My Father's Son

by Lynn7_6

Summary:

Poseidon is the father of monsters, so where did that leave him? He had beaten, killed and trapped so many of his half siblings, but in never mattered because they were monsters.

But wasn't he?

Everyone did keep saying he was his father's son, his copy...

Or:

Octavian makes a comment about Percy that sends him spiraling through his mind, things change and he finds himself stuck in Tartarus with no one... He will do what it takes to survive.

This involves Percy going through Mark of Athena with a god, a new ex and a lot of trauma

Chapter 1: Octavian decides to use his last braincell

Notes:

IMPORTANT THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN EDITED- FUTURE ME :)

Hey this is my first fic on this site and I found this idea from a pinterest post (link below) any advice would be really helpful and there won't be a clear updating schedule at the moment. I hope you enjoy the fic!

https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/959196420631758906/

ps: I do take parts from the original book directly so all credit for those goes to the amazing Rick Riordan!!!!!!!!!!

Percy had thought he could handle it.

Honestly, he figured he had everything under control—or at least he thought he did.

See, Percy was used to being thrown into situations with zero explanations and expected to just roll with it. Like the time he was supposed to know what the Feast for Tuna was (spoiler: it had nothing to do with fish). Or when he was expected to know where the land without gods was. Or, you know, this whole demigod business! Yeah, Percy could say he had an A+ in dealing with unknowns.

So, Percy learned how to adapt, how to fake it until he made it. He’d gotten pretty good at it too—Annabeth didn’t even call him an idiot that often anymore. Percy had learned how to make it look like he had everything under control, or at least enough that no one else noticed the cracks.

He showed up to every training session with the Romans in his cohort, ate at every meal, and did what was asked of him (with his usual dose of sass, of course). So why was it that a single stupid comment from the dumb teddy bear worshipper had sent him into the mess he was in now? Sitting in a small park close enough to Camp Jupiter, a drop of blood running down his palms, Percy hardly registered the pain as he dug his nails in harder, trying to keep himself grounded, trying to keep himself from spiraling down to that dark place where he’d be no help to anyone.

He was all too familiar with that place. It was a dark room, where he couldn’t see the walls, or a door, or even his own hand. It reminded him of the cell Hades had once thrown him into, the god of the underworld so eager for Nico to be the prophecy child. So eager for Nico to be the prophecy child who was destined to die. Weird, right?

But even that cell wasn’t as dark as this room. The floor was stone—at least he assumed it was stone—covered in spikes, like something out of a twisted kids’ book, his very own Chokey Gabe had ‘lovingly’ DIY-ed for him. That had kept him locked up for his punishments for about five years before he adapted. He’d learned how to remove the spikes, albeit with a few cuts here and there, so that he could sit down without getting impaled by a 10-inch blade.

But now, the room filled with water, thick, cold water. No big deal for him, right?

Wrong.

He couldn’t breathe in the water.

It wasn’t the kind of water that obeyed him. It wasn’t normal water. He couldn’t just sit in it and wait it out—it would suffocate him, slowly, painfully.

So he tried to stay out of that dark room as much as possible, doing anything he could to keep himself from getting sucked into that space. Like now, drawing blood just to stay present.

It had all started with a stupid comment made by one of the Mars kids in First Cohort about how he was scared to have a brother who could turn into a monster. Percy hadn’t planned on stepping in—he was used to his friends either fighting back or ignoring idiots. He hadn’t defended anyone since Yancy, back when Grover was too busy not blowing his cover to do anything himself.

But Frank was different from Annabeth or Thalia. He was too soft, too impressionable. He wouldn’t last five minutes on the streets of New York—the gangs would have him roughed up and tossed in an alley within minutes. Percy had been like that at first. Frank was great—sweet, kind, and actually starting to grow a backbone lately. But that look he had given when he heard his sibling, like a puppy that had been kicked and left on the side of the road, hurt Percy more than he wanted to admit.

So Percy did something he knew he would regret. He’d barely been Praetor for an hour. And if it was anything like being a prefect, he’d be out of the job by the end of the day. Because Percy had immediately rushed to Frank’s defense, and the guy who made the comment had ended up with a nice cut across his arm from Riptide. He deserved it. But of course, it had to be the augur who had made the snide comment.

--------------------

"It's not that one you have to worry about, James. It's the son of Neptune here—you know, the real monster."

Percy was used to Octavian’s holier-than-thou attitude. Not just Octavian’s, but all those snobby rich kids who acted like they were gods’ gift to the world just because their dads had enough money to dodge taxes. Percy had dealt with their kind at every boarding school he’d ever attended.

So, he really should have brushed it off like Frank was trying to get him to do. Should have walked away and saved the payback for later. But he couldn’t. After spending a long day in battle with Octavian, Percy was getting more than a little irritated.

So, he did a very Percy thing.

"And what do you mean by that, Octavian? Last I checked, Frank, Hazel, and I brought the golden eagle back to camp. Hazel convinced the Amazons to help, Frank freed Thanatos. Funny, I don’t see Octavian, Teddy Bear Killer anywhere on that list."

"You dare..." Octavian’s face turned slightly pink as he looked around, clearly expecting backup.

"Yes, I do dare. Don’t you know me by now? When have you ever seen me sit back and watch while you try to impress everyone with your one-sentence vocabulary?"

Octavian was speechless, and so was Frank. Percy had just cussed out one of the most respected figures in the entire camp. The guy who literally decided whether or not you were allowed into camp. But Percy had stopped caring about that five years ago.

Octavian glared at Percy, his face turning an unhealthy shade of pink, cheeks sucked in like he’d just swallowed a rotten lemon. "I was simply pointing out," he said, finally recovering his smugness after a few seconds of fish-like gaping, "that we go out every day to kill the sons of the father of monsters. And I seem to be forgetting the family tree..." He looked around, pretending to struggle with his memory.

Oh, Percy would give him memory loss.

"Oh yes, isn’t our dear Praetor here one of those sons?" Octavian stood there, smirking as the other kids laughed, looking all too pleased with himself.

-------------------

“You leave him alone, Octavian!” Frank blurted out, his voice trembling a bit more than he wanted. He was fed up with Octavian’s snide remarks, especially when it came to Percy. The guy had actual powers, powers Octavian could only dream of, and it wasn’t fair for him to get picked on just because he was different. Frank felt his heart thud in his chest as he noticed how quiet Percy had gotten. That wasn’t like him at all. Percy Jackson wasn’t the type to just take insults lying down—everyone knew that.

When Percy first showed up at camp, Frank had been kind of terrified of him. The guy had stood up to his own father, Mars, with a kind of confidence that left the whole camp in stunned silence. Frank had never seen anything like it before in New Rome—who refused to kneel before a god? From that day on, Frank couldn’t help but tread carefully around him, half-convinced Percy was more than just a demigod, like Hazel had suggested.

Hazel had whispered to Frank once that she thought Percy might actually be Neptune in disguise, testing them before unleashing some divine wrath. It sounded crazy at first, but Percy was the most powerful demigod Frank had ever seen. During War Games, Frank could practically feel the power radiating off him. It was like standing next to a volcano. Anyone would be nervous around someone like that.

But then Frank got to know Percy and realized he was just... well, Percy. He was a goofball who liked to eat blue food—who does that? What kind of maniac villain would eat blue jelly beans while plotting world domination? It didn’t make sense. Percy was more likely to trip over his own feet than hatch some evil scheme.

Once you got past the whole “most powerful demigod ever” thing, Percy was actually pretty easy to be around. He was funny, kind, and rarely held a grudge. You had to work really hard to get on his bad side, and even then, he’d probably just prank you instead of seeking revenge. Frank found it hard to believe that the guy who once refused to kneel for Mars was the same one who cracked jokes and made everyone feel like they belonged.

So yeah, Frank was a little freaked out when Percy didn’t come back at Octavian with some snappy retort. It was weird, and Frank couldn’t help but do a double take when he realized Percy was actually considering what Octavian had said. That was not good.

“Hey, man, don’t listen to him,” Frank said, trying to keep his voice steady. “It’s just Octavian being... well, Octavian. You’re awesome, okay? You’ve taken down more monsters than anyone I know—not that it’s a competition! I just mean... you’ve had a lot of practice, and the Cohort is lucky to have you. But, you know, not just as an asset or anything! We really like having you around. You’re a great guy!” Frank felt his face heat up, and he knew he probably looked like a blushing tomato by the end of his awkward ramble.

Percy finally looked up, a grin spreading across his face. “I’m good!” he said quickly, maybe a little too quickly. “Trust me, I don’t take anything that guy says to heart. He’s an absolute monster, and he doesn’t know when to shut up. I was just thinking about how to mess with him, maybe make his precious auguries show his hair falling out or something!” Percy finished with a nod, clearly pleased with his plan.

Frank let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Percy was still Percy, and everything was going to be okay.

--------------------

Percy honestly thought that Octavian’s comment would be forgotten within minutes, like most things that slipped out of his goldfish brain. But it didn’t. It stuck with him like an annoyingly stubborn sticker that wouldn’t come off the wall, no matter how hard you peeled.

The thing was, Octavian wasn’t exactly wrong, was he? Percy’s dad was the father of monsters, and Percy was his kid. He’d killed Antaeus in the Labyrinth, but he remembered looking at the guy and realizing they weren’t all that different. He’d taken down Polyphemus in the Sea of Monsters, but really, what was the difference between Percy and the Cyclops? Apart from the hideous caveman look and a dire need for dental hygiene, Polyphemus was his brother—a half-brother, sure, but still family. And Percy had been okay with killing him.

But how different was he, really? He’d killed demigods in the Titan War, destroyed cities, and accidentally blew up a volcano. Should someone like him really be allowed to just roam around? Someone who could so easily be a monster?

--------------------

And that’s how he found himself in the park, too scared to go back and be around people he could potentially hurt, so he hurt himself instead.

Percy could handle pain. He’d taken much worse—belts and fists hurt more than nails. And honestly, Percy figured he deserved it more than any of the kids back at camp.

He was just too different.

Stupidly enough, when he first found out he was a half-blood, he was kinda excited. Well, as excited as a kid could be after losing his mom. He’d always been different, the odd one out among his classmates. Labeled as a delinquent, someone wrong and different, someone who needed to be kept close to the teacher’s desk. He’d thought joining the "Super Secret Club" would make him normal. That he could finally be considered regular.

Yet he even messed that up.

He had a couple of days before he got claimed and was marked as abnormal again. A couple of days before he was avoided like the plague and received death notes. Just a couple of days.

He swung his legs on the swing, wishing for some clarity, some explanation for why he was so different from the other demigods, why he had to be like this.

It hurt.

Percy had to admit that it stung. No matter where he went, he was considered a forbidden child. A mistake. Even by his own father.

Yeah, Percy had spent a tiny bit more time with his father now, and he knew Poseidon hadn’t meant it like that. But it still stung to be called a mistake the first time you saw your father in 12 years.

As the air brushed past him, caressing his hair like his mom used to do, he wondered if he deserved it. Because what had he done growing up that had been any help to anyone? He let his mom get beaten up by Smelly Gabe for years before he stepped in, and even then it wasn’t enough. He failed. He failed such a simple task that he wondered if he had ever actually tried much at all. If he had tried harder, maybe Gabe would have left earlier.

No, no, he couldn’t think like that. He had protected her for years from the worst of Gabe, and at the end of the day, he had only been a kid...

But was being a kid an excuse?

Percy had never really felt like a kid, had he? From a young age, he had a monster in his home (maybe two... no! Shut up), and he had to deal with the ones outside, too. From 12, he had been forced to take on a prophecy that could cause the world to collapse. While other kids were just starting puberty, he was battling Ares and confronting Hades.

So no, he never really was a kid, not really.

Glancing up at the sky, he saw it was now dark. Artemis’s chariot must have flown by at some point while he was lost in thought. The clouds covered the moon with a thick haze, giving off an eerie feeling. Percy shivered, the biting wind that had felt so comforting earlier suddenly turning into sharp cuts against his arms as he realized he’d forgotten to bring a jumper.

He subconsciously clenched his hand around Riptide in his jeans as he stood up, sore from where he’d been sitting.

Maybe Octavian was up for a couple of rounds of sparring?

Percy had only taken three steps toward the edge of the park when his sixth sense—the one that always kicked in when monsters were near—flared up. He turned on his heel, scanning the empty park intensely, looking for a hellhound or harpy. When he found nothing, he was just about to turn away when something from a bush to his left caught his eye. He stared.

A pair of yellow eyes stared back.

Notes:

IMPORTANT THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN EDITED- FUTURE ME :)

Chapter 2: My eyeballs appear tasty

Notes:

IMPORTANT THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN EDITED- FUTURE ME :)

Thanks for all the kudos!
Warnings for this chapter:
Graphic violence

I can't believe I got this chapter out so soon! Also shout out to my beta reader Alexa!!!

He froze, eyes refusing to leave the obvious threat currently 10 yards away from him hiding in a rose bush. It suddenly occurred to Percy that he still drew monsters toward him when not in camp; he still stank enough, in Grover's words.

If the situation hadn't been so dire, Percy might have smiled. Grover always liked to point out how much he stank, whether in a jesting way, telling him he needed a shower, or in a matter-of-fact manner.

Apparently, all Big Three kids stank and therefore Percy was no exception. Thalia stank of ozone and trees, Nico stank of death and Happy Meals (which surprised Percy until he remembered Nico's great offering to the dead of deluxe McNuggets and a toy HotWheel), and Percy of the sea and cookies.

At the time, Grover had ended up being surrounded by a bunch of cousins all demanding to know what others smelled like. Looking back, it seemed a bit of a weird thing to ask, but now Percy realized just how much he missed that simple bonding time with his cousins. Percy missed a lot of things that other people would consider mundane. After growing up with little, he found renting a movie special, let alone going to get takeaway with cousins he had only just known about.

The issue was, Nico only ever visited him during those impromptu family bonding sessions out in the parking lot of a McDonald's. Thalia would buy the food with some stolen money while Percy kept the other, older mortals away. Or, that’s what Thalia said he did. How he did that he wasn’t too sure. Then, just when the food arrived, Nico would appear to join them, and he would never let the other two know, but Percy loved those moments.

They were simple. Nothing fancy like you might see on TV, but enough. Thalia would let loose, talking about all the trips she had been on and which new girls had joined the hunt. Nico would smile slightly while wolfing down five boxes of Happy Meals from their hoard, giving Percy the little fish toys that came in them. And Percy? Percy would laugh and joke, finally relaxing and pretending that he was a regular kid.

Percy didn’t need extravagance. He needed regular, human interactions.

If any monsters attacked them as they sat in the parking lot, they could be quickly dealt with between the three children of the Big Three. Percy was never expected to fight them off on his own; in fact, they often made tallies over who fought off more, and the other two would try as hard as possible to make him fight as little as possible.

There was one time, though, that left the other two confused and laughing their heads off as Percy tried to get them to be quiet.

They were sitting in their regular spots, looking like a group of misfits to any adults glancing over. It was a good thing that the workers had realized after the first few times that the three teens weren’t planning to set fire to something. Or maybe they were scared of Nico or Thalia. Percy couldn’t blame them on that one.

Anyway, a group of about seven guys had spotted them from across the lot and started approaching, clearly looking for trouble. Thalia had just started setting down her cheeseburger when Percy had stood up, switchblade in hand, and faced the guys. They were people he recognized from a new, fresh-faced gang near his apartment that he had dealt with before. He was prepared to deal with them again when they glanced at him, fear crossing their faces as they got slammed with recognition and started backing up, knives dropped. The guy in the middle said something like “Look, man, we didn’t realize it was you,” but Percy had specifically told them to stop attacking innocents and reminded them. They turned pale before turning on their heels and bolting.

Percy hadn’t felt anything of it until he sat back down, six nuggets shoved in his mouth, and caught the look on the two’s faces.

It ended with a long explanation by him before they started laughing their heads off, to Percy’s confusion. But it was nice.

But this wasn’t that moment. He wasn’t in the parking lot of a McDonald’s with two other great demigods; he was in a park across the country, by himself, facing an unknown monster.

He sighed, tired and ready to go to bed, before drawing out Riptide. Percy turned slightly to face the bush more before raising the pen sword slightly, prepared to swing at the thing. It cocked its head like a confused puppy, yet Percy had a strange inkling that this being was not a slobbery good boy or girl that would sit on his lap all nicely.

This was simply proven by the monster slithering out faintly against the grass to reveal a woman’s torso and up, but a slimy, slithering snake’s bottom half. Her yellow eyes pierced into Percy as he took a firm stance.

Her fangs protruded out of her mouth and the claws on her all-too-human hands looked too sharp to be good for him. She suddenly smiled, looking him up; Percy felt like a piece of turkey at Christmas getting eyed on the shelves by a waiting family of five.

Having gotten a glance at a strange thing on her nails, Percy took a step back when she opened her mouth wider into a menacing grin.

“Young child, I ssssmell the ssscent of Possseidon on you,” she hissed, staring intently into his eyes.

Percy didn’t know how to feel about that. He didn’t recognize this monster from any of the stories nor had he fought her before, so he didn’t know what grudges she might hold.

It wouldn’t surprise him if the monster had a thing against the children of Poseidon. His father had made plenty of enemies in his time as a god, and, although extremely unfair, Percy was used to dealing with monsters who wished him dead because of something his dad did.

“I think you must be mistaken, but that’s fine! I’ll just go this way,” Percy said, pointing to the exit and slowly creeping backward. “And we can pretend the mistake never happened. How about that?”

“How funny, you must think I am sssstupid. Your father issss the sssssea god.” She laughed—actually laughed, in a disturbingly human way—as her dark brown hair swung behind her shoulders before falling to the floor. Her eyes hadn’t blinked once since he’d seen them, he realized, as she slowly reached up to remove one.

A shudder ran down his spine at the sickening squelch of her sharp nails digging into her eye socket before pulling the eye out altogether.

Percy still wasn’t sure why she had decided now was the best time to remove her eye or why she couldn’t wait until later to remove them along with her dentures, but he wasn’t sticking around to ask.

He sprinted for the park gate as fast as his legs could carry him.

Of course, his plan faltered as he suddenly heard the quick slithering behind him before—

“AGHHHHH!” Percy yelled as a sharp, searing pain shot through his ankle. Blood gushed from a bite wound where the creature had sunk its teeth into him.

He lashed out with Riptide, but the eyeless woman was too quick, releasing his ankle and slithering backward to avoid the weapon. Percy hobbled forward, slashing again and again, trying to avoid the obviously poisonous teeth.

“I can’t wait to add your pretty green eyessss to my ssssstore of others, dear Percy. I believe you will go along quite nicccely, don’t you think ssssso?” She dodged another swipe. “Itssss been sssso long sssince I lasssst tasssted a dear sssssibling’s blood!”

Percy froze. Sibling?

That was his fatal mistake. He barely managed to duck from her teeth but forgot about her claws, which raked across his back, peeling the skin apart like a meat slicer.

The agony sent him stumbling back a few paces, his head spinning. There was poison on the claws as well.

Realizing he needed to end this quickly, Percy dodged a low swipe before thrusting Riptide forward, embedding it with a crunch into the monster’s flesh.

“I’ll have you know that I prefer all my blood inside my body, thank you very much, and I sort of need my eyes, so I’m afraid you can’t have them!”

With one final effort, Percy pulled the sword back, watching as the eyeless woman began to disintegrate into the monster dust he was all too familiar with.

--------------------

Percy didn’t know how he did it, but somehow he managed to stagger his way back to New Rome, his ankle still bleeding from the bite he’d received less than five minutes ago, each step leaving a trail of blood behind him.

When Percy finally made it to the gates, he was relieved to see Gwen and Dakota on guard duty. They were solid, dependable, and he knew they wouldn’t freak out at the sight of him looking like he’d just crawled out of Tartarus. Percy barely had time to give them a nod before he doubled over and threw up the little food he had eaten into the bushes, the realization that it was them on duty havin’ given him just enough relief to allow the bile to rise in his throat.

Collapsing onto the ground, Percy stared up at the stars, wondering how he had ended up here.

--------------------

Gwen's heart pounded in her chest as she dashed to his side the moment he crumpled to the ground. Panic flared as she quickly checked his breathing, her fingers trembling as she pressed them to his throat. Dakota staggered over, less frantic but just as concerned, his gaze darting between the two half-bloods.

With a careful touch, Gwen rolled him onto his side, her breath hitching as she saw the blood staining his back. She gently lifted his head into her lap, her voice firm as she commanded Dakota to go get help. As she brushed the damp hair from his feverish forehead, she caught the faintest whisper from his lips.

"What was that, Perc?" she asked, leaning in closer, lifting his head so his words wouldn’t be lost against her shirt.

"It was... my sister," he murmured, the words barely escaping his pale lips.

Notes:

IMPORTANT THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN EDITED- FUTURE ME :)

Thanks for all the kudos, I can't promise I will be able to keep up with this updating schedule but I hope I won't leave any of you hanging for too long, as always please give me advice on what you might want to see in this story, potential pairings etc... I won't be doing Percabeth in this one as I'm doing Perpollo but am happy for advice on others!

Chapter 3: The Sun decides to stop by

Notes:

IMPORTANT THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN EDITED- FUTURE ME :)

Hey, sorry about the long wait this week's been crazy with dancing and friends. I have spent a considerable amount of time trying to hide from humans but still...

Percy is really confused the poor baby, I think I need to lay off him a bit.

Thanks to my amazing Alexa for betaring (that's not a word but it's my note so my dictionary applies)

Yellow eyes stared at him.

Everywhere Percy looked, those creepy yellow eyes seemed to follow him, like they had nothing better to do than haunt him. Great. Just what he needed—a staring contest with a monster.

He shifted uncomfortably, feeling that familiar itch to do something, anything, besides stand there like a sitting duck. It was that same weird feeling you get when you're home alone and you hear a noise in the middle of the night—the kind that makes you wonder if maybe, just maybe, you're not as alone as you thought.

Percy was pretty sure someone was lurking just out of sight, and he doubted they were here to chat about his car’s extended warranty. His ears started ringing, like that annoying alarm he always wanted to smash in the morning.

He turned just in time to see something slip into the kitchen. It was tiptoeing, shoes in hand, like it was auditioning for the world's quietest monster.

Honestly, Percy might have felt bad for the poor creature if it wasn’t in *his* house. It was trying so hard to go unnoticed, but there was this nagging feeling in the back of his mind, like he knew this monster. Like they’d met before, probably in one of those “hey, I’m here to kill you” situations.

Which, now that he thought about it, wasn’t all that crazy. Plenty of monsters had tried their luck against him over the years—it was practically a hobby for them. But this? This was different. This thing was in *his* house.

