestia flickering in the ashes, frowning at Kronos with disapproval.
Luke turned and collapsed, clutching his ruined hands. “Please, Percy . . .”

***

The Last Olympian, Chapter 19