He knew it was kind of ridiculous. If Annabeth could hear his thoughts, she’d give him one of her lectures about expecting the unexpected. Demigods were never really safe, especially when you were a child of the Big Three. Percy got that. Monsters were always going to be a problem, no matter where he was. He’d learned to live with it.

Ever since he decided to spend the school year at home, there was always a couple of monsters hanging around. He never mentioned it to anyone—he could handle it. He always had.

A walk home from school might mean outrunning a hellhound in a back alley. A family stroll with his mom? That usually ended with a winged freak swooping down from a high-rise.

That particular one was weird.

It was a lady with space buns, wearing a too-tight, ripped Tinkerbell costume, like she’d lost a fight with a makeup cabinet. Green teeth and everything. Percy almost felt bad for her. Almost.

But somehow, stupidly, he’d thought his house would be safe. In all the time they’d lived there, no monsters had crossed the line. Not one. The four cream-colored walls protected him like his mom’s hugs used to when Gabe got too drunk. For once, he didn’t have to worry about monsters messing with his day, like they did everywhere else. This house was his break, his sanctuary, even from the endless prophecies weighing him down. Safe from the weight of the whole world, which, honestly, felt heavier than that time he literally carried the sky.

No monsters, just the ones in his head.

Not once had some creepy creature tried to sneak up on him here. Not even a single monster had been caught staring him down, just waiting for him to cross some invisible boundary that Percy was pretty sure was drilled into their heads in ‘Percy Killing 101’—you know, the class all monsters seemed to take. No monsters waiting outside the bathroom, politely letting him finish his business before they attacked (he’d actually thanked one for that before taking its head off). It was nice, not having to constantly look over his shoulder.

And, if he was being honest, he wasn’t sure he could’ve handled dealing with both Gabe and a monster at the same time.

Not that he’d ever admit that out loud—Annabeth would never let it go. His blonde-haired warrior princess was amazing, but she had a hard time dropping things. If she found out, she’d probably start a whole presentation on how pathetic it was that Percy Jackson, hero of Olympus, was more scared of a middle-aged man than he was of monsters.

And yeah, he had to admit, it was kind of pathetic.

But late at night, in the quiet of his cabin, Percy knew which one terrified him more. And it wasn’t the monsters.

A monster was something Percy could handle. He could slice and stab with his sword, watching them crumble like a sandcastle kicked down by a kid who shouldn't have been building it in the first place. Demigods took monsters seriously. If a hellhound attacked, his friends would rush in to help, understanding that he might get banged up a bit and that a monster could slow him down.

Monsters? He could deal with them.

But Gabe was a different story.

Gabe couldn’t be decapitated, and his sword was useless against him. Unlike monsters, Gabe didn’t just vanish into dust with a touch of celestial bronze. He was there to stay.

For seven long years, Gabe stuck around like a nasty infection, spreading his toxic influence on the Jackson family every second he breathed their air. The worst part? No one else would take Gabe seriously. Why would they? He was just a mortal, clueless about the real danger Percy faced. How could Percy be scared of a mortal when he’d gone toe-to-toe with Ares? If he could handle Ares, he should be able to handle Gabe. If he could take on hellhounds, he could deal with Gabe. If he could beat Kronos, Gabe should be a piece of cake.

And yet, he couldn’t.

He couldn’t stop the bruises, the burns, or the blood staining the bed…

Percy couldn’t kill Gabe because he was a mortal. A monster among mortals? Sure. Scum for hurting his mom? Absolutely. But still mortal. Gabe was just a regular guy, and Chiron’s rules were clear: “No hero should harm mortals unless absolutely necessary.” Percy had never found a situation where it felt absolutely necessary—until now. He could handle Gabe, endure the guy’s twisted ways.

It was only when he discovered Gabe had hurt his mom that he thought otherwise. Finding those bruises pushed him over the edge. He stormed up to Gabe and punched him in the face, his rage so intense it burst the pipes in his house. Percy didn’t even notice. He yelled at Gabe, demanding he never touch her again.

Sally wasn’t home.

Gabe taught him a lesson after that —one Percy still felt months later. It involved being slammed into things more than a chew toy gets chewed. A lesson that had Percy believing he’d somehow managed to break the pipes with his own body.

Did he regret it? Not at all.

No one—no one—had a right to hurt his mom. She was the best, kindest, most patient woman in the world, and anyone who laid a finger on her deserved to suffer, slowly and painfully.

Percy might have deserved it, but his mom never did. So he dealt with it, just like he would deal with these yellow eyes.

He turned slowly in his room to see the yellow eyes peeking at him from the kitchen, daring him to come closer. Percy had a reputation for doing stupid things, and he was definitely considering adding to it.

Honestly, who could blame him for reacting to the challenge by pulling out Riptide and creeping towards those glowing eyes? They were clearly here to cause trouble, so why not strike back? It didn’t take him long to find the monster. They weren’t exactly hiding well. Even Percy, who wasn’t exactly known for his stealth, could spot them in the open, empty room, rifling through his cupboards. They were pulling out jars of pickles, Nutella, dried pasta, avocados—the kind of stuff that’s been shoved to the back of the cupboard for five years and definitely past its expiration date.

He couldn’t really fault the monster; he knew all too well what it was like to get hungry at the worst possible times. His stomach growled in agreement, urging him to hurry the fuck up and get it some food.

"Just swing the sword and get it over with," he told himself.

"Cookies" his stomach helpfully replied.

"Not the time." he thought.

"Blue ones..."

Now Percy was hungry. Tightening his grip on Riptide, he drove the sword straight into the monster's back. The creature let out a pained grunt as it crumpled to the floor, clutching a jar of peanut butter like it was the most precious thing in the world. It slumped forward, clearly not going to be causing him any trouble for a while. Percy yanked Riptide out of its body, causing it to turn over.

His hunger vanished instantly.

The eye staring back at him was a dull, opaque ball, reminding Percy of the countless bodies he’d seen over the years. The once-cheerful, naive smile frozen on its broad face was now a mask of pure terror. Scared of Percy. The familiar dungarees were stained red, thanks to the gaping hole in the boy’s back—a hole that, unlike Percy’s heart, wasn’t growing bigger with every second.

Tyson had come to visit his brother.

---------------

Percy's scream pierced the room as he shot upright, eyes wide and unseeing, darting around in panic. His heart pounded so hard it felt like it might explode, and his hands shook uncontrollably. All sense of rationality had fled, leaving him gasping for breath as his lungs screamed for oxygen he wasn't giving them.

He had killed Tyson.

He’d struck down his own brother without a second thought, mistaking him for a monster. He’d driven his sword through Tyson’s back—his own brother’s back—and "Percy?" watched as the blood poured out. He did nothing to help. He had killed his "Percy come on now, please." brother. The one who had spent all his time praising him, and Percy had killed him.

His breathing grew even more ragged, and he was barely getting any oxygen.

Yet Percy couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t…

A finger brushed slowly up and down his nose, applying just enough pressure for him to feel it but light enough to move without resistance. A hand cupped his face, holding him steady as he flinched from the sudden touch. He tried to shake his head, still panicking and gasping for air, but the finger continued its rhythmic motion.

Up and down. Over and over, at a steady pace.

Gradually, Percy began to regain his awareness as he caught a glimpse of a blurry figure in front of him. He tried to lift his head to get a better look at the person, his mind racing with thoughts of what danger might be next. But the figure held his face firmly, keeping the knuckle moving up and down his nose.

Unknowingly, his breaths started to even out as he focused on the steady, repetitive motion of the knuckle, which calmed him enough to start drawing in the oxygen he needed. His green eyes, which had been wide with terror moments before, softened as his body slowly relaxed. Exhausted, he slumped forward onto the blur, letting himself be comforted by the steady presence.

"There you go Percy, are you back with us now? How are you feeling? Are you alright?"

Percy could’ve sworn he recognized that voice, but he was too exhausted to sift through the list of people he might have met enough to recall their voices.

"You gave us quite a scare, you know. Stumbling around, covered in blood." The man—Percy thought it was a man’s voice, but he’d apologize later if he was wrong—said, brushing his hair out of his face. "It was weird to see you looking so similar to a corpse. Really, you should keep that vibrant color of yours; gray is just not your color."

Percy whimpered slightly, disoriented by the man’s words before he remembered the fight with the snake lady that had led him to this medbay. He tried to pull away from the body supporting him, blinking as his vision slowly cleared up, his brain finally getting the oxygen it had been missing during his panic.

"Shh, it's alright. I've got you, I promise. You're safe now; it was just a dream."

A dream—that was it. He wasn’t in his mom’s kitchen; he was at Camp Jupiter. Tyson wasn’t dead; in fact, the last time Percy checked, he was having a blast with Ella, the two of them getting along like peas in a pod.

Finally able to look up, Percy jumped in shock as he realized the warm body holding him was none other than the Sun God himself. Apollo's playful smile was gentler than Percy was used to.

“Apollo?” Percy asked, bewildered. “Why is a god hanging out in a medbay, propping me up while I’m about to collapse?” He felt oddly like a maiden being swept off her feet by a hero after fainting from a dragon. Not sure he liked that comparison, Percy shook it off.

"Oh, Hephaestus? Really now, who else could possibly be this stunningly drop-dead gorgeous, hmm?" Apollo teased, delighting in the way Percy’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“You’re not gorgeous…” Percy mumbled, suddenly self-conscious of the close proximity and pulling away. Apollo got the hint, gently propping him up on the pillows of the bed and making sure he was comfortable.

"Are you suggesting I'm not hot, Perseus Jackson?" Apollo asked with a mock gasp of offense, his eyes gleaming as he looked for any sign of Percy’s discomfort.

"Well, of course you’re hot. You’re the literal god of the sun. It’d be pretty ironic if you were cold."

Apollo wasn’t quite sure if the boy’s adorably naive demeanor was a deliberate act or simply part of his natural charm.

"I’m going to choose to take that as a compliment," Apollo said with a playful wink.

“That’s why your head’s so big,” Percy replied, relishing the bit of banter he’d missed in New Rome. The Romans were just too goddam serious all the time. He chuckled slightly at the inside joke.

A gasp sounded from nearby, jolting the two out of their bubble. Apollo had been focused intently ever since he rushed in, responding to the gut-wrenching scream emanating from the bed of his... he means one of his favorite demigods.

“You… You just… insulted a god,” Gwen said, bewildered by the sheer audacity Percy had. She knew he wasn’t the most respectful of the lot, but she hadn’t expected the Praetor to actually insult a god to their face.

"Yeah, he does that quite often. I’m actually surprised my dear old father hasn’t smited him a few times by now. Though, I suppose there’s a certain respect there that, if mentioned, would spark a massive temper tantrum from him. Not to mention, he’s probably wary of what Uncle N might do if he dared. Juno’s already in hot water, and I don’t think he’s eager to join his wife anytime soon."

Percy was a bit taken aback by Apollo’s words—more by the tone of his voice, which seemed to hold a fondness for Percy’s cheekiness that he was reluctant to admit out loud.

“Uncle N?” Percy asked, puzzled by the nickname Apollo had given to this mystery person. Yet Percy could still tell that it had been given for the sole art of annoying the crap out of them.

“Uncle Neptune, obviously,” Apollo replied, sounding like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Oh, right,” Percy said, trying to keep his response coherent while still feeling dizzy.

"Anyway, Percy, how are you feeling? Any soreness or lingering pain from those punctures?" Switching back into doctor mode, Apollo pulled a clipboard out of thin air and started scribbling on it.

“Uh, like I've just blown up another volcano" Percy replied, feeling the same ache from Mount Saint Helens.

“I’m going to steer clear of that topic for now,” Apollo replied, jotting down what looked like a jumble of letters to Percy. It read something like 'sockensuos'. He couldn’t recall that being a word, so he doubted his dyslexic, upside-down reading skills were up to par. “Do you feel dizzy or nauseous at all?”

“I feel fine. Can I leave?” Percy asked, trying to get up.

“Percy, you looked like you were on death’s doorstep less than eight hours ago. I don’t think you should be up and moving just yet,” Gwen said, cautiously stepping closer to them.

“Huh?” Percy replied, clearly confused.

"Eloquent as always," Apollo mumbled with a wry smile. "It seems Will was spot-on about your stubbornness when it comes to getting treated. But I’m afraid Sven is correct; dealing with a Lamia isn’t something to take lightly."

“Gwen,” Gwen whispered quietly, “Sven is a reindeer.”

“I’m fine,” Percy insisted, trying to get up from the bed, only to be gently pushed back down. “It’s really nothing, okay?”

"Percy, do you have any idea how terrified I was when I suddenly heard about 16 kids were praying for me to save their Praetor? To come down and find you gray, bleeding out, and burning with a fever so high even I would have found you too warm—Lamia's venom is incredibly deadly and can kill someone very easily."

“Okay, well maybe it was something,” Percy admitted. “But you could just tell me what to do next time! It was probably because I walked for a while back to the entrance. I’m not great with medicine, but still… What advice would such a fine doctor like you offer to help with the situation?”

Apollo rolled his eyes. "You should elevate and apply pressure," he instructed. Then, noticing Percy’s skeptical look, he added, "What?"

“While I might have managed to apply some pressure with Riptide around, I doubt I could’ve lifted the thing up, let alone high enough to count as elevation,” Percy said, a bit sarcastically. Honestly that snake was massive, how could any of them actually think he'd be able to lift it.

“Seriously?” Gwen asked, clearly unimpressed.

“What?” Percy asked, confused as both the god and the demigod stared at him incredulously.

“Nothing,” Gwen said with a sigh. “Anyway, I think you should get some more rest. There’s a Senator meeting coming up, and I don’t think Reyna could handle it alone without tearing Octavian to pieces.” She walked slowly out of the room, giving them some space.

"She’s right, you know," Apollo said with a smile, as he gently nudged the protesting boy deeper into the warmth of the covers. "Rest will do you good. Doctor’s orders."

“You do know you can leave, right? Olympus is supposed to be on lockdown, isn’t it?”

"It feels like you’re trying to kick me out," Apollo said with a smirk. "Anyway, Greek gods are on lockdown at the moment. I’m currently Roman, thanks to the very Roman people who prayed for me."

“Huh, how does…” Percy yawned widely, suddenly feeling just how tired he was. “How does that work?”

"Probably a conversation for another day," Apollo said quietly, a smile tugging at his lips as he observed Percy’s inquisitiveness. "Why don’t you get some sleep?"

“But… I… I’m not tired,” Percy protested, even as he yawned.

“If you’re sure you’re not,” Apollo said with a smile, “then why don’t I share what my dear sibling Mercury had to say? He claimed I was lying. Me! The god of truth, and...”

Percy tried to listen to Apollo’s ranting, but the soft, soothing tone of the god’s voice was pulling him under, as if it were a melody enchanted to make the listener sleepy. Percy thought that was entirely possible, given who was trying to get him to sleep, but he couldn’t fight it. With one last slow blink, he drifted off.

---------------

Apollo watched as the son of Poseidon slowly drifted off to sleep, a soft smile spreading across his face as the last traces of worry eased from the boy’s brow. Percy looked so peaceful lying there, and Apollo felt a strong urge to run his fingers through the boy’s hair, gently untangling the knots and tangles that had formed from his restlessness.

He contained it.

A simmering anger had been building ever since he’d found Percy bleeding and half-dead in the medbay a few hours ago. Despite his swift intervention to remove the poison from the boy’s system, the anger lingered, fueled by the knowledge that it had come to this.

It confused him more than most things had in the last millennia.

Apollo understood that Percy was a demigod, and a particularly powerful one at that. He was aware of the risks and the likelihood of injury. Yet, the fact that Lamia—a monster Apollo had always particularly despised—was responsible for Percy’s condition stung more deeply than he expected.

Logically, Apollo knew he shouldn’t be this worked up. He wouldn’t have been if it had been someone else’s child—other than his own, of course. But Percy had captured his attention from the moment he learned that Diana's Greek side had allowed him into her tent. Ever since, Apollo had kept a watchful eye on the boy, discovering a sweet soul burdened with far too much responsibility for his age.

It was only natural that Apollo had grown protective. It wasn’t as if the boy was favored by the gods; quite the opposite, actually. Despite being very much in his Roman form, Apollo could still tell that a lot of the Roman gods despised the boy as much as their Greek counterparts did. Anyway, the boy looked so young and vulnerable now, his face gentle and serene, tucked under blankets with cheeks slightly flushed from a fever.

So, Apollo decided he would stay for a while. After all, he didn’t have much else to do at the moment.

Notes:

IMPORTANT THIS CHAPTER HAS BEEN EDITED- FUTURE ME :)

A bit of a longer chapter for you guys as an apology <3

As always I look forward to feedback on the story and other things you would like to see included. Please let me know ideas on ships and other things.

Also a lot of my ideas come from Pinterest so if you recognise any of the plot points from a pinterest post please know that yes, i probably did get it from there!!!

Hope you guys have a excellent day/night!!!!!!!!

Chapter 4: Apollo officially hates his legacy

Notes:

IMPORTANT: I'VE UPDATED CHAPTER 3 AND 4 AND WILL DO 1 AND 2 TOMORROW!!!! PLEASE RE-READ AS THEY ARE BETTER, BY A LOT. - FUTURE ME :)

IMPORTANT: OK I'M BACK! I'VE UPDATED ALL THE CHAPTERS BY NOW, AND SUGGEST YOU DO A RE-READ BEFORE ANYTHING!!!! - FUTURE ME :)

Hi, ok I'm really sorry for updating late on my non-existent update schedule. The reason I don't have an update schedule is cus I don't want this to stat feeling like a chore rather then something I enjoy to do. I will try to udat every Monday but if I set myself a concrete update schedule then I would feel as if I couldn't update during the week, for example, I have more time this week so there will be more updates!

Also I've just noticed I don't do chapter summaries on my work and that's because I honestly don't know what I'm going to write before I write it, and by the end I forget to put one. Anyway if you would like summaries then I would be happy to start adding them.

Anyway thankyou to everyone who has left kudos and comments as they really brighten my day and I can't wait to see what you think of this next chapter! Again thankyou to my beta reader Alexa!

He was back in the kitchen, staring at his dead brother sprawled out at his feet.

The marble floor was drenched in blood, oozing from the wound in Tyson’s back, the wound Percy had inflicted. It stained. The blood stained the floor in a way that was eerily similar to how Percy used to stain things in a much more childish manner—like when he helped his mom bake. His clumsy hands would always manage to spill the blue dye, leaving a mess on the countertops, then his mom would laugh and watch it run, enjoying the mess. The blood now marked the floor like that blue dye, a painful reminder of past mistakes and the blood he had scrubbed away after countless battles, blood that never truly came off.

No matter how hard he scrubbed, and scrubbed and...

Percy forced himself to look away from the gruesome mess and focus on the countertop, which was cluttered with jars and packages, all across the once smooth, polished surface. There was shattered glass from a pickle jar lying around, one that had been smashed as a heavy, limp hand hit the jar as the hand fell. It was a grim reminder of the chaos.

The urge to clean up, to fix the mess, to get a dustpan, to get the mop and remove the evidence suddenly hit him. He needed to do something... His ADHD had kicked in, making him feel like there was a creature crawling out of his skin, desperate to move, to do something. Back at Camp Half-Blood, he'd go to the beach or train with dummies. Even at New Rome, he could walk or practice in the training center that never truly slept. But here, he could only stand still, helplessly watching the clock tick and Tyson’s blood slow to a trickle.

Tyson had been the one half-brother Percy felt a real bond with, the only one he genuinely liked apart from Blackjack or Arion. Tyson was his brother, in more than a name. But that made seeing him dead like this, because of him, all the more unbearable.

Tyson was dead. Because of Percy.

“Tyson?” a voice called from the other room, growing louder as it approached, almost as if it was searching for something, someone. “Tyson are you in here? We need to get going, Ella’s waitin- Tyson!” Percy recognized the voice before he had turned the corner as Antaeus, the giant he’d fought in the Labyrinth, the one who’d killed in Poseidon’s name.

“You’re supposed to be dead!” Percy shouted, backing away to shield his brother’s body. His only thought was ‘Antaeus will not harm him.’ He drew Riptide, ready to defend Tyson even in death. The sword gleamed in the dim light as its’ red tint caught the light ominously.

“You killed him, you killed my brother?” Antaeus’s voice cracked as he stepped forward, tears forming in his eyes. Percy was unnerved by how human he looked in that moment, like Annabeth when she cried.

“No, I didn’t…” Percy began.

“Then who did?” Antaeus demanded, approaching with a sadness that seemed almost too genuine. Yet Percy wasn’t fauled, he had an air about him that reminded Percy of a cobra about to swing.

“I... I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. I thought he was a monster!” Percy’s voice broke as he realized the painful truth—he had killed his brother, no matter the accident. He killed his baby brother.

“You’re the real monster,” Antaeus accused, his tears falling heavily. “My brother never hurt anyone, and you ran him through with the same sword our father gave you. The same one your about to use to kill another sibling!” His tears were now the size of Mr D’s diet coke cans, and they landed with a loud splash onto the floor. “What did we ever do to you?”

“You’re not his brother. You have nothing to do with him, and you’re not my brother!” Percy protested.

“But he is,” a voice echoed in his mind. “It used to be just a name, but now? What’s the difference between you two?”

“NO!” Percy screamed, trying to banish the voice from his head. He couldn’t be a monster; he wouldn’t be one. He wasn’t a monster, was he?

“Are you sure?” the voice taunted.

Percy collapsed to his knees, clutching his head as he trembled. His eyes scrunched up as he fought against the voice. Blood soaked into his jeans, and Riptide fell from his grasp. He didn’t notice.

“Look at the monster, so weak and pathetic,” a familiar voice crooned. It was Lamia’s sickly voice, twisting each word. Percy could almost see her yellow eyes boring into him, the same eyes that haunted his nightmares.

“I’m... I’m not a m-monster,” Percy stammered, his voice barely a whisper.

“I think he would disagree,” Lamia said, causing Percy to look up through tear-blurred eyes as he pulled his hands off his head slightly.

Tyson appeared before him, his form transparent, hovering above his own blood and he watched as Percy turned paler. The ghost’s eyes were empty, devoid of their usual warmth.

A tear slowly fell from Percy's eye.

“You killed me,” Tyson said, his voice carrying the hollow disappointment of a child who’d just learned the truth about the Easter Bunny.

“Tyson, I—” Percy started, but his attention was drawn to new figures entering the room.

He scrambled for Riptide and stood up ready to face the monsters entering; but nearly dropped it when he saw Tyson flinch at the sight of the sword.

Monsters filled the room, encircling Percy. Teems and teems of them. He saw familiar faces: Medusa, the Minotaur, Mrs. Dodds, and other defeated foes. But what came next caused him to take a step back, slipping in the liquid still coating the floor. Next came Geryon, Procrustes, Phineas, Luke, Charles, Ethan, Castor, Michael Yew, and Lee Fletcher. His siblings and fellow demigods sneered at him.

“Look at all these people you killed. Are you still going to say you’re not a monster?” Lamia laughed, as the ghosts of those Percy had defeated surrounded him.

“You killed me,” they chanted in unison. A chorus of spirits ringing in the empty apartment.

“You killed me.”

Percy’s breathing quickened as he frantically searched for a way out. He tried to run out of the circle, only to be stopped by Charles Beckendorf, who pushed him back into the center.

“You killed me.”

He walked to the left, only to be sneered at by Michael Yew, who was still sopping wet from when Percy had drowned him.

“You killed me.”

His breath was picking up with each repetition, frantically searching for a way out of the throng of dead.

“You kil...”

He thrust Riptide into the nearest monster as it was mid-sentence, watching in shock as the Telkhine bled red instead of disintegrating.

“What’s happening?” Percy gasped, withdrawing the sword and stabbing it into the Minotaur, only to see the same result. “What’s going on?”

Panicking, he turned and attacked Geryon, driving his sword into its side before pulling it out roughly—too roughly. It nicked Percy’s hand.

His hand began to turn to dust...

“YOU KILLED ME!” the voices screamed in unison.

--------------------

He shot up with a start, his heart racing as he realized he was drenched in sweat. His hands were clamped together, and the images of everyone he’d lost seemed to parade in front of his eyes, haunting him.

“It was a dream, just a dream. Only a dream,” he muttered to himself, trying to steady his breathing.

Sitting there, soaked in sweat, Percy found himself despising demigod dreams more than ever. What gnawed at him was that he seemed to be the only one plagued by them. Sure, Thalia had her fair share of nightmares, but she never woke up screaming, weapon in hand, half out of bed before realizing it was all in her head. She never screamed herself hoarse out of terror for an image her mind conjured up. She never had dreams about enemies and then forgot crucial details. Each death that could have been avoided if only he’d had the right information sooner kept him awake, gnawing at his sanity.

It was his fault, why couldn’t he have remembered the dreams better?

Why hadn’t he paid better attention?

Why couldn’t he be like a regular teenager who dreamed about cars or hanging out with friends? He shook his head. Normalcy was never going to be his thing, and he had to accept that.

Rising slowly from the hospital bed, Percy shuffled around, searching for clothes. As he looked, he thought that maybe, just maybe, Thalia and Nico did have just as bad dreams. Maybe they were better at handling them, maybe he just wasn’t good enough? Yet he let that thought slip in the quest for clothes. He was hoping for something normal, like jeans, but his hand landed on one of those hideous Roman bed sheets. He’d forgotten that he now had to wear that.

Everything was spiraling so fast. One minute he was returning with the Eagle, the next he was battling giants and being declared Praetor. No break, no food, just endless chaos. Now, he had just fought Lamia and was trying to deal with the pressure of being one of the two top leaders in a group that seemed to resent him and his friends.

Percy, one of the Greekest Greeks ever, was Praetor to a Roman camp, a role that had taken the former person 16 years to receive.

It was all too overwhelming. And to make matters worse, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him.

He turned sharply, glaring at the bed as if expecting to catch someone lounging there, but found only the wrinkled, damp sheets glaring back at him. Not that he was surprised the bed was empty— it was just sometimes it felt like things in his life had a habit of disappearing.

He shuddered at the eerie sensation of being watched but found nothing when he glanced at the door. Getting annoyed and deciding it was probably just his nerves from the dream, he checked the room one last time before slipping out.

He peeked down the corridor, ensuring it was clear, and then moved quickly but quietly toward the bathroom. Percy had learned to be stealthy about the simplest things due to constant interruptions that he would receive.

He remembered that one time before the Labyrinth, trying to get to breakfast only to be stopped by an Aphrodite camper needing help with a tangled necklace. Or when he was about to feed Blackjack and got ambushed by a bunch of Naiads wanting to play tag.

Even in the mortal world, he’d deal with interruptions, like muggers attacking him as he walked from the bus-stop to his school. Or he would have a dealing with an overzealous police officer that assumed he was in a gang. It was just the way his life went. Probably the same for all demi-gods, Percy never paid much mind to it, just learning to adapt.

Reaching the bathroom, he locked the door firmly and pushed the bed sheet out of the way to avoid soaking it in the shower meant for patients needing extra support. Or at least that’s what he assumed the room designed to let everything get wet was made in mind of. He stepped into the shower—not quite leaping in, but definitely with a bit more eagerness than usual—and fiddled with the complicated taps until warm water cascaded over him. An internal fist bump for getting it right.

Despite the shower being quick, he took a moment to relish the warm water running over his sore, sweat covered body, washing away the tension from the previous night. After drying off, he grabbed the toga and tried to figure out how to put it on. The lack of clear arm and head holes had him draping it over himself like a makeshift cloak. That didn’t seem right, especially with the purple cloak waiting to be worn.

He spotted the purple shirt and slipped it on, feeling a small win at having something on before tackling the bedsheet again. After several frustrating attempts and getting tangled more times than he cared to count, he finally gave up. He threw on a pair of jeans, wrapped the bedsheet around his neck like a scarf, and draped the purple cloak over it. Not perfect, but good enough.

Stepping out of the bathroom and into the daylight, Percy let the breeze tousle his damp hair and savored the warmth of the sun. For a moment, it felt nice just to enjoy the simplicity of the day.

He should have known it wouldn’t last long. Less than twenty meters away, Percy heard his name being called and turned to see a flash of blond hair bounding toward him.

“Apollo, you’re still here?” Percy asked, surprised. He’d figured the Sun God would have bolted back to his celestial duties to avoid any trouble for breaking the lockdown. Or at the very least taken the opportunity to be free from the rest of the gods.

“Of course, you’re not trying to get rid of me, are you?” Apollo asked, eyebrows raised. Percy shook his head. “Good. Anyway, what are you doing out of bed? You’re supposed to be on bed rest for the next few days. I was just about to head into the hospital and there you were, wandering around in the glorious sunshine I’ve arranged for today.” Apollo’s hands wandered over Percy’s forehead, checking his temperature with a casual air yet Percy could tell it was an unconscious thought.

“Uh… I felt fine. And Gwen mentioned something about a meeting. I need to be there so Reyna doesn’t have to handle Octavian on her own.” Percy squirmed away from Apollo, catching himself flinching slightly when the god raised his hand. He prayed to whatever god that wasn’t Apollo, that he didn’t notice the flinch. Yet his cheeks still flamed as he realized how close he was standing to the god.

“You still shouldn’t be out of bed. I’m sure this Teya—”

“Reyna.”

“Yes, Reyna! I’m sure she can handle this kid. Anyway, there are plenty of other kids who could step in and help. It’s really not good for you to be out so soon. And… what on earth are you wearing?” Apollo’s eyes finally took in Percy’s outfit for the first time.

“A bedshee—um, a toga. Didn’t you guys wear these in ancient times? Because if not, then there’s no point in me wearing it now,” Percy replied, confused as to why Apollo looked like he’d never seen a toga before.

“Yeah, we did wear togas, but not like that.” Apollo shook his head, a mix of disbelief and amusement in his eyes. He stepped closer to Percy and placed his hands on his shoulders. Percy’s heart gave a weird jolt at the contact, as if he had been electrocuted- he supposed the god was a child of Zeus. “Here, let’s fix this.” He deftly removed the cloak Percy had slung over his shoulders and began untying the makeshift scarf that in no way resembled the toga Percy was going for. He draped it properly across Percy’s shoulders, letting it fall just right, before using a golden pin and rope to secure it. Then, he added the dark purple cloak with practiced ease and clipped the gold pins together. “There. You know, you actually look good in a toga.”

Percy blushed again and took a step back, starting to walk toward the Senate House. He didn’t expect Apollo to follow him.

He was wrong.

The god cheerfully trailed behind, chatting about everything Percy had missed while he was out cold. Percy barely listened, his mind still on the recent chaos as he walked. He only tuned back in when Apollo mentioned something about a massive warship.

“What?” Percy asked, snapping out of his daze.

“The Greeks are coming in a warship! Apparently, they sent a scroll to explain everything!” Apollo said, his green eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Where did you hear this from?” Percy asked, trying to gauge whether this was actually true.

“Well, I first heard it from this delightful little child of mine who I spotted running around the streets. Then I traced it back to the source and heard some senior kids discussing an emergency meeting about it.” Apollo grinned, clearly pleased with the chance to talk about his Roman offspring.

Percy found it oddly comforting that even in the middle of his near-death experience, something good had come from it—Apollo getting to spend time with his Roman children.

“What?” Apollo asked suddenly, noticing Percy’s staring.

“What?” Percy replied, puzzled.

“You were staring,” Apollo said with a mischievous grin.

That grin meant trouble, and Percy knew it. Determined to avoid any more divine mischief, he scrambled to think of a distraction for the god’s wayward attention. Yet, despite his best efforts, Percy’s brain felt like it had taken a vacation. And besides talking about the weather, he was as useful as a teddy bear with no stuffing.

“Wait, Octavian’s one of yours, isn’t he?” Percy blurted out, remembering the annoying kid with his weird obsession with teddy bears. It clicked then that Octavian was a legacy. Not just any legacy—a legacy of Apollo.

“Maybe? I don’t recall having a kid named Octavian.” Apollo looked puzzled, like he was trying to remember where he left his sunglasses. “Anyway, if you dawdle any longer, you’ll be late. Though I still don’t think it’s the brightest of ideas for you to be out and walking. Even though I think I got all the poison out, you never know.”

“Look, I’ll be fine,” Percy said, feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the god’s scrutiny.

“Wait! I’ll come along. I’m sure they won’t mind me sitting in on the meeting, and I can keep an eye on your vitals!” Apollo’s enthusiasm practically radiated like sunlight. If gods had tails, his would be wagging.

“Please don’t,” Percy said, growing more weirded out by the second. Not by Apollo, but by the sudden influx of godly attention over the last few weeks, they had been surprisingly quiet for the six months he was kidnapped. He decided to deflect with humor. “I wouldn’t want your head to get any bigger!”

“Oi!” Apollo protested.

Percy laughed and took off running.

The wind tousled his hair and seemed to dry him off as he sprinted towards the village. He barely slowed down as he approached Terminus, noticing how some of the older Romans gave him odd looks. He barely registered their stares as he left Riptide with Julia and dashed up and into the Senate House. Bursting into the lecture-theatre-style room, he skidded to a stop beside Reyna on the raised podium.

"Sorry, sorry," Percy panted, trying to catch his breath. He felt like the wolf from the three little piggies with how much he was huffing and puffing, half expecting to blow the house down.

Octavian glared at him with his beady eyes as Percy sat down. Percy could practically hear the guy wishing for his demise with the intensity of his hatred.

"Anyway," Reyna cleared her throat, fixing Percy with an intimidating look that clearly said, do what I say or else, before continuing. "I've called this emergency meeting because of some sudden information that has been brought to my attention." She signaled, and Frank came stumbling down like a newborn fawn on ice, clutching a scroll in his large hands. "Centurion Frank, if you will."

Frank cleared his throat and was about to speak when something came charging into the room like Mrs. O'Leary at feeding time. The centurion squeaked slightly, dropping the scroll and ducking as he bumped his head on the lectern while trying to retrieve it.

"Who dares—" Octavian began, but he cut himself off (for once) and stood frozen in shock as he found himself face to face with a god.

"Ah, I forgot how this looked!" the god called, looking around the room with a hint of nostalgia.

Percy glared, slightly annoyed; while he was still panting as if he'd run a marathon, the divine being appeared as though he had taken a leisurely stroll rather than the sprint Percy had clearly heard him taking.

"Uh, m-my lord!" Octavian squeaked, falling to his knees in awe before the god. The rest of the Senate followed suit, including Frank, who had just retrieved the scroll only to drop back down upon seeing the god in front of Octavian.

Apollo looked down at the boy with an expression Percy could only describe as someone regarding their plate after discovering moldy cheese on it.

"Who brought a scarecrow into a Senate meeting?" he asked, scanning the room dismissively, ignoring the indignant squeak from Octavian. Then, Apollo’s gaze landed on the one person who was not kneeling. For a split second, his face flashed with a fury Percy had only seen on a few gods before—a kind of ancient, terrifying anger—before it smoothed out into recognition.

Good for him, that’d save him from getting mad over things that weren’t going to happen. It’s not like Percy was going to kneel for him. That was just not happening.

"My lord, that is your Legacy, Augur Octavian," Reyna answered, kneeling gracefully but meeting Apollo's eyes with a leveled look.

"My legacy?" Apollo questioned, a hint of surprise in his tone.

Reyna was about to respond to him, an aura of awe even from her at a god speaking directly at her when she was cut off.

"Indeed. Now, can we get this over with?" Percy interjected, his patience wearing thin. He was tired of all the formalities and just wanted to get the meeting over with. With a simple nod from Apollo, Reyna stood, signaling for everyone else to rise as well.

"Frank?" Percy prompted, glancing at his friend, who seemed to have momentarily forgotten his role in the proceedings.

"Uh, yeah!" Frank stammered, nearly tripping as he hurried to the lectern. "Well, I got this scroll from Tyson—" Percy flinched at the mention of his half-brother's name. "And it was basically a video from this elf-looking guy saying they're coming here to collect Percy and for the Prophecy."

Frank then went on and explained how the Greeks were on their way from Camp Half-Blood and that their arrival was imminent. He had just finished stumbling through his explanation when Octavian, ever eager to stir trouble, started up again.

"Why should we trust these Greeks?" Octavian said, he had started pacing the Senate floor, going off and on, trying to counter what Frank had told them about Juno's plan. He was standing in a natural spotlight that had appeared as the sun slowly climbed in the sky before Apollo lazily waved his hand and the sun shifted slightly, shining on Percy instead

The Senate shifted restlessly, none of them wanting to listen the ranting of the scarecrow as Apollo had so kindly put it but none of them brave enough to interrupt Octavian.

Well except from Apollo, Percy was really starting to like the dude as he straightened from where he was leaning against the wall and walked towards the dude.

"Are you questioning the Queen of the Gods?"

Octavian squeaked (again) and turned to face the god before quickly flickering his gaze away as if was an offence to look him in the eye. "N-No, I wa..."

"Because I believe that Juno ordered this and seems awfully similar to questioning her the way you refuse to believe the guy over there. If he tells you that Juno had appeared and told him a plan, my dearest stepmother is certainly pushy enough to do that, then that's what happened." he said, glaring at him before going to stand back against the wall.

Percy shifted in his matching praetor chair with Reyna that sat on the dais for everyone to see, he was feeling rather self-conscious. It wasn’t easy to look confidant and powerful wearing a bed sheet and a purple cape. That really was the worse part of this job, along with dealing Octavian.

"I swear to all the gods, both roman and greek!" He muttered, watching Reyna lean in to here him, "I'm so sick of Octavian, can't you just exile him or something?"

"Trust me, I wish I could but it's against the rules." She muttered back, voice filled of despise at the rules that prevented her from booting the guy out of the camp.

Percy scowled before turning back to the room, why did the rules have to be so precise for demigods...

"Wait!" He turned back to the Praetor, "Is it against the rules for my mortal mother to turn him into stone using a spoil of war I gave to her, and then sell his ugly sculpture to a museum to gain money?"

She pulled out a rule book out of nowhere before starting to flip through it quickly, scanning each page with vigor.

"Where did you get that from?" he asked, as he stared.

"You wouldn't believed how often it's needed." She replied getting to the end of the book before putting it away again. "Technically, no it's not against the rules."

"Perfect, I'll make a phone call at the end of this meeting." Percy said, smiling at his plan as he turned back to the Senate. Octavian had started back up between getting destroyed by Apollo and Percy paying attention.

“The camp is safe,” Octavian continued from whatever he was talking about. “I’ll be the first to congratulate our heroes for bringing back the legion’s eagle and so much Imperial gold! Truly we have been blessed with good fortune. But why do more? Why tempt fate?”

“I’m glad you asked.” Percy stood, taking the question as an opening. He glanced at Apollo who had shifted the Sun with him as he started moving towards the git.

Octavian stammered, “I wasn’t—”

“—part of the quest,” Percy said. “Yes, I know. And you’re wise to let me explain, since I was.”

Some of the senators snickered trying to hide their laughter whilst others, Nico in particular, were laughing very loudly at the Augur's expense. Octavian had no choice but to sit down and try not to look embarrassed.

“Gaea is waking,” Percy said. “We’ve defeated two of her giants, but that’s only the beginning. The real war will take place in the old land of the gods. The quest will take us to Rome, and eventually to Greece.”

An uneasy ripple spread through the senate, even Apollo straightened up a bit.

“I know, I get it,” Percy said. “You’ve always thought of the Greeks as your enemies. And I'm sure there’s a good reason for that."

"The gods have always kept the two camps apart because whenever you guys meet, you fight." Apollo chipped in, shuddering at the memories.

"But I'm sure that can change. It has to change if we’re to defeat Gaea. That’s what the Prophecy of Seven means. Seven demigods, Greek and Roman, will have to close the Doors of Death together. I wasn't there, I didn't speak to Juno but I know that the witc-" Reyna coughed rather loudly, "That lady wouldn't willingly deal with children of affairs without a decent cause.”

“Ha!” shouted a Lar from the back row. “The last time a praetor tried to interpret the Prophecy of Seven, it was Michael Varus, who lost our eagle in Alaska! Why should we believe you now?”

Octavian smiled smugly. Some of his allies in the senate began nodding and grumbling agreeing with whatever the idiot decided. Even some of the veterans looked uncertain. No one noticed Apollo's expression turning dark as he heard everyone's comments.

“I carried Juno across the Tiber,” Percy reminded them, speaking as firmly as he could, even though he could feel himself shaking slightly. “She told me that the Prophecy of Seven is coming to pass. Mars also appeared to you in person, and you all made a big deal about it. Do you think two of your most important gods would appear at camp if the situation wasn’t serious?"

"May I remind you lot," Reyna started, joining Percy on the floor. "Of things that are useless for battle. Does anyone of you lot want to give me some examples?"

Octavian raised his hand, wanting to prove himself even whilst hating on the two.

"Perfect example, next?" Percy said, smiling to himself, trying to calm his nerves. Apollo laughed very much out loud as even Reyna gave a slight chuckle a the face that was going redder and redder.

"No one? Well then, arguing amongst one's self is the most useless thing for battle. So listen to your Praetor" Reyna said before going to sit back down in her chair.

"Indeed, you may have reservations but you should trust you Praetor." Apollo joined in. "And I trust that no one will have any reservations about the Prophecy being interpreted if I say that it is coming to pass and everything Percy has just said is correct.

The Lar shrank back in his seat, almost as embarrassed as the Augur he was defending.

"Anyway, did you or did you not see him restore honour to legion?" Nico said as he stood up, "He also just defeated Lamia and saved you lot on the battlefield, would anyone say he is not a true hero?"

Tyson nodded in agreement and it made Percy flinch more violently, he wasn't a true hero though, he was a monster. But as he looked up he saw nobody disagreeing and even more nodding.

Reyna stood once again and Percy watched her anxiously as she approached Frank who had all but been forgotten next to the lectern.

“You claim this is a combined quest,” she said. “You claim Juno intends for us to work with this—this other group, Camp Half-Blood. Yet the Greeks have been our enemies for eons.They are known for their deceptions.”

Frank nodded, swallowing loudly as he glanced at Hazel, needing reassurance.

“Maybe?” Frank said. “But enemies can become friends, can't they? Percy has a pet hellhound" he said pointing to Percy, "I mean a week ago, I wouldn't have been within 10 metres of the amazons without being in chains but now? We were fighting together weren't we?"

Queen Hylla laughed. “The Mars' kid has got a point.”

Percy doesn't think he has ever seen Queen Hylla laugh before and he was kinda disturbed, he wasn't the only one as Frank shuddered.

"You guys have been working together for ages anyway," Nico pointed out, "You just didn't realise it. Last summer we were defending Mount Olympus whilst you guys were attacking Mount Othrys. We thought for days in Manhattan to stop the brunt of the army but you were helping by stopping others from joining us, you just didn't realise."

"I fought Kronos myself.” Percy piped in, yet he wished he hadn't as everyone looked at him.

Reyna backed up, almost tripping over her toga which was a sight in itself. “You… what?”

"I swear I told you this!" Percy whispered to her, uncomfortable with all the attention. He squirmed and caught the attention of Apollo; a few puppy dog eyes later and the god was coming to help.

“I know it’s hard to believe,” he said. “But I think Percy's earned your trust. Anyway, I can corroborate his story, he gave all us gods quite a fright when he stated jumping on our thrones."

"I’m on your side." Percy promised, "Hazel and Frank—I’m sure they’re meant to go with me on this quest. According tot his fancy scroll, the other four are on their way from Camp Half-Blood right now. "

"One of them is Jason Grace, our old praetor.” Frank muttered but not quiet enough.

“Oh, come on!” Octavian shouted, having not learnt his lesson “He’s making things up, now.”

Reyna frowned. “I can understand being hesitant on that fact, Jason coming back with a bunch of Greek demigods seems sceptical. You also say they’re going to appear in the sky in a heavily armed warship, but we shouldn’t be worried.”

Percy could see why people may be more concerned at this then normal, but still...

“Yes.” Frank stuttered as he looked over the rows of nervous, doubtful spectators.

“Just let them land, I swear it's not a trick. I swear it on my life." Percy said, yet he had a itching feeling that he would regret that sentence.

“On your life?” Octavian looked meaningfully at the senate, Percy felt left out of an inside joke. “We will remember that, if this turns out to be a trick.”

Julia suddenly came bursting in, carrying everyone's weapons as she rattled out the message she was asked to give “Praetors! I’m sorry to interrupt, but the scouts report—”

“Ship!” Tyson said happily, pointing at the hole in the ceiling. “Yay!

Percy cursed as he flinched at the childish way Tyson said that and Hazel noticed, giving him a meaningful look.

Sure enough, when everyone looked up a Greek warship appeared out of the clouds, not far away, as it started to descend towards the Senate House. Percy peered at it harder and noticed a familiar-looking figurehead shaped like a metal dragon, he shivered at his last meeting with that automaton. At the very top, a massive white flag flapped in the wind as if someone was trying to appear overly friendly.

"What do we do, Praetors?!" Someone screamed from their seat.

Octavian shot to his feet all to eager. His was face was red and puffed up like a pufferfish and he was strangling his teddy bear. He jabbed a finger at Percy. “His friends are attacking in a warship. He has led them here.We must attack!”

“I believe they asked for Praetors, Octavian. So shut up,” Percy said firmly. “These aren’t enemies, I say we stand ready, but do not attack. Let them land. Let them speak. If it is a trick, then I will fight with you, as I did last night. As i've done for a while now. But it is not a trick.”

All eyes turned toward Reyna. Percy was kinda insulted that they didn't believe him, but then he remembered how she's been with them much longer.

--------------------

She studied the approaching warship, noticing everyone now looking to her for directions. She didn't blame them too much, Percy had a face that made it hard to be sure whether or not he was a good guy in a battle or not. Her expression hardened. If she vetoed Percy’s orders…well, she didn’t know what would happen. Chaos and confusion, at the very least.

Most likely, the Romans would follow her lead. She’d been their leader much longer than Percy.

But if she accepted it?

Reyna had a feeling that having Percy Jackson as an ally would be a lot more beneficial in the long run.

She was also very much aware of the god that stood at the edge of the meeting but still very much in it, he seemed to have a soft spot for the boy, coming immediately when Gwen and Dakota prayed for him. It was no shock that New Rome didn't get many gods yet Percy seemed to have been a magnet for all of them.

--------------------

“Hold your fire,” Reyna said. “But have the legion stand ready. Percy Jackson is your duly chosen praetor. We will trust his word—unless we are given clear reason not to. Senators, let us adjourn to the forum and meet our…new friends.”

The senators stampeded out of the auditorium like a herd of hellhounds—whether from excitement or panic, Percy wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know. Tyson ran after them, yelling, “Yay! Yay!” with Ella fluttering around his head.

Octavian gave Percy a disgusted look, then threw down his teddy bear and followed the crowd. Apollo glared at his legacy and cursed him with a rhyming curse that his children were so fond of.

Reyna stood at Percy’s shoulder.

“I trust you Percy,” she said. “I trust your judgment. But for all our sakes, I hope we can keep the peace between our campers and your Greek friends.”

He wanted to say how of course they would but he wasn't so sure. "I hope so to."

She glanced up at the warship. Her expression turned a little wistful. “You say Jason is aboard…I hope that’s true. I’ve missed him.”

Percy found himself wondering again if there was something more going on between the two then she had admitted.

When she left, following the rest of the group out, it left Percy, Frank, Hazel and Apollo in the room.

"Why did you flinch at Tyson, Perc?" Hazel asked, ignoring the glare she received in return.

"I... I was just a bit jumpy it's fine." Percy said praying that she would drop it. He wasn't very hopeful before Frank interrupted Hazel's reply.

“Sorry to interrupt but they’re going to be coming down right in the forum,” Frank said nervously. “Terminus is going to have a heart attack.”

"Or have an OCD nightmare," Percy replied, trying to hide his nerves.

“Percy,” Hazel said, “you swore on your life. Romans take that seriously. If anything goes wrong, even by accident, Octavian is going to kill you. You know that, right?”

Percy flinched, he knew the stakes were high and he knew what would happen.

"He won't be killing anyone." Apollo butted in, "From this day I am disowning him, I'm going to go find him." He reached over to ruffle his hair.

"You don't need to do that" Percy horridly said, "There's no need to do that on my account, it's just me!"

"Percy, I didn't like his attitude. I don't want to be associated with him, none of that is your fault" Apollo patiently explained before leaving.

Percy was worried now, he knew this day could go horribly wrong. But he also had an inkling feeling that it would go so bad. He knew that Annabeth was on that ship but something was off. He just couldn't place his finger on it.

He decided to ignore it.

He threw one arm around Hazel and one arm around Frank.

“Come on,” he said. “Let me introduce you to my other family.”

Percy walked out and ignored the clawring feeling in his chest, as he steadied his breathing for everyone else.

Notes:

IMPORTANT: I'VE UPDATED CHAPTER 3 AND 4 AND WILL DO 1 AND 2 TOMORROW!!!! PLEASE RE-READ AS THEY ARE BETTER, BY A LOT.-FUTURE ME :)

IMPORTANT: OK I'M BACK! I'VE UPDATED ALL THE CHAPTERS BY NOW, AND SUGGEST YOU DO A RE-READ BEFORE ANYTHING!!!! - FUTURE ME :)

Hi, so I actually didn't realise how long this chapter had gotten! It's 6454 words!!!!!!!!

Anyway, you may notice that some of the book text has started to be joined into the actual story and it will continue like this where it is appropriate but just know that I did not write it. Credits go where credits is due and that's to Rick Riordan!

Question I've got the hand of the writing more and was wondering if you would like me to edit the first few chapters as they seem a bit choppy and weird to me right now. Give your thoughts!!!!!

Also, I don't know if any of you have read 'Reading Percy Jackson: Book (number)' by Lorixjake but I've read it loads and I really recommend. I love how well they get the characters of Percy and Apollo in their relationship and will be using it as a baseline along with why Percy and Annabeth break up. They are so good at writing and honestly an inspiration! @Lorixjake

Anyway, as always please comment on anything you would like to see, character relationships and how you found the story and I'll try to reply! Hopefully next chapter will come out soon.

Chapter 5: I get assaulted in the name of love

Notes:

Hi guys, this chapter should be posted still on Monday so technically I updated on time. In case you haven't seen it somehow, I spent the last couple of days heavily editing the first 4 chapters so pleeease give them a re-read and let me know what you think.

As always thank you for all the amazing comments and please give your ideas for how you want this story to progress!!!!!!

Thanks again to my Beta reader, although as she quotes 'have your read them yet? - me' 'SHOOT NO, I'll get to it I promise. Your beta reader is on a mini break rn on the exotic island of ----- (a very rainy, tiny, boring place). Soon enough she will back to her old recluse ways and you will hear her amazing opinions.'

Anyway hope you enjoy this chapter!!!!!

Percy had no clue what he was expecting when someone said "warship." The Romans weren't exactly the yacht-club type, and he definitely wasn't prepared for a two-hundred-foot floating fortress hovering over camp like it owned the place. The last time he'd seen anything close was that creepy ship full of zombie Confederates back in the Sea of Monsters. Even the Princess Andromeda felt like a dinghy compared to this thing.

He strolled out with Frank on one side and Hazel on the other, the three of them looking like they just rolled out of bed—because they basically had. Or at least in his case.

As they squinted up at the ship, Percy couldn’t help but think they must’ve looked like a bunch of confused, toga-wearing tourists trying to figure out why the sun was so bright. The entire Roman council was on high alert, and families from New Rome were trickling out of their homes, giving the sky some seriously nervous side-eye while their kids jumped up and down like it was Christmas morning. Meanwhile, Hannibal and the rest of the Roman defense squad came charging down, ready to go full beast mode.

Then, boom!

Percy flinched, squeezing Frank and Hazel a little tighter as the explosion echoed.

He wasn’t the only one.

The whole crowd hit the deck, like someone had yelled, "Duck!" in a game of Simon Says. Apparently, the Romans weren’t used to having their camp under siege. Unlike the Greeks, they usually got to chill in their city while the soldiers handled the monsters outside the gates. But now, after that recent battle, the Romans were learning the hard way what it felt like to live with one eye always on the horizon. Percy had known that feeling since he was a kid.

Hazel had ducked into him while Frank stiffened, both trusting Percy to keep them safe. Nobody was covering Percy, but then again, why would they?

Looking up, Percy saw Terminus, the armless statue god, fire off another blast at the ship. He got it—this thing looked like it was ready to start a war. Crossbows were mounted all over it, poised to rain destruction at a moment’s notice. The bronze hull gleamed ominously, and the rotating catapults screamed, “Don’t mess with us!” And where you’d expect a nice, friendly mermaid figurehead, there was a metal dragon, all set to spew fire at anything stupid enough to get close. He recognised that dragon.

Percy couldn’t believe Annabeth thought this was the best way to visit the Romans, who already hated the Greeks with a burning passion. This ship didn’t exactly scream "Let's be friends." It more like bellowed "Touch me and die!" The white flags were a nice touch, but one wrong move and this whole meet-and-greet could turn into a disaster. One small accident and things would blow up.

Then, at the edge of the ship, he noticed a figure talking to Terminus. More people joined in, and the discussion was getting pretty heated. Great, just what they needed.

“Come on,” Percy muttered, dragging Frank and Hazel along as he elbowed his way to the front, right next to Reyna and Octavian. His purple praetor cape swished dramatically behind him as he flashed Reyna a quick grin and scanned the crowd, hoping to spot a pair of sparkling green eyes he was starting to know all too well.

Apollo was lounging by a nearby tree, looking way too relaxed for Percy’s comfort. A clear path led from the center of the semi-circle straight to the leaders, making it easy for the god to swoop in if things went south. Percy half-considered asking him to come stand next to him, thinking the god’s presence might calm the anxious snakes currently throwing a rave in his stomach. Instead, he plastered a big grin on his face and tried to focus on the conversation drifting down from above.

“-Do I look like I tolerate rule breakers?” That was Terminus, sounding as cranky as ever.

Percy couldn’t make out the reply, but one of the blurry figures shot back something before a smaller one piped up with a question. Percy was curious for about half a second, then realized he didn’t actually care. He just wanted this whole thing to get moving before the Roman kids changed their minds about letting his friends into camp. Octavian, standing beside him, was already bouncing his foot like he was about to snap.

Just as Percy tuned back in, Terminus was wrapping up with a cheerful, “Please try not to destroy my town.” A ladder dropped from the ship, landing a good fifty meters away. A few kids rushed forward to inspect it while a bunch of people from the ship started climbing down, taking their sweet time. With the drop that high, one wrong step and it’d be splat city.

Thalia would’ve hated this.

But Percy didn’t have time to dwell on his cousin’s feelings because the last person had just reached the bottom of the ladder, and the crowd of demigods parted like the Red Sea as a blonde girl stepped forward.

Annabeth looked around, taking in the scene while Percy just stared. She looked good—hair in a ponytail, that familiar calculating glint in her stormy gray eyes. She seemed surprised, though, like she couldn’t believe there were actual families here, parents with kids who’d managed to survive to their 30s or 40s. That was practically unheard of at Camp Half-Blood.

Reyna stepped up beside Percy, her dark eyes locked on Annabeth as she moved forward, the crowd naturally parting for her like she was royalty. Reyna eyed Annabeth with the same wariness she’d had when Percy first showed up. But then Percy noticed something flicker across Annabeth’s face, too. They stood there, sizing each other up, while a bunch of other kids fanned out behind Annabeth.

One girl had choppy brown hair like she’d taken scissors to it herself during a tantrum. She wore ripped jeans, beat-up sneakers, and a white tank top with pink cartoon cats plastered all over it. Percy recognized the cats from third grade, back when every girl had them on their shoes and backpacks.

Next to her was a kid who looked like an elf—slightly pointy ears, impish grin, and wild eyes that screamed, “I’ve had way too much caffeine.” His Camp Half-Blood t-shirt was covered in grease, and his jeans looked like they’d been through a mudslide. The tool belt around his waist completed the whole mad inventor vibe.

“It can’t be,” Hazel whispered, recoiling like she’d just seen a ghost.

Slowly, it hit Percy where he recognized the curly-haired kid from—not just from his dreams, but from that old photo. The one he’d seen in Hazel’s abandoned house in Seward.

“What?” Frank asked. “You know that guy?”

Hazel looked like she might pass out. Percy got it. The kid looked exactly like Hazel’s old boyfriend.

“It’s Sammy Valdez,” Hazel said, her voice shaky. “But how…how—”

“It can’t be,” Percy echoed, staring at the kid. There was something off about him, something that tugged at Percy’s gut like a warning bell. But when he looked closer, he saw a crack in the kid’s tough-guy facade—one that reminded Percy a little too much of himself. That must be what he was seeing.

He wanted to chalk it up to coincidence, but after everything he’d been through—destiny, prophecy, magic, monsters, fate—Percy didn’t believe in coincidences anymore.

Gasps rippled through the crowd, snapping Percy back to reality. That’s when he saw the final person, standing right next to Annabeth.

Jason Grace was back, wearing his Praetor cloak, the same one that suddenly felt like it weighed a ton on Percy’s shoulders, and a Camp Half-Blood t-shirt. His knuckles were white around the hilt of his golden sword, but otherwise, he looked way too calm for a guy who had whispers buzzing around him. With his wind-swept blond hair and icy blue eyes, Jason looked like he’d just stepped out of a hero magazine—ruggedly handsome, totally in control, everything a Praetor was supposed to be.

Percy felt like a total fraud. This was the guy he’d been swapped with, the legend who’d been here since he was three, who won the Battle of Mount Othrys for the Romans. He was everything a hero should be—brave, powerful, graceful. Everything Percy had only ever dreamed of being.

Snapping out of it, Percy realized that aside from the hushed whispers, everyone was just standing around, sizing each other up. It was his reputation that had gotten them this far, so he figured he might as well remind them who they were dealing with. He gently unhooked his arms from Hazel and Frank, then strode up to the group, ready to make his presence known.

Percy smiled at her, watching as she froze when their eyes met, too stunned to move. He’d had a crush on her since he was fourteen—no secret there. Last year, he finally realized she felt the same way. They’d been a couple for four months before Hera decided to kidnap him for one of her twisted plans, and suddenly...things felt different. The feelings that used to be like needing air? They’d weakened, like maybe he didn’t need them as much anymore. Sure, he was glad to see her, but that desperate, heart-pounding need wasn’t there. Not like it used to be.

Reyna straightened, and with a reluctance Percy didn’t expect, she turned toward Jason.

“Jason Grace, my former colleague…” She said the word “colleague” like it was a poisonous snake. “I welcome you home. And these, your friends—”

But Percy didn’t hear the rest, because Annabeth suddenly charged at him like a bull in a china shop. Percy wasn't sure what she was thinking, charging at the trigger-happy romans, but wasn't willing to find out. Instinctively, Percy ran to meet her, figuring she wanted a hug. He threw his arms around her, tucking his head into her neck. But instead of relaxing into the hug, she stiffened like she used to when she was annoyed.

Around them, the crowd tensed, some Romans reaching for swords they didn’t have.

Percy pulled back, confused, and started to say, “Gods, I never thought—”

But before he could finish, Annabeth grabbed his wrist and flipped him over her shoulder like he weighed nothing. He hit the stone pavement with a loud thud.

Pain shot through his back, the wounds he’d barely managed to patch up ripping open again. His limbs seized up as spasms of pain ran through him, his head ringing from where it had cracked against the rocks.

Annabeth had just attacked him.

Somewhere in the distance, Percy heard Romans shouting. Someone surged forward, but Reyna’s voice cut through the chaos: “Hold! Stand down!”

Before Percy could even process what had happened, a knee slammed into his chest, cutting off his air. He flinched violently and cursed himself for it, wondering if anyone had noticed. But the panic soon set in as he realized someone had her forearm pressed against his throat, blocking his airway. It was Annabeth. He gasped for breath, his eyes darting around, trying to find the tree Apollo had been leaning against earlier, but he couldn’t turn his head far enough.

This felt way too familiar—like Gabe all over again. The way the man would toss him around like a ragdoll, kneel on his chest until he couldn’t breathe. His weight would slowly crush him, once even breaking a rib as he would choke the green-eyed boy unconsciousness. Percy wondered, with a sudden rush of fear, if Annabeth would go that far.

But then Annabeth cleared her throat, drawing his attention back to his assail-girlfriend.

“If you ever leave me again,” she said, her voice shaky with tears, “I swear to all the gods—”

Percy tried to laugh it off, hoping to defuse the situation before Annabeth got any angrier. When Annabeth was mad, her self-control wasn’t exactly stellar, and Percy wasn’t in the mood for a full-on sparring match. But his laugh turned into a choke as she pressed her arm harder against his throat.

Suddenly, a powerful presence washed over them.

“Get off him.”

Annabeth looked up, not recognizing the voice, then flinched slightly.

Apollo loomed over them, eyes blazing with anger. Percy didn’t need to guess—the god was seriously ticked off. Percy wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve it, but Apollo’s scowl was deep enough to make anyone nervous.

“Wha—” Annabeth started, but Apollo cut her off.

“Get. Off. Him.” The god’s scowl somehow grew even darker.

Annabeth reluctantly let go of Percy’s arm and yanked him up. She didn’t seem happy about Apollo’s interference, and her rough grip made Percy stumble as he finally managed to breathe again. He would’ve hit the ground if Apollo hadn’t caught him.

Glancing up, Percy saw the god’s expression soften as he looked down at him, but Percy barely had time to process it before he flinched at the contact. Apollo’s hands brushed against his newly reopened wounds, and the god’s glare deepened as he lifted Percy’s toga and shirt slightly to inspect the cuts.

Jason cleared his throat loudly, snapping Percy’s attention back to the situation at hand.

"So, yeah... it’s good to be back," Jason said, trying to sound casual, but the tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a celestial bronze knife.

Jason introduced Reyna to the girl with choppy brown hair, who looked like she was ready to start a fight for no apparent reason, and then to the Valdez look-alike, who just grinned like he was the happiest guy in the world and flashed a peace sign.

“And this is Annabeth,” Jason continued. “Uh, normally she doesn’t judo-flip people.”

Reyna’s eyes twinkled in a way that made Percy want to duck for cover. “You sure you’re not a Roman, Annabeth? Or an Amazon?”

Annabeth extended her hand, clearly pleased with Reyna’s sharpness. “I only attack my boyfriend like that,” she promised. “Pleased to meet yo—”

“And why exactly would you attack your boyfriend, Annabeth Chase?” Apollo’s voice sliced through the conversation, still brimming with the same anger from earlier.

“Uh, I—” Annabeth stammered, thrown off by the god’s sudden hostility.

“It’s fine, Apollo,” Percy jumped in, turning around and clamping his hand over the god’s mouth. The reaction from the Romans was immediate—gasps all around, and Jason looking like Percy had just insulted Zeus to his face. But honestly, Percy really didn’t need another argument right now, especially over something as minor as Annabeth being a little too enthusiastic.

Apollo looked like he wanted to argue, but Reyna stepped in, grabbing Annabeth’s still-outstretched hand firmly, bringing the attention back to her. Percy couldn’t help but be impressed with how she handled it, like this was just another day dealing with overly dramatic gods and their semi-dramatic demigods.

“It seems we have a lot to discuss. Centurions!”

The Centurions gathered around as Hazel and Frank appeared next to Percy. Hazel had taken off her cavalry helmet and was glaring at Annabeth like she’d just insulted her favorite horse. Frank stood close to Percy, his usual calm presence helping Percy to relax a little, and the fact he could still feel Apollo’s eyes boring into the back of his head also reassured him.

Percy noticed Annabeth frowning at Hazel and Frank, her eyes narrowing in jealousy and... something else. Percy couldn’t quite place it, and trying to figure it out made his head throb even worse.

He glanced over at Hazel, who was still staring at the Sammy look-alike like he was a ghost. Percy remembered the stories about Hazel’s old boyfriend and could see why she was so freaked out. The resemblance was uncanny.

Meanwhile, Reyna was giving orders to her officers like she was directing traffic. “...Tell the legion to stand down. Dakota, alert the spirits in the kitchen. Tell them to prepare a welcome feast. And, Octavian—”

“You’re letting these intruders into the camp?” Octavian’s voice dripped with disbelief and a whole lot of hatred. His stringy blonde hair flopped into his eyes as he stared at Reyna like she’d just suggested they host a Greek mythology trivia night. “Reyna, the security risks—”

“We’re not taking them to the camp, Octavian.” Reyna gave him a look that could freeze lava. “We’ll eat here, in the forum.”

“Oh, much better,” Octavian grumbled, looking like he’d just swallowed a lemon.

Percy’s annoyance with Octavian flared up again, especially with the guy’s three creepy teddy bears dangling off his belt. “You want us to relax in the shadow of their warship.”

“These are our guests,” Reyna said, every word clipped and precise. “We will welcome them, and we will talk to them. As augur, you should burn an offering to thank the gods for bringing Jason back to us safely.”

“Good idea,” Percy added with a smirk. “Go burn your bears, Octavian.”

Reyna’s lips twitched, like she was fighting a smile. “You have my orders. Go.”

Octavian looked like he was about to argue when Apollo stepped in, his fingers tangled in Percy’s hair like he was trying to keep the demigod grounded. Percy wasn’t sure when they had been put there in the first place. The god’s glare was icy, his voice even colder.

"Are you questioning your Praetor's orders, boy?" Apollo snapped, his glare enough to make a hydra back down.

"No!" Octavian squeaked, his voice barely holding steady.

"Do you think you’re above burning offerings to the gods? That they haven't shown you kindness by bringing back one of your own?" Apollo’s tone was frostier than a winter in Alaska. Colder than Tartarus itself.

"No, of course not!" Octavian stammered, looking like he was about to bolt.

"Then why are you still here boy?" Apollo asked, pressing closer to Percy, who suddenly felt very small in comparison. But that fact didn’t scare him too much. "Haven’t you displeased me enough today?"

The officers dispersed. Octavian shot Percy a look of pure loathing before glaring at Annabeth like she was some kind of dangerous creature. Then he stalked off, his teddy bears bouncing mockingly.

Percy didn’t like the way Octavian looked at Annabeth and turned to her, still wary of what might happen next. “Don’t worry about Octavian,” Percy said. “Most of the Romans are good people—like Frank and Hazel here, and Reyna. You’ll be fine.”

But when he met Annabeth’s gaze, he recoiled. Her eyes were wild, filled with a desperate, almost feral energy, like she was about to grab him and run off. Eyes that would only be found at a mental asylum under normal circumstances. As if she’d do anything to never lose him again.

For the first time in a long while, Percy was scared.

But then the look passed, and her eyes softened. She forced a smile, trying to reassure herself more than anyone else.

“We’ll be fine,” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Excellent,” Reyna said, turning to Jason, though there was a flicker of something—hurt, maybe—in her eyes. “Let’s talk, and we can have a proper reunion.

Notes:

HI!!!

3210!!!! That's how many words this is!!!!

Also in case someone somehow hasn't seen it, RE-READ THE OTHER 4 CHAPTERS!!!!!

Anyway, question. What is your favourite line so far????

Also I'd thought I'd share my notes for this chapter:

Annabeth becomes violent
Percy- ouch!!!
Apollo being a protective god- how dare you hurt my fav demigod
Annabeth-huh?
Reyna-save me from these children
Octavian- I...
Everyone-shut up vile creature
Jason- dude i'll wear a cape because obvi no one would have replaced me
Percy-that dude is hot and i'm worthless

As always I can't wait to hear your thoughts on what has happened and what might happen. I hope you enjoyed the story guys!!!!! Can't wait till everything kicks off...

Chapter 6: A chicken almost replace Octavian

Notes:

Hi guys!!!!!

I have extra time this week so I thought I would update slightly early and then again on Monday!!!!! All the comments you guys made were so funny and have given me loads of ideas for future chapters. I'm right now trying to get through this boring part before the fun parts I have planned!!!!

Thank you especially to the people who are consistent in commenting as I honestly look forward to seeing your username on my notifications!!!! Thanks again to my beta reader (even tho she's behind... Alexa I'm looking at you)

I hope you enjoy this chapter!!!!!

Percy’s appetite was practically legendary. His friends never missed a chance to tease him about it, always laughing at how he was perpetually hungry. Honestly, it was weirder if he didn’t eat much at a meal. Percy liked to point out that when you spent hours training, fighting off monsters, and saving the world, you burned through a lot of energy. So yeah, he needed food—lots of it. Nico once said, “With great power comes a great need to take a nap,” or something like that. Percy figured the same logic applied to his eating habits: “With great power comes a great need to stuff your face.”

But as he sat at the feast the Romans had prepared, Percy found that he couldn’t muster up an appetite. Not even for the fresh-baked cookies.

One thing Percy had to give the Romans—they knew how to throw a feast. The forum looked like someone’s grandma had redecorated it with all the couches and tables dragged in. The Romans split off into groups, chatting and laughing as wind spirits swirled around, delivering pizzas, sandwiches, and more snacks than a party at Camp Half-Blood. There were chips, cold drinks, fruit, and, best of all, those cookies. How they managed to bake them so quickly was beyond him, but Percy wasn’t complaining.

As he watched, the funny-looking purple ghosts floated through the crowd, wearing togas and legionnaire armor like they were stuck in a toga party. Fauns trotted around the edges, begging for food and spare change. Percy flinched, thinking of Grover. He made a mental note to put together a plate of food to give them later.

Out in the nearby field, Hannibal the elephant was frolicking around, having the time of his life with Mrs. O’Leary chasing after him. Kids played tag around the statues of Terminus that lined the city limits.

The whole scene was… nice. But it also made Percy feel weird. A part of him couldn’t help but resent the Romans a little. They got to live their whole lives in this camp, safe from the monsters that plagued the outside world. They got to go to college, get married, have families, and grow old. Percy thought about all the Greek demigods who never got that chance. The masses that swarmed into Charon's waiting, greedy arms as they were slaughtered. The ones who never even saw their 18th birthday. Beckendorf didn’t get to go to college. Silena never got to have a family. Michael Yew would never grow old.

All because of him. Because Percy had led them into battle, and they’d paid the ultimate price. He didn’t even know the names of most of them.

So yeah, he was kind of resentful.

Shaking his head to clear those thoughts, Percy sat down at a table with his fellow Greeks and Jason, dragging Hazel and Frank along with him. To his dismay, Octavian showed up too, fresh from burning his creepy teddy bears, and plopped down next to Reyna. A couple of officers Percy didn’t care enough to learn the names of also joined them.

Annabeth sat next to Percy, still scowling slightly like she was trying to figure out how long they had to stay here. Leo sat across from him, already tapping his fingers on the table like he was sending out some secret Morse code. Jason was beside Leo, with Piper on his other side. Reyna sat across from Annabeth, and the officers filled in the rest of the seats. Just as the last officer was about to sit down, Apollo appeared out of nowhere, taking the seat right next to Percy. The god flashed Percy a grin before sending a glare at Octavian.

As a hurricane of food platters settled onto the table, Apollo leaned over and whispered, “I saw your wounds. They’ve reopened, haven’t they, seashell?”

"Seashell?" Percy blinked, confused by the nickname before remembering that Apollo liked to give everyone weird nicknames. “Yeah, they have, but it’s fine.”

Apollo shook his head, looking exasperated, before conjuring a piece of ambrosia and dropping it onto Percy’s plate. They stared at each other for a moment, having a silent argument about whether Percy should eat it. Before Percy could say anything, Annabeth leaned in, her voice low.

“So, how is this camp?” she asked, though it sounded more like an interrogation than a casual question.

“It’s amazing,” Percy whispered back, trying to ignore the daggers Apollo was glaring over his head.

Annabeth’s expression shifted, something dark and jealous creeping into her eyes. “Better than Camp Half-Blood?” she asked, her voice sharper.

“Uh, no?” Percy hesitated, not sure what the right answer was. He loved Camp Half-Blood, but New Rome had an entire city within its borders.

“What do you mean ‘no’? How are you unsure?”

“Look, Annabeth, I’m just saying this place has more opport—”

“Are you turning your back on our home?” she hissed, her eyes flaring with the same anger from earlier.

Percy was thrown off. Annabeth was acting weird. He had no intention of turning his back on Camp Half-Blood, but it seemed like everything he said was making her angrier. “Annabeth, what are you talking about?” he asked, turning to face her fully.

“They’re Romans, Percy! They don’t like us Greeks, they want us gone, and you’re sitting here praising their camp?” she huffed, barely keeping her voice down. “How can you not see it? They’ve branded you like you’re one of their cattle.”

Percy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Annabeth’s anger was rising, and when she slightly raised her hands, Percy flinched back instinctively—straight into Apollo’s chest. The god wrapped an arm around Percy, running his hand up and down his arm, trying to calm him down from the panic attack he hadn’t even realized was building.

“Chase. I suggest you calm down,” Apollo demanded, his glare now fixed on Annabeth, still soothing Percy with gentle strokes on his arm.

Annabeth looked like she was about to snap back when Reyna stood up and called for a toast to friendship.

As the groups settled in, exchanging tales of their adventures, Percy found himself leaning against Apollo, feeling the warmth of the god's presence as he tried to stay awake. He was exhausted—too tired to move, really—but the ambrosia helped a bit. He listened as Jason recounted how he’d shown up at Camp Half-Blood with no memory and how he, Piper, and Leo had gone on a quest to save Hera (or Juno, depending on how annoying you wanted her to be, she was bad either way) from some evil giants at the Wolf House in northern California.

“Impossible!” Octavian interrupted, looking like he’d just swallowed a lemon. “That’s our most sacred place! If the giants had imprisoned a goddess there—”

“They would’ve destroyed her,” Piper said, cutting him off. “And then blamed it on the Greeks to start a war between the camps. So why don’t you be quiet and let Jason finish?”

Percy couldn’t help but grin at that. He stuck his tongue out at Octavian, who was glaring at him. The smug Roman probably would’ve retaliated if Apollo hadn’t been sitting right next to Percy, giving Octavian the kind of death stare that only a sun god could manage.

Octavian opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Percy blinked in surprise. It was like Piper’s command had physically shut him up. Impressive. The obnoxious trap never stopped moving usually,

Percy’s attention shifted to Reyna, who was eyeing Jason and Piper like she’d just figured out something that didn’t sit well with her. Percy remembered that Reyna and Jason had been close before he’d disappeared. He wondered how she was taking all this new information.

Jason continued, “So yeah, that’s when we learned about Gaea. She’s still waking up, but she’s the one freeing the monsters from Tartarus and raising the giants. Porphyrion, the big dude we fought at the Wolf House, said he was heading to the ancient lands—Greece itself. He plans on waking Gaea completely and, I dunno, pulling up the gods’ roots or something.”

Percy nodded, thinking back to his own recent adventures. “Gaea’s been pretty active over here, too. We had a run-in with her, or as I like to call her, Queen Dirt Face.”

Percy told them about his side of things. He talked about waking up at the Wolf House with no memory, except for one clear name—Annabeth. He told them how he’d teamed up with Frank and Hazel and traveled to Alaska, where they’d taken down the giant Alcyoneus, freed the death god Thanatos, and brought back the lost golden eagle standard of the Roman camp. That victory had helped them fend off a giant army. The others' listened intently as they ate, he hoped they wouldn't notice the lack of food on his own plate, only moving their heads when he offered Frank and Hazel to add to it.

Jason whistled, clearly impressed. “And then you became praetor?”

Octavian, of course, had to get in his two cents. “Which means we now have three praetors! The rules clearly state we can only have two!”

“On the bright side,” Percy said, “both Jason and I outrank you, Octavian. So we can both tell you to shut up.”

Octavian turned as purple as a Roman T-shirt. Jason and Percy shared a fist bump, and Reyna even managed a smile, though her eyes were still stormy. Apollo chuckled and slid a slice of pizza onto Percy’s plate, like he knew Percy hadn’t eaten anything.

“We’ll have to figure out the extra praetor problem later,” Reyna said. “Right now, we’ve got bigger issues.”

“I’ll step aside for Jason,” Percy said, shrugging. “It’s no biggie.”

“No biggie?” Octavian looked like he was about to choke. “The praetorship of Rome is no biggie?”

Ignoring him, Percy turned to Jason. “So, you’re Thalia Grace’s brother, huh? Wow. You guys look nothing alike.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Jason said with a grin. “thanks for helping my camp while I was gone. You did an awesome job.”

“Back at you,” Percy said, smiling. He wanted to believe it would be that easy to step aside. Jason seemed like the perfect hero—strong, confident, everything Percy wasn’t. New Rome needed someone like him. They needed a hero. But Percy? He was just a kid from New York who happened to be in the right (or wrong) place at the right time.

Annabeth kicked him under the table, making him yelp. When he shot her a glare, she pointedly looked at Reyna, reminding him that they had serious stuff to discuss. “We should talk about the Great Prophecy,” Annabeth said. “It sounds like the Romans know about it, too?”

Reyna nodded. “We call it the Prophecy of Seven. Octavian, you have it memorized?”

“Of course,” Octavian said, puffing up his chest. “But, Reyna—”

“Recite it, please. In English, not Latin.”

“Or do you not know it?” Apollo asked, his glare turning icy. Percy wondered how Octavian hadn’t already turned into a puddle of fear under the sun god’s glare. He should have been nothing but straw at the 70th one that day.

Octavian winced and started reciting quickly. “Seven half-bloods shall answer the call. To storm or fire the world must fall—”

“An oath to keep with a final breath,” Annabeth continued, “And foes bear arms to the Doors of Death.”

Everyone turned to stare at her—except for Leo, who was too busy making a pinwheel out of taco wrappers and trying to stick it into passing wind spirits. Percy smiled a bit at Leo yet had to admit, he was a little confused by why Annabeth had jumped in.

Frank leaned forward, staring at Annabeth like she’d just sprouted a third eye. “Wait, is it true you’re a child of Min—I mean, Athena?”

“Yes,” Annabeth said, her tone a little defensive. “Why is that so surprising?”

Octavian scoffed. “If you’re really a child of the wisdom goddess—”

“Enough,” Reyna snapped. “Annabeth is who she says she is. She’s here in peace. Besides…” She looked at Annabeth with an expression that made Percy’s stomach twist. “Percy has spoken highly of you.”

There was something in Reyna’s voice that Percy couldn’t quite figure out. He glanced down at the single slice of pizza Apollo had given him, pushing the sauce around on the plate to avoid eating it. Something told him that, even if the two camps started working together, things were going to get a lot more complicated.

“Uh, thanks,” Annabeth told Reyna, trying to shake off the awkwardness. “At any rate, some of the prophecy is becoming clear. Foes bearing arms to the Doors of Death…that means Romans and Greeks. We have to combine forces to find those doors.”

Hazel, who had been fidgeting with a ruby, quickly shoved it into the pocket of her denim shirt. “My brother, Nico, went looking for the doors,” she said, almost absentmindedly.

“Wait,” Annabeth’s voice sharpened. “Nico di Angelo? He’s your brother?”

Percy could see Annabeth’s brain going into overdrive, like when Leo was tinkering with one of his crazy inventions. Percy sighed, hoping she wouldn’t push too hard, but she seemed to decide to let it go, for now. “Okay. You were saying?”

“He disappeared,” Hazel’s voice wavered. “I’m afraid…I’m not sure, but I think something’s happened to him.”

Percy’s heart sank. “What? I saw him just at the meeting.”

Hazel looked at him, her eyes full of worry. “He said he had to go check something, and then he just vanished. It was during the—well, the situation.” She glanced nervously at Annabeth and then at Apollo. “But he was supposed to come back, and I felt him…disappear? I can’t feel his presence on the earth anymore, or in the Underworld.”

“We’ll find him,” Percy promised. “We’ve got to find the Doors of Death anyway. Thanatos told us we’d find both answers in Rome—like, the original Rome. So Nico’s probably there too. That’s on the way to Greece, right?”

Percy’s knowledge of geography was shaky at best, but he was pretty sure Rome and Greece were close enough.

Apollo chuckled softly. “Yeah, they’re close, Jackson.” He nudged another slice of pizza onto Percy’s plate, making it clear that someone had noticed his lack of appetite.

“Thanatos told you this?” Annabeth asked, raising an eyebrow. “The death god?”

Percy took a tiny bite of the pizza before pushing it back onto his plate. “Yeah. Now that Death is free, monsters will go back to Tartarus when they’re killed, like they used to. But as long as the Doors of Death are open, they’ll just keep coming back.”

Piper twisted the feather in her hair thoughtfully. “Like water leaking through a dam.”

“Exactly.” Percy smiled. “We’ve got a dam hole.”

“What?” Piper asked, looking confused.

“Nothing,” he said, quickly dismissing the joke. “Inside joke.” He felt a pang of nostalgia for Thalia and Grover, who would’ve laughed at the reference. “The point is, we have to find the doors and close them before we head to Greece. It’s the only way we stand a chance of defeating the giants and keeping them down.”

Reyna picked up an apple from a passing fruit tray and turned it in her fingers, studying the dark red surface like it held the answers. “You’re proposing an expedition to Greece in your warship. You do realize that the ancient lands—and the Mare Nostrum—are dangerous?”

“Mary who?” Leo asked, looking puzzled.

“Mare Nostrum,” Jason explained. “Our Sea. It’s what the ancient Romans called the Mediterranean.”

Percy scowled a little. Geography wasn’t his strong suit, and now Jason was making him look even worse.

Reyna nodded. “The territory that was once the Roman Empire is not only the birthplace of the gods. It’s also the ancestral home of the monsters, Titans, giants…and worse things. As dangerous as it is for demigods here in America, it would be ten times worse there.”

“You said Alaska would be bad,” Percy reminded her, though his voice was a bit shaky. “We survived that.” But deep down, he knew this was different. Something about the thought of crossing the sea gave him a shiver he couldn’t quite shake.

Reyna shook her head, her fingernails digging little crescents into the apple as if she were trying to crush it. “Percy, traveling in the Mediterranean is a different level of danger altogether. It’s been off-limits to Roman demigods for centuries. No hero in his right mind would go there.”

“Then we’re good!” Leo grinned, twirling his pinwheel. “Because we’re all crazy, right? Besides, the Argo II is a top-of-the-line warship. She’ll get us through.”

“We’ll have to hurry,” Jason added, his tone serious. “I don’t know exactly what the giants are planning, but Gaea’s getting more conscious all the time. She’s invading dreams, appearing in weird places, summoning more powerful monsters. We have to stop the giants before they can wake her up fully.”

Percy fought the urge to flinch. His own nightmares had been growing worse—yellow eyes staring at him from the darkness, the feeling of something ancient and malevolent lurking just out of sight. He quickly glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to see something, but only spotted Tyson happily waving at him. When he turned back, Apollo was giving him a curious look. Percy shook his head, not ready to explain what he was feeling.

“Seven half-bloods must answer the call,” Annabeth said, bringing the conversation back to the prophecy. “It needs to be a mix from both our camps. Jason, Piper, Leo, and me. That’s four.”

“Along with Hazel and Frank,” Percy added, “And probably me? That makes seven, right?”

“What?” Octavian shot to his feet, looking scandalized. “We’re just supposed to accept that? Without a vote in the senate? Without a proper debate? Without—”

“Percy!” Tyson’s booming voice interrupted as he bounded toward them with Mrs. O’Leary at his heels. On the hellhound’s back, Ella sat looking very nervous.

Ella's waitin- Tyson!

Percy shook his head, trying to force out the words that were stuck in his throat. Leo noticed and shot him a curious glance.

Tyson, with his innocent expression, looked even more childlike in his tattered flannel and denim, the backward SPQR banner draped across his chest. He stopped by their couch, wringing his large hands nervously. His single brown eye was full of concern. “Ella is scared,” he said softly.

“N-n-no more boats,” the harpy muttered, picking furiously at her feathers. “Titanic, Lusitania, Pax…boats are not for harpies.”

Leo squinted and looked at Hazel, who was seated nearby. “Did that chicken girl just compare my ship to the Titanic?”

“She’s not a chicken,” Hazel replied, clearly uncomfortable, probably still because of the Sammy thing. “Ella’s a harpy. She’s just a little…high-strung.”

“Ella is pretty,” Tyson said, “and scared. We need to take her away, but she will not go on the ship.”

“No ships,” Ella repeated, locking eyes with Annabeth for some reason. “Bad luck. There she is. Wisdom’s daughter walks alone—”

“Ella!” Frank shot to his feet, trying to cut her off. “Maybe it’s not the best time—”

“The Mark of Athena burns through Rome,” Ella continued, her voice rising as she cupped her hands over her ears. “Twins snuff out the angel’s breath, who holds the key to endless death. Giants’ bane stands gold and pale, won through pain from a woven jail.”

It was like someone had dropped a flash grenade in the middle of their group. Instead of scattering, everyone just stared at the harpy, their faces frozen in shock. Percy’s heart pounded as he realized what had just happened. Ella had just recited a prophecy, and not just any prophecy—one that seemed to involve Annabeth. He glanced over to see Annabeth shifting uncomfortably, her face pale.

The Mark of Athena?

Around them, the noise of the feast seemed to fade, like their little group had been transported into a bubble of silence.

Percy was the first to snap out of it. He stood up and grabbed Tyson’s arm.

“I know!” he said, trying to sound enthusiastic. “How about you take Ella to get some fresh air? You and Mrs. O’Leary—” He tried to sound convincing, but even to his own ears, his voice was strained. The ambrosia he’d taken earlier hadn’t fully kicked in, leaving him feeling shaky.

“Hold on,” Octavian said, his voice tight with suspicion. He gripped one of his teddy bears, his knuckles white from the pressure. His eyes locked onto Ella. “What was that she said? It sounded like—”

“Ella reads a lot,” Frank interrupted, his voice a bit too loud. “We found her at a library.”

“Yeah!” Hazel chimed in. “She probably just read something from a book.”

“Books,” Ella muttered, nodding vigorously. “Ella likes books.”

The tension seemed to ease from her as she sat cross-legged on Mrs. O’Leary’s back, preening her wings. But Percy could see that Annabeth was still on edge, her eyes darting between him, Frank, and Hazel. She had to know they were hiding something.

“That was a prophecy,” Octavian insisted. “It sounded like a prophecy.”

No one answered.

Annabeth looked like she was still processing everything, her eyes narrowed in thought.

“Really, Octopus?” Apollo broke the silence, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe harpies are different in teddy bear form, but most of them have just enough intelligence to clean cabins and cook lunches. Though, I get it—you probably consult them for your auguries, right? Do they usually foretell the future? If so, I might have to replace you with one. Could be a big improvement.” He pulled Percy back down, noticing the swaying as he struggled to stay on his feet.

Apollo’s words had the desired effect. The Roman officers chuckled nervously, sizing up Ella and then Octavian with smirks. The idea of a harpy issuing prophecies was apparently just as absurd to the Romans as it was to the Greeks. And no one wanted to argue with the god of prophecy himself.

“I, uh…” Octavian stammered, dropping his teddy bear. “No, but—”

“She’s just spouting lines from some book,” Leo said, trying to defuse the situation. “Like Hazel suggested. Besides, we already have a real prophecy to worry about.”

Annabeth, catching on, turned to Tyson. “Percy’s right. Why don’t you take Ella and Mrs. O’Leary and shadow-travel somewhere for a bit? Ella, would that be okay?”

“‘Large dogs are good,’” Ella said, quoting, “Old Yeller, 1957, screenplay by Fred Gipson and William Tunberg.” Percy couldn’t help but smile at that.

“Great!” Percy said quickly. “We’ll Iris-message you when we’re done and meet up later.”

All eyes turned to Reyna, waiting for her decision. Percy held his breath, watching her unreadable expression. She studied Ella for what felt like forever, but he couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

“Fine,” Reyna said at last. “Go.”

“Yay!” Tyson cheered, going around the couches to give everyone a big hug—even Octavian, who looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. Then Tyson climbed onto Mrs. O’Leary’s back with Ella, and the hellhound bounded out of the forum, diving into a shadow on the Senate House wall and disappearing.

“Well,” Reyna said, setting down her uneaten apple. “Octavian is right about one thing. We must gain the senate’s approval before any of our legionnaires go on a quest—especially one as dangerous as this.”

“This whole thing smells of treachery,” Octavian grumbled. “That trireme is not a ship of peace!”

“Come aboard, man,” Leo offered with a grin. “I’ll give you a tour. You can steer the boat, and if you’re really good, I’ll even make you a little paper captain’s hat.”

Percy laughed as Octavian’s face turned red with fury. “How dare you—”

“It’s a good idea,” Reyna cut him off. “Octavian, go with him. See the ship. We’ll convene a senate meeting in one hour.”

“But…” Octavian stopped. Apparently, he could tell from Reyna’s expression that further arguing would not be good for his health. That or Apollo's stare had finally got through to him. “Fine.”

Leo stood up, but as he turned to Percy, his smile faltered. Just for a split second, Percy thought he saw something cold and cruel flicker in Leo’s eyes, something not Leo at all. But then it was gone, replaced by Leo’s usual impish grin.

“Back soon,” Leo promised. “This is gonna be epic.”

A shiver ran down Percy’s spine. As Leo and Octavian walked toward the rope ladder, Percy saw Annabeth staring after them, her brow furrowed like she wanted to call them back—but how could they explain why?

The wind spirits began clearing the plates as Apollo checked Percy’s back again. Percy felt the god’s frown before he saw it. He didn’t protest as Apollo handed him another piece of ambrosia, which he ate without complaint.

“Uh, Reyna,” Jason said, breaking the tension. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to show Piper around before the senate meeting. She’s never seen New Rome.”

Reyna’s expression hardened, and Percy knew why. The request was a little insensitive, given the history between Reyna and Jason.

“Of course,” Reyna said, her voice as cold as ice.

"Hey, Percy?" Jason called.

"Yeah?" Percy responded, trying to keep his tone casual.

"Want to join us?" Jason asked, looking at Percy with a mix of curiosity and something else Percy couldn’t quite place.

“I’ll come with you!” Annabeth jumped in quickly, clearly not wanting to be separated from Percy. He understood; they’d been apart for too long. The last time they’d been together was just after the Titan War, when Percy was still getting used to his Achilles’ curse and navigating new quests.

It suddenly hit Percy that Annabeth probably didn’t realize he no longer had the curse. Sure, his fatal spot was still on his back, but she didn’t know that, only suspected. So maybe she hadn’t meant to hurt him with that judo flip earlier. Percy wasn’t entirely convinced, especially since she’d almost choked him out afterward, but he had to try and believe it was an accident.

“No!” Reyna snapped, cutting through his thoughts.

“What?” Annabeth asked, taken aback by the harsh tone.

“I’d like a few words with Annabeth,” Reyna said firmly. “Alone. If you don’t mind, my fellow praetor.”

She addressed Percy at the end, as if it was up to him whether Annabeth stayed or went. He shrugged, feeling the weight of Reyna’s gaze. Her tone made it clear this wasn’t a request.

“Come, daughter of Athena.” Reyna rose from her couch. “Walk with me.”

Annabeth looked wary, but she followed Reyna, glancing back at Percy. He gave her a reassuring nod, though he wasn’t sure why. Frank and Hazel had already left to see Hannibal, leaving just him, Jason, Piper.

Oh, and Apollo.

The god stood, checking Percy’s back one last time before helping him to his feet.

"I'm going to head out before Jupiter notices I’m missing,” Apollo said, steadying Percy. “But I’ll check on you later, okay, Perc?"

Percy suddenly felt a strange, almost uneasy sensation wash over him. He was about to ask Apollo to stick around a bit longer when he caught himself. Apollo had far more important things to do than babysit him all day.

“Sure,” Percy said, looking down at his shoes. The worn leather felt oddly comforting under his feet, grounding him.

Apollo seemed to ponder something for a moment, his gaze flicking between Percy and the rest of the room. Then, with a shake of his head, he ruffled Percy’s hair affectionately, as if trying to chase away the storm clouds of worry. Without another word, he disappeared with a flash of golden light.

“Well then, Percy,” Jason said, breaking the silence that followed Apollo’s departure. “Why don’t we show Piper around?”

Percy looked up, meeting Jason’s gaze. It was clear that Jason was trying to shift the focus away from the tension in the room, and Percy was grateful for the distraction. He nodded, trying to push aside the uneasy feeling that had settled in his stomach.

“Yeah,” Percy agreed, forcing a smile. “Let’s do that.”

Piper, who had been watching the exchange with a mix of curiosity and concern, seemed to brighten at the prospect of exploring. She gave Percy a warm smile, and Jason took her hand, leading her toward the exit.

As they walked out of the Forum, Percy fell into step beside Jason. The bustling activity of the camp faded behind them, replaced by the quiet hum of anticipation. Piper looked around, taking in the sights with wide, appreciative eyes. The architecture of New Rome was grand and imposing, yet there was a certain charm to it that Percy hoped would help her feel more at ease.

“So, Piper,” Percy began, trying to keep the conversation light, “what do you think of New Rome so far?”

Piper glanced at him and smiled. “It’s amazing. It feels so different from Camp Half-Blood, but in a good way. There’s a sense of history here, like the buildings themselves have stories to tell.”

Jason nodded in agreement. “Yeah, New Rome has a long and storied past. We’ve got some pretty incredible landmarks—like the Temple of Jupiter, the Forum, and the Senate House. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

Piper’s eyes sparkled with interest. “I’d love to see all of it. And maybe learn a bit more about the Roman side of things.”

Percy smiled, feeling a bit of the tension from earlier dissolve. “You’re going to fit right in then. Just wait until you see the baths. They’re enormous!”

As they continued their tour, Percy felt a growing sense of relief. Despite the underlying tension and the looming dangers, there was a certain comfort in sharing the beauty and history of New Rome with Piper. It was a brief escape from the chaos of their quest and the uncertainties that lay ahead.

“Thanks for showing us around,” Piper said as they walked through a beautiful archway leading to a garden. “I really appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Percy replied. “It’s nice to have a chance to show someone the cool parts of camp. And it’s a good distraction.”

Jason laughed. “Yeah, sometimes you need a break from all the epic quests and prophecies. Plus, it’s always good to have a fresh perspective.”

As they strolled through the gardens, Percy tried to focus on the present moment. The sun was casting a warm glow over the city, and for a moment, everything felt a little bit lighter.

“Come on,” Jason said, guiding them toward the Temple of Jupiter. “There’s still so much more to see. And I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to talk about everything else.”

Percy nodded, feeling a flicker of hope amidst the uncertainty. They had a lot ahead of them, but for now, he was content to enjoy this small moment of normalcy.

Notes:

5186 words!!!!!!

This is a chapter that I really wanted to get through so I can start doing a conversation...

Anyway notes for this chapter.

Percy-not hungry
Apollo-eat bitch
Percy-eats one bite of pizza
Apollo-eat more!!!!

Annabeth-How's camp?
Percy-Good..
Annabeth-TRAITOR YOU'VE LEFT YOUR FAMILY BEHIND HOW COULD YOU, DISGRACE ON YOU!!!!
Percy-wtf
Apollo-Shut up, you making my seashell upset

Jason-says about his quest
Percy-I'm nothing, I'm worthless
Jason-and Praetor?
Percy-take it, I'm nothing but worthless. Take it please!!!
Octavian-hey I want it!
Percy-shut up scarecrow

Percy-talking
Apollo-eat Perseus Jackson your father will kill me otherwise

Ella-cutie pie
Hazel,Frank and Percy-having a heart attack trying to get her to shut up

Octavian-speaks
Apollo-I would rather have a chicken for my auger, your disowned... Ella You've got a job!!!

Anyway don't forget to let me know your thought on the chapter. Comment your fav line!!!???

See you in a few days!!!

Chapter 7: Everything blows up (literally)-Annabeth's vers

Notes:

Hi guys!!!!! As promised here is the update on my regular Monday.

This chapter has a lot of the text from the book with changes where necessary, anything you recognise probs came from the book and I don't own it.

Thank you to all the people who commented as it not only brightened my day to respond to but also gave me loads of ideas of what you guys like by your fav lines.

Hope you like this chapter, due to requests on wanting to here Annabeth and Reyna's convo I will do 2 chapters of the same scene!!!!

Thanks as always to my beta Alexa!!! Can't wait for you to catch up girl.

Buckle up guys!!!!

Annabeth wanted to hate New Rome. But as an aspiring architect, she couldn’t help admiring the terraced gardens, the fountains and temples, the winding cobblestone streets and gleaming white villas. After the Titan War last summer, she’d gotten her dream job of redesigning the palaces of Mount Olympus. Now, walking through this miniature city, she kept thinking, I should have made a dome like that. I love the way those columns lead into that courtyard. Whoever designed New Rome had clearly poured a lot of time and love into the project.

“We have the best architects and builders in the world,” Reyna said, as if reading her thoughts. “Rome always did, in the ancient times. Many demigods stay on to live here after their time in the legion. They go to our university. They settle down to raise families. Percy seemed interested in this fact.”

Annabeth wondered what that meant. She couldn't get a grip on the girl, she seemed harsh and cold yet when she spoke of Percy there was something softer. It annoyed her. She must have scowled more fiercely than she realized, because Reyna laughed.

“You’re a warrior, all right,” the praetor said. “You’ve got fire in your eyes.”

“Sorry.” Annabeth tried to tone down the glare.

“Don’t be. I’m the daughter of Bellona.”

“Roman goddess of war?”

Reyna nodded. She turned and whistled like she was hailing a cab. A moment later, two metal dogs raced toward them—automaton greyhounds, one silver and one gold. They brushed against Reyna’s legs and regarded Annabeth with glistening ruby eyes.

“My pets,” Reyna explained. “Aurum and Argentum. You don’t mind if they walk with us?”

Again, Annabeth got the feeling it wasn’t really a request. She noted that the greyhounds had teeth like steel arrowheads. Maybe weapons weren’t allowed inside the city, but Reyna’s pets could still tear her to pieces if they chose.

Reyna led her to an outdoor café, where the waiter clearly knew her. He smiled and handed her a to-go cup, then offered one to Annabeth.

“Would you like some?” Reyna asked. “They make wonderful hot chocolate. Not really a Roman drink —”

“But chocolate is universal,” Annabeth said.

“Exactly.”

It was a warm June afternoon, but Annabeth accepted the cup with thanks. The two of them walked on, Reyna’s gold and silver dogs roaming nearby.

“In our camp,” Reyna said, “Athena is Minerva. Are you familiar with how her Roman form is different?”

Annabeth hadn’t really considered it before. She remembered the way Terminus had called Athena that goddess, as if she were scandalous. Octavian had acted like Annabeth’s very existence was an insult.

“I take it Minerva isn’t…uh, quite as respected here?”

Reyna blew steam from her cup. “We respect Minerva. She’s the goddess of crafts and wisdom…but she isn’t really a goddess of war. Not for Romans. She’s also a maiden goddess, like Diana…the one you call Artemis. You won’t find any children of Minerva here. The idea that Minerva would have children—frankly, it’s a little shocking to us.”

“Oh.” Annabeth felt her face flush. She didn’t want to get into the details of Athena’s children—how they were born straight from the mind of the goddess, just as Athena herself had sprung from the head of Zeus. Talking about that always made Annabeth feel self-conscious, like she was some sort of freak.

People usually asked her whether or not she had a belly button, since she had been born magically. Of course she had a belly button. She couldn’t explain how. She didn’t really want to know.

“I understand that you Greeks don’t see things the same way,” Reyna continued. “But Romans take vows of maidenhood very seriously. The Vestal Virgins, for instance…if they broke their vows and fell in love with anyone, they would be buried alive. So the idea that a maiden goddess would have children—”

“Got it.” Annabeth’s hot chocolate suddenly tasted like dust. No wonder the Romans had been giving her strange looks. “I’m not supposed to exist. And even if your camp had children of Minerva—”

“They wouldn’t be like you,” Reyna said. “They might be craftsmen, artists, maybe advisers, but not warriors. Not leaders of dangerous quests.”

Annabeth started to object that she wasn’t the leader of the quest. Not officially. But she wondered if her friends on the Argo II would agree. The past few days, they had been looking to her for orders—even Jason, who could have pulled rank as the son of Jupiter, and Coach Hedge, who didn’t take orders from anyone.

“There’s more.” Reyna snapped her fingers, and her golden dog, Aurum, trotted over. The praetor stroked his ears. “The harpy Ella…it was a prophecy she spoke. We both know that, don’t we?”

Annabeth swallowed. Something about Aurum’s ruby eyes made her uneasy. She had heard that dogs could smell fear, even detect changes in a human’s breathing and heartbeat. She didn’t know if that applied to magical metal dogs, but she decided it would be better to tell the truth.

“It sounded like a prophecy,” she admitted. “But I’ve never met Ella before today, and I’ve never heard those lines exactly.”

“I have,” Reyna murmured. “At least some of them—”

A few yards away, the silver dog barked. A group of children spilled out of a nearby alleyway and gathered around Argentum, petting the dog and laughing, unfazed by its razor-sharp teeth.

“We should move on,” Reyna said.

They wound their way up the hill. The greyhounds followed, leaving the children behind. Annabeth kept glancing at Reyna’s face. A vague memory started tugging at her—the way Reyna brushed her hair behind her ear, the silver ring she wore with the torch and sword design.

“We’ve met before,” Annabeth ventured. “You were younger, I think.”

Reyna gave her a dry smile. “Very good. Percy didn’t remember me. Of course you spoke mostly with my older sister Hylla, who is now queen of the Amazons. She left just this morning, before you arrived. At any rate, when we last met, I was a mere handmaiden in the house of Circe.”

“Circe…” Annabeth remembered her trip to the island of the sorceress. She’d been thirteen. Percy and she had washed ashore from the Sea of Monsters. Hylla had welcomed them. She had helped Annabeth get cleaned up and given her a beautiful new dress and a complete makeover. Then Circe had made her sales pitch: if Annabeth stayed on the island, she could have magical training and incredible power.

Annabeth had been tempted, maybe just a little, until she realized the place was a trap, and Percy had been turned into a rodent. (That last part seemed funny afterward; but at the time, it had been terrifying.) As for Reyna…she’d been one of the servants who had combed Annabeth’s hair.

“You…” Annabeth said in amazement. “And Hylla is queen of the Amazons? How did you two—?”

“Long story,” Reyna said. “But I remember you well. You were brave. I’d never seen anyone refuse Circe’s hospitality, much less outwit her. It’s no wonder Percy cares for you.” Her voice was wistful. Annabeth thought it might be safer not to respond.

They reached the top of the hill, where a terrace overlooked the entire valley.

“This is my favorite spot,” Reyna said. “The Garden of Bacchus.”

Grapevine trellises made a canopy overhead. Bees buzzed through honeysuckle and jasmine, which filled the afternoon air with a dizzying mix of perfumes. In the middle of the terrace stood a statue of Bacchus in a sort of ballet position, wearing nothing but a loincloth, his cheeks puffed out and lips pursed, spouting water into a fountain.

Despite her worries, Annabeth almost laughed. She knew the god in his Greek form, Dionysus—or Mr. D, as they called him back at Camp Half-Blood. Seeing their cranky old camp director immortalized in stone, wearing a diaper and spewing water from his mouth, made her feel a little better. Reyna stopped at the edge of the terrace. The view was worth the climb. The whole city spread out below them like a 3-D mosaic. To the south, beyond the lake, a cluster of temples perched on a hill. To the north, an aqueduct marched toward the Berkeley Hills. Work crews were repairing a broken section, probably damaged in the recent battle.

"Look, it’s beautiful, but why did you need me alone? My boyfriend and I—"

"Your boyfriend?" Reyna asked, her face an unreadable mask as she regarded Annabeth.

"Yes, my boyfriend. Didn’t Percy tell you about me?" Annabeth sat down on a nearby bench with Reyna. "I thought you said he still had his memories of me?"

Reyna gave her that look—the one that made you feel like she could see right through you. "He remembered your name, but not the memories around it. Not specific ones, at least. But he did mention that you were in a relationship. That’s part of the reason I wanted to talk to you."

"Because I’m dating Percy?" Annabeth’s voice sharpened, her defenses rising. She didn’t like the way the Praetor was scrutinizing her.

"In a way," Reyna turned to face her directly. "I wasn't aware it was in the Greek’s nature to attack their boyfriends."

Annabeth blinked. Attack? What Greek would attack their boyfriend? It sounded ridiculous—who’d want to stay with someone who made them feel unsafe, who—

"And if it is your custom, I’d ask that you refrain from doing it in front of us when we’re trying to maintain peace." Reyna added when Annabeth didn’t respond.

Annabeth was more confused now. No one had attacked anyone. Sure, there had been a few tense moments, but they’d arrived, talked to Reyna, flipped Percy, told him never to leave her again, got targeted by Apollo, talked some more, and then—

"Are you talking about me and Percy?" Annabeth asked, realization dawning.

"Indeed." Reyna confirmed, waiting for her to say more.

"That wasn’t an attack, I just flipped him! He was fine—seaweed brain is used to it—"

"Used to being thrown around by his girlfriend?" Reyna’s head shook slightly. "Look, Annabeth, from what I’ve seen, you seem… respectable. You’re a leader, someone people look up to. I admire that in a person. Do you know why?"

"Why?" Annabeth asked, trying to piece together where this was going.

"Because you remind me of myself."

"What?" Annabeth blurted out, whipping her head around to stare at Reyna.

"You’re expected to lead, to be a warrior, but also diplomatic. You’re supposed to have all the answers."

Annabeth stared. Reyna had just described her perfectly, nailing things her closest friends hadn’t even noticed. Was this what Percy had felt like when they first met?

"As I said, you’re like me." Reyna stood up, gazing out over the city. "You have so much pressure on you, and you can never let yourself appear weak. But Annabeth—" She turned back, her gaze locking onto Annabeth’s. "You can’t do what you just did."

"Do what?" Annabeth asked, still not understanding what she’d done wrong.

"You were upset, angry even. And you needed to let it out. Percy—he’s always been someone you feel safe letting your guard down with. I understand that. But you can’t take your anger out on him; he doesn’t deserve that." Reyna’s eyes were piercing, like she could see all the way to Annabeth’s core.

"Take out my anger how—? Is this about me judo-flipping him? It wasn’t meant in a bad wa—"

"And choking him? Annabeth, you pressed your arm into his neck. To anyone else, that would have been taken as a direct attack, requiring self-defense." Reyna tilted her head slightly, her fingers brushing against one of her metal dogs.

"Look, I didn’t mean any harm. He left me for six months! I didn’t know if he was alive or dead! I’ve had too many people leave me—I couldn’t stand the thought of him leaving too. He knows that—"

"Does he?" Reyna’s eyebrow arched at the child of Athena. "I don’t know him well, but the way he flinched when you ‘attacked’ him—" she paused, "—that wasn’t the reaction of someone who believed you wouldn’t hurt them. He was afraid of you, Annabeth. And it wasn’t the kind of fear that comes from fighting monsters." She took a breath, her tone growing serious. "He got attacked yesterday."

"What?!" Annabeth’s voice shot up, her mind racing with possibilities.

"He left after an… incident. He was attacked by a Lamia—very badly, I might add. When he returned to the gates, he was bleeding out, dying from poison. That’s why Apollo was here this morning; some of the campers prayed for him to help. I don’t know for certain, but I believe you may have caused the wounds to reopen." Reyna’s gaze held a depth that suggested there was more she wasn’t saying.

Annabeth’s mind flashed to the myths—Lamia, a child of Poseidon, one of the more deadly ones, known for preying on children and feasting on their eyeballs. She grimaced. She loved Percy’s eyes.

"I didn’t know," Annabeth mumbled, feeling the need to defend herself.

"I know. And I’m sure Percy knows, but it still happened. Percy didn’t do anything wrong—he was kidnapped, brought to a place known for hating his kind, and did what he had to do to survive. He’s had a lot of practice in that area." Reyna turned and sat back down, signaling for Annabeth to do the same. Annabeth hadn’t even realized she’d stood up. "I’m not accusing you. I’m asking you to think about your actions."

Annabeth felt a mix of emotions swirl inside her. Reyna was lecturing her—on how to interact with her boyfriend, no less. Someone who had only known Percy for a short time was saying that he was scared of her. Her instincts told her to fight back, to defend herself. Her fatal flaw was pushing to the forefront, but Annabeth held it in check. Reyna had said some things that made sense, much as Annabeth didn’t want to admit it. She needed to sort through this, preferably on the ship, on the way to Rome, with Percy by her side to talk it through.

"Is that all you wanted to discuss with me?"

Reyna shook her head. “I wanted to hear it from you.”

Annabeth turned. “Hear what from me?”

“The truth,” Reyna said. “Convince me that I’m not making a mistake by trusting you. Tell me about yourself. Tell me about Camp Half-Blood. Your friend Piper has sorcery in her words. I spent enough time with Circe to know charmspeak when I hear it. I can’t trust what she says. And Jason…well, he has changed. He seems distant, no longer quite Roman.”

The hurt in her voice was as sharp as broken glass. Annabeth wondered if she had sounded that way, all the months she’d spent searching for Percy. At least she’d found her boyfriend. Reyna had no one. She was responsible for running an entire camp all by herself. Annabeth could sense that Reyna wanted Jason to love her. But he had disappeared, only to come back with a new girlfriend. Meanwhile, Percy had risen to praetor, but he had rebuffed Reyna too. Now Annabeth had come to take him away. Reyna would be left alone again, shouldering a job meant for two people, yet she held no resentment for Percy. None that Annabeth could see at least.

When Annabeth had arrived at Camp Jupiter, she’d been prepared to negotiate with Reyna or even fight her if needed. She hadn’t been prepared to feel sorry for her. She kept that feeling hidden. Reyna didn’t strike her as someone who would appreciate pity.

Instead, she told Reyna about her own life. She talked about her dad and stepmom and her two stepbrothers in San Francisco, and how she had felt like an outsider in her own family. She talked about how she had run away when she was only seven, finding her friends Luke and Thalia and making her way to Camp Half-Blood on Long Island. She described the camp and her years growing up there. She talked about meeting Percy and the adventures they’d had together. Reyna was a good listener.

Annabeth was tempted to tell her about more recent problems: her fight with her mom, the gift of the silver coin, and the nightmares she’d been having—about an old fear so paralyzing, she’d almost decided that she couldn’t go on this quest. But she couldn’t bring herself to open up quite that much.

When Annabeth was done talking, Reyna gazed over New Rome. Her metal greyhounds sniffed around the garden, snapping at bees in the honeysuckle. Finally Reyna pointed to the cluster of temples on the distant hill.

“The small red building,” she said, “there on the northern side? That’s the temple of my mother, Bellona.” Reyna turned toward Annabeth. “Unlike your mother, Bellona has no Greek equivalent. She is fully, truly Roman. She’s the goddess of protecting the homeland.”

Annabeth said nothing. She knew very little about the Roman goddess. She wished she had studied up, but Latin never came as easily to her as Greek. Down below, the hull of the Argo II gleamed as it floated over the forum, like some massive bronze party balloon.

“When the Romans go to war,” Reyna continued, “we first visit the Temple of Bellona. Inside is a symbolic patch of ground that represents enemy soil. We throw a spear into that ground, indicating that we are now at war. You see, Romans have always believed that offense is the best defense. In ancient times, whenever our ancestors felt threatened by their neighbors, they would invade to protect themselves.”

“They conquered everyone around them,” Annabeth said. “Carthage, the Gauls—”

“And the Greeks.” Reyna let that comment hang. “My point, Annabeth, is that it isn’t Rome’s nature to cooperate with other powers. Every time Greek and Roman demigods have met, we’ve fought. Conflicts between our two sides have started some of the most horrible wars in human history—especially civil wars.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Annabeth said. “We’ve got to work together, or Gaea will destroy us both.”

“I agree,” Reyna said. “But is cooperation possible? What if Juno’s plan is flawed? Even goddesses can make mistakes.”

Annabeth waited for Reyna to get struck by lightning or turned into a peacock. Nothing happened.

Unfortunately, Annabeth shared Reyna’s doubts. Hera did make mistakes. Annabeth had had nothing but trouble from that overbearing goddess, and she’d never forgive Hera for taking Percy away, even if it was for a noble cause.

“I don’t trust the goddess,” Annabeth admitted. “But I do trust my friends. This isn’t a trick, Reyna. We can work together.” Reyna finished her cup of chocolate. She set the cup on the terrace railing and gazed over the valley as if imagining battle lines.

“I believe you mean it,” she said. “But if you go to the ancient lands, especially Rome itself, there is something you should know about your mother.”

Annabeth’s shoulders tensed. “My—my mother?”

“When I lived on Circe’s island,” Reyna said, “we had many visitors. Once, perhaps a year before you and Percy arrived, a young man washed ashore. He was half mad from thirst and heat. He’d been drifting at sea for days. His words didn’t make much sense, but he said he was a son of Athena.”

Reyna paused as if waiting for a reaction. Annabeth had no idea who the boy might have been. She wasn’t aware of any other Athena kids who’d gone on a quest in the Sea of Monsters, but still she felt a sense of dread. The light filtering through the grapevines made shadows writhe across the ground like a swarm of bugs.

“What happened to this demigod?” she asked.

Reyna waved her hand as if the question was trivial. “Circe turned him into a guinea pig, of course. He made quite a crazy little rodent. But before that, he kept raving about his failed quest. He claimed that he’d gone to Rome, following the Mark of Athena.”

Annabeth grabbed the railing to keep her balance.

“Yes,” Reyna said, seeing her discomfort. “He kept muttering about wisdom’s child, the Mark of Athena, and the giants’ bane standing pale and gold. The same lines Ella was just reciting. But you say that you’ve never heard them before today?”

“Not—not the way Ella said them.” Annabeth’s voice was weak. She wasn’t lying. She’d never heard that prophecy, but her mother had charged her with following the Mark of Athena; and as she thought about the coin in her pocket, a horrible suspicion began taking root in her mind. She remembered her mother’s scathing words. She thought about the strange nightmares she’d been having lately. “Did this demigod—did he explain his quest?”

Reyna shook her head. “At the time, I had no idea what he was talking about. Much later, when I became praetor of Camp Jupiter, I began to suspect.”

“Suspect…what?”

“There is an old legend that the praetors of Camp Jupiter have passed down through the centuries. If it’s true, it may explain why our two groups of demigods have never been able to work together. It may be the cause of our animosity. Until this old score is finally settled, so the legend goes, Romans and Greeks will never be at peace. And the legend centers on Athena—”

A shrill sound pierced the air. Light flashed in the corner of Annabeth’s eye. She turned in time to see an explosion blast a new crater in the forum. A burning couch tumbled through the air. Demigods scattered in panic.

“Giants?” Annabeth reached for her dagger, which of course wasn’t there. “I thought their army was defeated!”

“It isn’t the giants.” Reyna’s eyes seethed with rage. “You’ve betrayed our trust.”

“What? No!”

As soon as she said it, the Argo II launched a second volley. Its port ballista fired a massive spear wreathed in Greek fire, which sailed straight through the broken dome of the Senate House and exploded inside, lighting up the building like a jack-o’-lantern. If anyone had been in there…

“Gods, no.” A wave of nausea almost made Annabeth’s knees buckle. “Reyna, it isn’t possible. We’d never do this!”

The metal dogs ran to their mistress’s side. They snarled at Annabeth but paced uncertainly, as if reluctant to attack.

“You’re telling the truth,” Reyna judged. “Perhaps you were not aware of this treachery, but someone must pay.”

Down in the forum, chaos was spreading. Crowds were pushing and shoving. Fistfights were breaking out.

“Bloodshed,” Reyna said.

“We have to stop it!”

Annabeth had a horrible feeling this might be the last time Reyna and she ever acted in agreement, but together they ran down the hill.

If weapons had been allowed in the city, Annabeth’s friends would have already been dead. The Roman demigods in the forum had coalesced into an angry mob. Some threw plates, food, and rocks at the Argo II, which was pointless, as most of the stuff fell back into the crowd. Several dozen Romans had surrounded Piper and Jason, who were trying to calm them without much luck. Piper’s charmspeak was useless against so many screaming, angry demigods. Jason’s forehead was bleeding.

His purple cloak had been ripped to shreds. He kept pleading, “I’m on your side!” but his orange Camp Half-Blood T-shirt didn’t help matters—nor did the warship overhead, firing flaming spears into New Rome. One landed nearby and blasted a toga shop to rubble.

“Pluto’s pauldrons,” Reyna cursed. “Look.”

Armed legionnaires were hurrying toward the forum. Two artillery crews had set up catapults just outside the Pomerian Line and were preparing to fire at the Argo II.

“That’ll just make things worse,” Annabeth said.

“I hate my job,” Reyna growled. She rushed off toward the legionnaires, her dogs at her side.

Percy, Annabeth thought, scanning the forum desperately. Where are you?

Two Romans tried to grab her. She ducked past them, plunging into the crowd. As if the angry Romans, burning couches, and exploding buildings weren’t confusing enough, hundreds of purple ghosts drifted through the forum, passing straight through the demigods’ bodies and wailing incoherently. The fauns had also taken advantage of the chaos. They swarmed the dining tables, grabbing food, plates, and cups. One trotted by Annabeth with his arms full of tacos and an entire pineapple between his teeth.

A statue of Terminus exploded into being, right in front of Annabeth. He yelled at her in Latin, no doubt calling her a liar and a rule breaker; but she pushed the statue over and kept running.

Finally she spotted Percy. He and his friends, Hazel and Frank, were standing in the middle of a fountain as Percy repelled the angry Romans with blasts of water. Percy’s toga was in tatters, but he looked unhurt. Unhurt but betrayed. It was a look she hadn't often seen on Percy's face, one that marred his already rather scary expressions to one that would have anyone running for the hills. Even Hazel and Frank seemed to be backing away from his as he blasted hoards and hoards of Romans away.

Annabeth called to him as another explosion rocked the forum. This time the flash of light was directly overhead. One of the Roman catapults had fired, and the Argo II groaned and tilted sideways, flames bubbling over its bronze-plated hull. Percy face flashed in the light and she thought she saw his eyes turn yellow.

She stopped dead still, staring at her boyfriend. Percy who had always been so goofy, Percy who tripped over nothing and was terrified of Annabeth's mom. Percy who looked just like Kronos, who's eyes resembled Luke's just for a second before the light faded.

Annabeth noticed a figure clinging desperately to the rope ladder, trying to climb down. It was Octavian, his robes steaming and his face black with soot. Over by the fountain, Percy blasted the Roman mob with more water. Annabeth ran toward him, ducking a Roman fist and a flying plate of sandwiches.

“Annabeth!” Percy called. “What—?”

“I don’t know!” she yelled.

“I’ll tell you what!” cried a voice from above. Octavian had reached the bottom of the ladder. “The Greeks have fired on us! Your boy Leo has trained his weapons on Rome!”Annabeth’s chest filled with liquid hydrogen. She felt like she might shatter into a million frozen pieces.

“You’re lying,” she said. “Leo would never—”

“I was just there!” Octavian shrieked. “I saw it with my own eyes!” The Argo II returned fire. Legionnaires in the field scattered as one of their catapults was blasted to
splinters.

“You see?” Octavian screamed. “Romans, kill the invaders!”

Annabeth growled in frustration. There was no time for anyone to figure out the truth. The crew from Camp Half-Blood was outnumbered a hundred to one, and even if Octavian had managed to stage some sort of trick (which she thought likely), they’d never be able to convince the Romans before they were overrun and killed.

“We have to leave,” she told Percy. “Now.”

He nodded grimly. “Hazel, Frank, you’ve got to make a choice. Are you coming?”

Hazel looked terrified, but she donned her cavalry helmet. “Of course we are. But you’ll never make it to the ship unless we buy you some time.”

“How?” Annabeth asked.

Hazel whistled. Instantly a blur of beige shot across the forum. A majestic horse materialized next to the fountain. He reared, whinnying and scattering the mob. Hazel climbed on his back like she’d been born to ride. Strapped to the horse’s saddle was a Roman cavalry sword. Hazel unsheathed her golden blade. “Send me an Iris-message when you’re safely away, and we’ll rendezvous,” she said. “Arion, ride!”

The horse zipped through the crowd with incredible speed, pushing back Romans and causing mass panic.

Annabeth felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe they could make it out of here alive. Then, from halfway across the forum, she heard Jason shouting.

“Romans!” he cried. “Please!”

He and Piper were being pelted with plates and stones. Jason tried to shield Piper, but a brick caught him above the eye. He crumpled, and the crowd surged forward.

“Get back!” Piper screamed. Her charmspeak rolled over the mob, making them hesitate, but Annabeth knew the effect wouldn’t last. Percy and she couldn’t possibly reach them in time to help.

“Frank,” Percy said, “it’s up to you. Can you help them?”

Annabeth didn’t understand how Frank could do that all by himself, but he swallowed nervously.

“Oh, gods,” he murmured. “Okay, sure. Just get up the ropes. Now.”

Percy and Annabeth lunged for the ladder. Octavian was still clinging to the bottom, but Percy yanked him off and threw him into the mob. They began to climb as armed legionnaires flooded into the forum. Arrows whistled past Annabeth’s head. An explosion almost knocked her off the ladder. Halfway up, she heard a roar below and glanced down.

Romans screamed and scattered as a full-sized dragon charged through the forum—a beast even scarier than the bronze dragon figurehead on the Argo II. It had rough gray skin like a Komodo lizard’s and leathery bat wings. Arrows and rocks bounced harmlessly off its hide as it lumbered toward Piper and Jason, grabbed them with its front claws, and vaulted into the air.

“Is that… ?” Annabeth couldn’t even put the thought into words.

“Frank,” Percy confirmed, a few feet above her. “He has a few special talents.”

“Understatement,” Annabeth muttered. “Keep climbing!”

Without the dragon and Hazel’s horse to distract the archers, they never would have made it up the ladder; but finally they climbed past a row of broken aerial oars and onto the deck. The rigging was on fire. The foresail was ripped down the middle, and the ship listed badly to starboard.

There was no sign of Coach Hedge, but Leo stood amidships, calmly reloading the ballista. Annabeth’s gut twisted with horror.

“Leo!” she screamed. “What are you doing?”

“Destroy them…” He faced Annabeth. His eyes were glazed. His movements were like a robot’s.

“Destroy them all.”

He turned back to the ballista, but Percy tackled him. Leo’s head hit the deck hard, and his eyes rolled up so that only the whites showed.

The gray dragon soared into view. It circled the ship once and landed at the bow, depositing Jason and Piper, who both collapsed.

“Go!” Jason yelled. “Get us out of here!”

With a shock, Annabeth realized he was talking to her.

She ran for the helm. She made the mistake of glancing over the rail and saw armed legionnaires closing ranks in the forum, preparing flaming arrows. Hazel spurred Arion, and they raced out of the city with a mob chasing after them. More catapults were being wheeled into range. All along the Pomerian Line, the statues of Terminus were glowing purple, as if building up energy for some kind of attack.

Annabeth looked over the controls. She cursed Leo for making them so complicated. No time for fancy maneuvers, but she did know one basic command: Up.

She grabbed the aviation throttle and yanked it straight back. The ship groaned. The bow tilted up at a horrifying angle. The mooring lines snapped, and the Argo II shot into the clouds.

Notes:

My goodness it has somehow gotten to 5242 words!!! Do you prefer these sort of chapters, with more words or would you prefer I do shorter ones???

This chapter ended up being mostly text from the book but what did you think to the conversation between Annabeth and Reyna??? Any thoughts???

Next chapter will be posted soon, some time in the next few days as it will simply be Percy's perspective of the events which will include nothing of the book. I'm not sure when I will get round to doing it, it could be tomorrow or Wednesday or next Sunday but I'm planning to update more in the last week or two before school starts up again.

No notes to grace you today other then:
Annabeth-why did you want to talk to me??
Reyna-you hurt Percy, fix it or I kill you.
Annabeth-Huh?
Reyna-I don't want Apollo on my back, and Percy is an honorary little brother, Nico is my child. You hurt either one and you deal with me.

Hope your enjoying the story!!!! Comment your fav line??? Any ideas for future chapters please say!!!!!

Chapter 8: Everything blows up (literally)- Percy's vers

Notes:

Hi guys sorry I took sooooooo long to get this chapter up. I had a very social week filled with people and didn't have a moment until this evening.

If there are any mistakes in this chapter I do apologise, I'm currently dealing with a migraine and I'm overheating but desperately wanted to get this to you guys before crashing for the night.

This is Percy's version of events-

“Percy?”

“Huh?” Percy snapped his head up, blinking as he realized he’d been staring at a patch of daisies that had somehow survived the recent battle. The flowers looked a little worse for wear, but they were still standing—kind of like him.

Jason was standing a few feet away, his hand clasped tightly around Piper’s. His head was cocked to the side, just like a golden retriever trying to figure out what its owner was up to.

“Were you coming?” Jason asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh,” Percy’s brain finally caught up to reality. “Oh, yeah! Sorry about that. I, uh, sometimes get a little distracted.”

“You do?” Piper asked, glancing up at Jason with a look that screamed, What’s up with this guy?

“Yeah! I think it’s got something to do with the ADHD, but I’m not really sure.”

They both gave him weird looks as he caught up to them, and they started heading toward Jupiter’s Temple. Percy wasn’t sure what their problem was, but he figured if it was important, they’d tell him. He was used to people giving him strange glares anyway—didn’t bother him much.

“What if that happened during a battle, or an important meeting?” Jason suddenly slowed his pace, giving Percy this serious look that he just didn’t get.

“Uh, well, it hasn’t happened before? I mean, it wouldn’t happen during a battle, and I doubt it’d be a big deal during a meeting.”

Jason stopped walking altogether and stared at Percy. “If it happened during a meeting, you’d miss vital information, which could lead to you making decisions that could seriously mess up the camp. As praetor, Percy, you need to pay attention. You need skills beyond just fighting. Didn’t Reyna tell you that?”

Percy shook his head, stunned by the tone in Jason’s voice. He hadn’t realized that zoning out for a second could be that big of a deal. Back at Camp HalfBlood nobody would just follow him blindly if he made a bad call. But here? At Camp Jupiter, the legionnaires respected their leaders. If Percy made a dumb call, they might just go along with it, no questions asked That could lead to mass chaos—or worse.

“Like, no offense,” Jason continued, totally oblivious to the mental hurricane he’d just kicked up, “but if you’re praetor, you should be able to pay attention in meetings. I never had a problem. But it’s fine! There’s never been a problem before, right? So no harm done!”

Jason was right. Of course he was right. He had years of leadership under his belt, while Percy had, what, one or two? And even then, he wasn’t really a leader. That was more Annabeth’s thing, or maybe Clarisse’s. He just fought where he was supposed to and caused problems along the way.

“Hey, I’m not trying to be rude or anything,” Piper piped up, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, “but judging from that, I think Jason might be better for the camp.”

Of course Jason was better. He was so much better than Percy could ever be, he was practically perfect. He’d fought and won so many battles on his own, while Percy mostly just… ran. Ran like a coward. Ran like the coward he felt he was. And honestly, he wanted to run right now—straight off a cliff. But he couldn’t show that, so he did what Percy Jackson did best. He joked.

“Oh yeah, definitely! He can have the job. I can’t stand another second dealing with Octavian. Good luck, bro!”

“Thanks, bro, but you can take him with you,” Jason said, cracking a small smile as they started walking again.

“You think Octavian would survive at a Greek camp? The kids would eat him alive. Not to mention, I think even the gods would get involved.”

 

“The gods?” Jason asked, giving Percy a strange look.

“Yeah, the gods. You know, the big idiots—well, mostly—floating around on their special chairs in New York’s polluted skies?”

“No, bro,” Jason said, shaking his head. “Here at Camp Jupiter, it’s a super big deal if one of the gods decides to show up. It’s rare, like really rare. I knew a guy who’d never seen one, and he was in his seventies. We assumed it was the same for you guys.”

Percy blinked. Right. He had forgotten how different things were here. Gods didn’t just pop in for quests or to mess with your day at Camp Jupiter. And their demigods actually lived to be seventy. Must be nice.

“Honestly?” Percy said, jumping over a random rock in the road as they neared the entrance to Jupiter’s Temple, “We’ve been stuck with Dylan since 1973. You can take him. Please, for the love of the gods, take him. I’ll even throw in Octavian for free. If you don’t want him though I might be able to take him to an abandoned quarry and have my mom off him if you take Derek.”

He glanced back up as they reached the temple.

The Temple of Jupiter in New Rome was seriously impressive—like, knock-your-socks-off impressive. He’d seen some pretty epic places in his time, but this temple was on another level. It sat at the highest point of the city, like the king of all buildings, staring down at you as if it knew it was a big deal. Its white marble columns stretching high into the sky like the arms of giants.

The columns were massive, probably wide enough that Tyson and Percy together couldn’t wrap their arms around one. They were carved from white marble that practically glowed in the sunlight. Carved reliefs of Roman gods and mythological scenes decorated the walls, each one more intricate than the last, telling stories of battles, victories, and divine power. Each one had intricate designs etched into it—lightning bolts, eagles, and those creepy eyes that seemed to follow you wherever you went. He figured that was Jupiter’s way of reminding everyone who’s boss.

As they walked up the stairs—yeah, there were a lot of stairs—he felt like he was climbing a mountain. He half expected to find snow at the top. The steps were smooth from centuries of use, but you could still see the faint marks where Roman soldiers had marched up to offer sacrifices. The whole place smelled faintly of incense and… ozone? Like the air right before a thunderstorm. Seemed fitting for the king of the gods.

At the top, the huge bronze doors of the temple stood open, creaking slightly in the breeze. Inside, the ceiling soared so high it made me dizzy to look up. A giant statue of Jupiter dominated the space, sitting on his throne with a face that said, Don’t mess with me, or you’ll regret it. His eyes were made of some kind of shiny gemstone, and Percy swore they sparked like actual lightning. He sat on his throne, a scepter in one hand, a bolt of lightning in the other. The whole place felt powerful, like it was charged with centuries of prayers, sacrifices, and the sheer force of belief.

Lightning-shaped torches lined the walls, flickering with flames that never seemed to burn out. The floor was polished so well that he could see his reflection, which was slightly unsettling—he didn’t look so great after the long climb. Around the edges of the room, offerings were stacked in neat piles—fruit, coins, weapons, even some really old-looking scrolls. All the stuff people left behind to keep the big guy happy.

Standing there, he couldn’t help but feel a little nervous, like he was being watched by a really strict principal who also had the power to zap him into a pile of ashes if he stepped out of line. But at the same time, there was this sense of awe, like he was standing in the presence of something ancient and powerful, a reminder that even in a place like New Rome, the gods were always watching.

Percy couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy. Sure, he’d been around gods and temples before, but this place was different. It wasn’t just a temple—it was a reminder of how small he was in the grand scheme of things, how easily the gods could flick them off the map if they felt like it. He swallowed hard, pushing down the uneasy feeling that was creeping up his spine.

Instead, Percy looked over at Jason, who was staring at him like he'd grown an extra head.

"Dylan? Who's Dylan?" Jason asked, while Piper let go of his hand to twirl around like she was seeing everything for the first time.

"Dylan, the camp director," Percy answered, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Mr. D?" Jason looked even more confused.

"Yeah, Donald, the one and only. Please take him!"

Jason blinked, clearly trying to wrap his mind around it. "Why are you calling him that?"

Percy grinned. "Well, he calls me Peter Johnson. So, he's Derick. Or Dylan. Daniel sometimes, Dominic, David, Dinosaur, or Diego if I’m feeling extra creative. If he’s being really annoying, he’s Declan, but then I become Periwinkle or Pigma JeBrenson."

Jason's eyes were practically bugging out of his head, but Percy just chuckled at the ongoing joke between him and Mr. D. Sure, they weren't always on the best of terms, but Percy didn't mind the god all the time. He had his moments.

"I'm going to ignore that for now—"

"Probably best," Percy agreed, still grinning.

"—And I was wondering, I heard you were a hero in the demigod world—Annabeth told me loads of stories—but what about the mortal side? Like, I'm viewed as a savior in the mortal world from a couple of my quests. What about you?"

Percy shook his head at the question. "No, I’m wanted in five states for arson…"

Jason spluttered. Literally spluttered, like a fish out of water, as he stared at Percy in shock.

"Oh, and homicide," Percy added, remembering the other charge like it was no big deal.

Jason looked like he was about to have a heart attack. Percy just tilted his head, wondering why Jason was making such a big deal out of it.

When Jason finally pulled himself together, he asked, "What the Pluto is your talent?"

Percy thought about it for a moment. "I think my only talent is being stress," he said honestly, watching as Piper looked over.

"You mean being stressed, right?" Piper asked, raising an eyebrow.

Percy recalled the senator downing about six aspirins after a meeting with him and shook his head. "I don’t think so…"

Jason suddenly pushed him lightly, laughing. Percy grinned back and lightly slapped him on the shoulder in retaliation.

"You hit like a girl, bro!" Jason said, laughing even harder.

"Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I hit you that hard," Percy shot back, starting to laugh as well.

Piper burst out into laughter at that, Jason’s face turning a slight shade of pink, which only made her laugh harder. In the end, they were all giggling like mad people in Jupiter’s temple.

"Anyway, how long have you been training, Percy?" Piper asked, finally recovering from her giggle fit as she asked curiously.

"Uh, I would call it less training and more getting attacked by my teacher at 12. Then the Minotaur in his pajamas tried to kill me before Uncle H kidnapped my mom. Then I guess it’s been downhill since. It’s been pretty much fight or flight with a couple of weird occasions—oh, and your dad," Percy nodded at Jason, "gave me some pretty specific instructions to stay out of the sky on pain of death."

"Cacus vere?" Jason said. Percy only understood one word from the Latin he’d just spoken, and he laughed slightly at the swear.

"You speak Latin fully?" Percy asked, intrigued.

"Yeah, you don’t?"

"No, I know bits of it. But not enough for a proper conversation, you know? I know that you just said 'shit' and then I think 'really,' but I could be wrong."

Jason nodded as Piper spoke up. "Do you not have a language you inherited from your parents? I mean, other than English? Like, I can speak French from my mother because it’s the language of love."

"I mean, I can speak Manhattan, which some people say is a separate language. And then I know a decent amount of Spanish, but other than that... Unless you count the fact that I can speak to fish, can you speak to birds, Jason? 'Cause if you can, can you ask some of the seagulls to stop stealing my Mr. Whippys?"

"Nah, I can’t speak to birds. I think Leo can speak some Spanish, but I’m not too sure," Jason said as he started making his way across to the altar in the temple and fell to his knees. "How did you become Praetor? Out of curiosity."

Percy was shocked by the question, not thinking Jason would round back to this topic.

"Oh yeah! I heard it was a really big job here! I mean, it took Jason years to get it," Piper joined in, kneeling next to Jason.

Percy thought back to the battle where he was raised on their shields. But his mind went further back to the meeting with Mars when he first joined the camp.

--------------------

A voice like thunder rumbled across the field, one that sent a shiver down Percy’s spine even though his memories were still a foggy mess. He couldn’t place it, but something told him this wasn’t someone he wanted to run into at a party.

“I know that voice,” Percy muttered to Frank, trying to keep the annoyance out of his tone. But yeah, there was definitely some annoyance in there.

Before Frank could respond, a column of fire erupted in the middle of the legion. The heat was so intense that Percy felt like his eyelashes were about to singe off. Campers who’d been soaked from Percy’s earlier water blast found themselves instantly steam-dried, like they’d just taken a trip through Pompeii a thousand years ago.

Everyone scrambled back as a massive figure emerged from the flames. Percy’s instincts screamed at him to fight or run. The guy was easily ten feet tall, decked out in desert camouflage like he’d just strolled out of a military catalog. He looked like he was born to command armies and crush skulls. His black hair was chopped into a flat-top wedge, just like Frank’s, but his face was all hard angles and knife scars. The kind of face you don’t forget, even if you can’t remember much else.

Percy clenched Riptide’s hilt. The guy made his skin crawl just by existing.

Frank, on the other hand, looked like he’d seen a ghost—or worse, a math test he hadn’t studied for. The kid was pulled forward as if by some invisible string, taking three shaky steps before sinking to one knee. Around them, the rest of the legion followed suit. Even Reyna dismounted and knelt, which was really saying something.

“That’s good,” the giant soldier said, his voice echoing with power. “Kneeling is good. It’s been a long time since I’ve visited Camp Jupiter.”

Percy remained standing, his grip tightening on Riptide. There was no way he was kneeling to this guy. Then it hit him like a brick to the face. He knew this guy—Ares, or at least his Roman form.

“You’re Ares,” Percy said, the words coming out before he could stop them. “What do you want?”

A collective gasp rippled through the legion. Even Hannibal the elephant froze mid-trumpet. But Percy didn’t care. He wasn’t about to let this guy walk all over them.

The god grinned, flashing a set of brilliant white teeth. “You’ve got guts, demigod. But I’m not Ares to these folks. I’m Mars—patron of the empire, divine father of Romulus and Remus.”

Percy’s head spun. Mars, Ares, whatever. He didn’t care what this guy called himself. He just wanted him to get lost.

“We’ve met,” Percy said. “We… we had a fight…”

Mars scratched his chin like he was trying to remember what he had for breakfast. “I fight a lot of people, kid. But I assure you—you’ve never fought me as Mars. If you had, you’d be dead. Now, kneel before you try my patience.”

Fire boiled around Mars’s feet, and Percy could feel the god’s anger radiating off him in waves. But he just couldn’t do it. Something inside him rebelled against the idea.

“Percy,” Frank said quietly, his voice trembling, “please.”

“But I’m not a child of Rome…” Percy began, though the words felt uncertain on his tongue.

Mars started to respond, but then something strange happened. His form flickered, like a bad TV signal, before snapping back into focus. Percy couldn’t tell if anyone else saw it, but the air around Mars seemed to ripple with some kind of energy.

Mars’s eyes widened, and for a moment, Percy thought he saw fear flash across the god’s face. Fear—of him.

Percy stepped forward to confront the guy but to his surprise the dude suddenly backed away.

"No! Oh chaos Hades no! What the fuck are you doing here?" Mars shouted, stumbling backward.

Percy blinked. What was this guy’s problem?

Mars whirled on Nico, his eyes blazing. “What the fuck is he doing here?”

Nico shrugged his shoulders from where he was kneeling looking as confused as to why the god was addressing him.

"No! I never want to be within a mile of him!" Mars whirled around, his eyes blazing as he pointed at Percy. "No way, I do not have that much of a death wish, chaos why couldn't my Greek side of given me this information before I showed up shit!"

A murmur spread through the legion. Someone in the back whispered, “Why is Lord Mars scared of the new guy?”

Percy didn’t have a clue. He was just about to say something when Reyna cut him off with a sharp, “Don’t answer that, Percy.” She looked to be having flashbacks to something.

Mars cleared his throat, his face still pale as he took another couple of steps away from Percy. He seemed to remember what he was here for and tried to pull himself together.

He seemed to have forgotten his wish for the Percy to kneel.

"Good"Percy thought, I wasn't going to kneel anyway.

“Romans, lend me your ears!” he barked, though his voice wasn’t as commanding as it had been. “I’ve always wanted to say that. I come from Olympus with a message. Jupiter doesn’t like us communicating directly with mortals, especially nowadays, but he has allowed this exception, as you Romans have always been my special people. I’m only permitted to speak for a few minutes, so listen up.”

He pointed at Gwen. “This one should be dead, yet she’s not. The monsters you fight no longer return to Tartarus when they are slain. Some mortals who died long ago are now walking the earth again.” Percy could have been imagining it but did the god glare at Nico?

“Thanatos has been chained,” Mars announced. “The Doors of Death have been forced open, and no one is policing them—at least, not impartially. Gaea allows our enemies to pour forth into the world of mortals. Her sons the giants are mustering armies against you—armies that you will not be able to kill. Unless Death is unleashed to return to his duties, you will be overrun. You must find Thanatos and free him from the giants. Only he can reverse the tide.” Mars looked around, and noticed that everyone was still silently kneeling. “Oh, you can get up now. Any questions?”

Reyna stepped forward, clearly trying to process what had just happened. “Lord Mars,” she began cautiously, “we are honored by your presence.”

“Beyond honored,” Octavian added, groveling so hard Percy thought he might start digging a hole. “So far beyond honored—”

Well?” Mars snapped.

“Well,” Reyna said, “Thanatos is the god of death, the lieutenant of Pluto?”

“Right,” the god said.

“And you’re saying that he’s been captured by giants.”

“Right.”

“And therefore people will stop dying?”

“Not all at once,” Mars said. “But the barriers between life and death will continue to weaken. Those who know how to take advantage of this will exploit it. Monsters are already harder to dispatch. Soon they will be completely impossible to kill. Some demigods will also be able to find their way back from the Underworld—like your friend Centurion Shish kebab.”

Gwen winced. “Centurion Shish kebab?”

Percy had to admit that, no matter how much he hated the god, he had almost laughed at that comment.

“If left unchecked,” Mars continued, “even mortals will eventually find it impossible to die. Can you imagine a world in which no one dies—ever?”

Octavian raised his hand. “But, ah, mighty all-powerful Lord Mars, if we can’t die, isn’t that a good thing? If we can stay alive indefinitely—”

“Don’t be foolish, boy!” Mars bellowed. “Endless slaughter with no conclusion? Carnage without any point? Enemies that rise again and again and can never be killed? Is that what you want?”

“You’re the god of war,” Percy spoke up. “Don’t you want endless carnage?”

Mars’s infrared goggles glowed brighter as he took another step back. “I have fought you before, don't make me come near you again you again, you little feral child! I can understand why I’d want to kill you though. I’m the god of Rome, I am the god of military might used for a righteous cause. I protect the legions. I am happy to crush my enemies underfoot, but I don’t fight without reason. I don’t want war without end, now will you stay away from me?”

“Not likely,” Percy admitted, half expecting the god to strike him down. He had no recollection of this dude or why he was scared of Percy but he didn't care that much.

“I order a quest!” the god announced. “You will go north and find Thanatos in the land beyond the gods. You will free him and thwart the plans of the giants. Beware Gaea! Beware her son, the eldest giant!”

Hazel made a squeaking sound from beside Frank. “The land beyond the gods?”

Mars stared down at her, his grip tightening on his M16. “That’s right, Hazel Levesque. You know what I mean. Everyone here remembers the land where the legion lost its honor! Perhaps if the quest succeeds, and you return by the Feast of Fortuna…perhaps then your honor will be restored. If you don’t succeed, there won’t be any camp left to return to. Rome will be overrun, its legacy lost forever. So my advice is: Don’t fail.”

Octavian somehow managed to bow even lower, Percy was pretty sure his nose would be touching the ground soon. It looked to be a god hamstring stretch though. “Um, Lord Mars, just one tiny thing. A quest requires a prophecy, a mystical poem to guide us! We used to get them from the Sibylline books, but now it’s up to the augur to glean the will of gods. So if I could just run and get about seventy stuffed animals and possibly a knife—”

“You’re the augur?” the god interrupted.

“Y-yes, my lord.”

Mars pulled a scroll from his utility belt. “Anyone got a pen?”

Percy wasn't going to offer his in the first place but glared when the god said, "Not yours! I won't touch yours! Anyone other than Jackson got a pen?"

The legionnaires stared at him.

Mars sighed. “Two hundred Romans, and no one’s got a pen? Never mind!” He slung his M16 onto his back and pulled out a hand grenade. There were many screaming Romans. Then the grenade morphed into a ball-point pen, and Mars began to write.

Percy glanced over to see Frank looking at him with wide eyes. He mouthed: Can your sword do grenade form?

Percy mouthed back, No. Shut up.

He wasn't actually sure if his could do that or not but he didn't mention that.

“There!” Mars finished writing and threw the scroll at Octavian. “A prophecy. You can add it to your books, engrave it on your floor, whatever.”

Octavian read the scroll. “This says, ‘Go to Alaska. Find Thanatos and free him. Come back by sundown on June twenty-fourth or die.’”

“Yes,” Mars said. “Is that not clear?”

“Well, my lord…usually prophecies are unclear. They’re wrapped in riddles. They rhyme, and…”

Mars casually popped another grenade off his belt. “Yes?”

“The prophecy is clear!” Octavian announced. “A quest!”

“Good answer.” Mars tapped the grenade to his chin. “Now, what else? There was something else.…Oh, yes.”

He turned to Frank. “C’mere, kid.”

Percy could see Frank's unwillingness as he stepped forward as if he was receiving his death sentence. Or someone else's death sentence.

Mars grinned. “Nice job taking the wall, kid. Who’s the ref for this game?” Reyna raised her hand. “You see that play, ref?” Mars demanded. “That was my kid. First over the wall, won the game for his team. Unless you’re blind, that was an MVP play. You’re not blind, are you?”

Reyna looked like she was trying to swallow a rather large rat. “No, Lord Mars."

“Then make sure he gets the Mural Crown,” Mars demanded. “My kid, here!" he yelled at the legion, in case anyone hadn’t heard. Frank looked as if he wanted to melt into the dirt. “Emily Zhang’s son,” Mars continued. “She was a good soldier. Good woman. This kid Frank proved his stuff tonight. Happy late birthday, kid. Time you stepped up to a real man’s weapon.”

He tossed Frank his M16. The gun changed in midair, becoming smaller and thinner. When Frank actually managed to catch it (Percy had half expected him to drop it), the weapon was a spear. It had a shaft of Imperial gold and a strange point like a whitebone, flickering with ghostly light.

“The tip is a dragon’s tooth,” Mars said. “You haven’t learned to use your mom’s talents yet, have you? Well—that spear will give you some breathing room until you do. You get three charges out of it, so use it wisely.”

Frank didn’t look to understand but didn't speak up. "Now, my kid Frank Zhang is gonna lead the quest to free Thanatos, unless there are any objections?”

Of course, no one said a word. But many of the campers glared at Frank with envy, jealousy, anger, bitterness.

Percy glared back at them, Frank deserved this.

“You can take two companions,” Mars said. “Those are the rules. One of them needs to be this kid.” He pointed at Percy with a distaste. “He’s gonna learn some respect for Mars on this trip, or die trying. Also it means I won't accidentally see him! As for the second, I don’t care. Pick whomever you want. Have one of your senate debates. You all are good at those.”

The god’s image flickered. Lightning crackled across the sky.

“That’s my cue,” Mars said. “Until next time, Romans. Do not disappoint me! Aso if I ever show up again and he's around," He pointed at Percy again. "Tell me and I'll come back later. I'm not dealing with him! Never again bye!”

Then, with a flash of fire, he was gone.

The legion was left in stunned silence, staring at Frank like he’d just won the lottery and a death sentence in the same breath.

Reyna turned toward Frank. Her expression was part amazement, part nausea, like she’d finally managed to swallow that rat. She raised her arm in a salute. “Ave, Frank Zhang, son of Mars.”

The whole legion followed her lead, but Percy could tell Frank wasn't listening that much.

Suddenly, another of the kids in the crowd turned to Percy again with a bewildered look. "Wait you scared Reyna too?"

Percy suddenly remembered Reyna's response to Percy and Mars, yeah she had seemed rather afraid.

"How do you actually learn that power?" Octavian asked, for once not looking at Percy in disgust.

The same could not be said about Percy.

He glared at the guy and responded with "Not if you look that ugly."

"Just for that, I don't care that you came yesterday, you're the new Praetor" Reyna muttered under her breath.

Percy was about to respond when Hazel spoke up from her position of patting Frank on the shoulder.

"Are we just going to forget about the important things now? Like, I don't know, how this guy managed to scare Mars!"

Reyna nodded along, "True, how did you manage that?"

Percy was about to respond when a flash of lightning hit the ground causing the people near it to fall backwards from the power.

Out of the light stepped a guy in a three-piece suit, looking like he’d just stepped off the cover of Godly GQ. His eyes sparked like actual lightning, and he had an air of authority that made Percy’s skin crawl.

“I heard there was a problematic demigod. How dare a mortal dare go agains-” the newcomer boomed. His gaze locked on Percy, and for a second, Percy thought he was about to get vaporized. But then the god seemed to realize who he was looking at. “Oh, not you!”

Percy had no idea who this guy was, but he was starting to get a complex about gods being terrified of him.

“Can’t make me pay child support for the Romans!” the god ranted. “Do you know how much it costs us just for you lot?”

Percy blinked, completely lost. “Uh, aren’t you a god? Why would that be difficult?” he asked, not knowing why the guy was rattling on about child support but it actually seemed like a good idea.

The god paled. “Chaos, he’s at it again! You can’t make me responsible for them! I’m out!” And with another flash of lightning, he was gone.

Percy stood there, dumbfounded before he heard Reyna muttering under her breath again.

"So about you being Praetor?" she asked, obviously not trying to be heard by anyone.

“What just happened?” he asked.

Nico, his tone dark, muttered, “That was Jupiter, King of the Gods.”

---------------------

Percy had just finished relaying the story to Jason, and was not expecting what happened next. Jason suddenly lost his balance, collapsing from his kneeling position into Piper, and the two of them toppled onto the hard floor in a tangle of limbs.

“You are a special one, Percy Jackson,” Jason said with a laugh, helping Piper back to her feet before turning to meet Percy’s eyes.

“Thanks! Oh, and I just had this idea,” Percy said as they wandered out of the temple, heading down the steps. “Next time we need to distract some monsters, how about we do a tango to throw them off?”

Jason grinned. “Yes, bro! That’s a great id—”

He was cut off by a wailing sound that came from the forum. Percy whipped around just in time to see something fly through the air and crash into the ground, forming a small crater.

“What the Hades?” Piper yelled as they all took off running toward the source of the commotion.

The Roman demigods in the forum had turned into an angry mob. Plates, food, rocks—everything was being hurled at the Argo II, which was pointless, because most of the stuff just fell back into the crowd.

Percy bolted over to where Hazel and Frank were standing, looking seriously freaked out. He glanced over his shoulder and saw a swarm of Romans surrounding Piper and Jason. He didn’t have time to think—just jumped into the middle of a fountain as some of the mob broke off and started heading for him. At some point, someone had ripped his toga, but he couldn’t care less. He pushed the mob back with a blast of water, trying to keep his emotions in check.

"You know, I have officially decided I don't like me!" Percy yelled as he ducked out of the way of a plate.

"What do you mean Percy?" Hazel yelled.

"Come on Percy, nobody doesn't like you!" Frank yelled as well but it was poorly timed as a plate hit Percy's face as h said it, causing blood to start rolling down the back of his head, he prayed no one noticed.

"Even them?" He said sarcastically

"Well maybe not them." Hazel conceded.

Betrayal stung as he realized how quickly they’d turned on him. Sure, they hadn’t known him long, but still. The water responded to his anger, slamming into the Romans with increasing force. As another explosion rocked the ground, Percy found himself wishing Apollo was still here. The god probably could’ve calmed everyone down, gotten them to talk instead of fight.

But then Percy cursed himself for thinking that way. It wasn’t Apollo’s job to make Percy’s life easier.

He spotted Annabeth running toward him, and for a second, he wondered if this chaos was part of her plan. She hadn’t seemed too thrilled about how much Percy was enjoying New Rome at dinner. But then he saw the fear and confusion on her face and cursed himself again for doubting her.

“Annabeth!” Percy called. “What—?”

“I don’t know!” she yelled back, clearly as lost as he was.

“I’ll tell you what!” shouted a voice from above. Percy looked up to see Octavian climbing down from the Argo II, his face twisted in rage. “The Greeks have fired on us! Your boy Leo has aimed his weapons at Rome!”

“You’re lying,” Annabeth snapped. “Leo would never—”

“I was just there!” Octavian shrieked, sounding more like a crazed parrot than a person. “I saw it with my own eyes!”

As if on cue, the Argo II returned fire. Legionnaires scattered as one of their catapults was blasted to splinters.

“You see?” Octavian screamed, his voice hitting a pitch that could shatter glass. “Romans, kill the invaders!”

Percy heard Annabeth growl in frustration. “We have to leave,” she said, her voice tight. “Now.”

He nodded grimly. “Hazel, Frank, you’ve got to decide. Are you coming?”

Hazel looked terrified, and Percy felt guilty for putting her in this position. But then she squared her shoulders, pulled on her cavalry helmet, and said, “Of course we are. But you’ll never make it to the ship unless we buy you some time.”

“How?” Annabeth asked, clearly skeptical.

Hazel whistled sharply, and out of nowhere, a blur of beige shot across the forum. Arion appeared, looking every bit as wild and unstoppable as the last time Percy had seen him.

The horse started swearing like a sailor, and Percy had to smack his muzzle in warning.

Hazel unsheathed her golden sword. “Send me an Iris-message when you’re safely away, and we’ll meet up,” she said. “Arion, ride!”

The horse took off, zipping through the crowd with impossible speed, scattering Romans like leaves in a storm.

Suddenly, Percy heard Jason shouting.

“Romans!” he cried, his voice cracking. “Please!”

He and Piper were getting pelted with plates and stones. Jason tried to shield Piper, but a brick caught him above the eye, and he crumpled to the ground as the crowd surged forward.

“Get back!” Piper screamed, but it was no use.

Percy’s mind reeled. They had just been laughing in Jupiter’s temple minutes ago—how had everything gone so wrong so quickly?

“Frank,” Percy said, his voice tight with urgency, “it’s up to you. Can you help them?”

“Oh, gods,” Frank murmured, his face pale. “Okay, sure. Just get up the ropes. Now.”

Percy and Annabeth scrambled for the ladder hanging from the Argo II. Octavian was clinging to the bottom like a tick, but Percy didn’t have time for his nonsense. He grabbed Octavian by the collar and threw him off, straight into the angry mob, before starting his climb.

Halfway up, Percy heard an explosion, but he ignored it until Annabeth’s voice broke through his focus.

“Is that…?”

“Frank,” Percy answered, glancing down to see Frank in his massive dragon form. “He’s got a few special talents.”

“Understatement,” Annabeth muttered. “Keep climbing!”

The Argo II looked like it had just survived a pirate attack. The rigging was on fire, and there were gaping holes in the deck. Near the edge, Leo was calmly reloading the ballista like nothing was wrong.

“Leo!” Annabeth screamed, her voice laced with panic. “What are you doing?”

“Destroy them…” Leo turned to face her, his eyes glazed over. His movements were stiff and mechanical, like he was possessed or something.

“Destroy them all.”

Leo turned back to the ballista, but before he could fire, Percy tackled him to the ground. Leo’s head hit the deck hard, his eyes rolling back so only the whites showed.

It took a second for Percy to realize what he’d just done. His hands started shaking as he backed away from Leo, his breathing suddenly erratic. It felt like someone had stuffed his throat with sandpaper, and each breath rattled painfully in his chest. He scooted away from Leo until his back hit the railing of the ship. Part of him wanted to jump off—anything to escape this mess—but his legs wouldn’t work. His hands trembled uncontrollably, and he felt a few tears slipping down his cheeks.

Then everything went black.

Notes:

6229 words!!!!!!!!

Please comment what your favourite line is!!!!! Any future ideas for the story please comment!!!!!

Oh my goodness the word count is going up and up!!!!! As always comment about your thoughts or feelings regarding this chapter!!!!!

Next chapter will be posted soon, whether I choose to do 3 days in a row and post tomorrow (though its technically today) or not you won't have to wait long!!!!!

Thank you very much to ThorTheThot and Artemis_Silver_Bow for giving me some amazing ideas for thi s chapter and I hope what I wrote satisfied you!!!!!!

Notes for this chapter:

Percy-I get distracted
Jason jealous boy-Not good! You can't be Praetor like that!
Percy-I hate myself.

Piper-Jason's better than you
Percy-I know, I'm terrible

Percy-take Dionysus
Jason-Take Octavian first
Percy-NO!

Jason-It's a super big deal with gods here at New Rome
Percy having attracted 4 gods here within weeks-Ooops

Percy and Jason multiple Pinterest ideas <3

ThorTheThot's idea-
*mars shows up*
Mars: yea that’s MY SO-
*Percy having no memory but knowing that is a lil bitch who he has to attack*
Mars sees Percy and begging to try get away yelling: ahhhh- noooo oh chaos no what the fuck is HE doing here he’ll, no I never want to be near that feral lil child I’m gonna go fuck this whole claiming thing I never want to be within a mile of him no way do not have that much of a death wish if I ever show up again and he’s around tell me and I’ll be back later because nope good bye
Literally everyone: what the fuck, why is lord mars a literal god seem to be scared of you
Percy: I-
Reyna getting flashbacks to Circe’s island: don’t answer that Percy

Artemis_Silver_Bow's idea-
Rest of CJ: wait, you managed to scare REYNA too?!?!?
Octavian: is there a way to learn that power?
Percy: not if you ugly
Reyna: just for that, I don't care you literally came yesterday, you're the new praetor
Hazel, patting Frank in the back whose trying to understand how Mars is his father: are we forgetting the important things now? like, idk, this guy scaring the mighty god of war??
Frank: yeah, how do you even manage to do that?
Percy: well-
Jupiter, appearing after lighting hits the ground: I've heard there was a problematic demigod here. How dare you mortal go against- ohhhhh, not YOU! you can't make us child support again! you know how much it costs us to do so?!?!
Percy, having no clue what's happening: uhhh, aren't you like, gods? why would that be diffcult?
Jupiter: crap, he's at it again! you can't make me be responsible!! *dissappears*
Reyna: ...sooo, about you being praetor-

Percy-I don't like me.
Hazel+Frank-Everyone likes you
Angry mob-RAH!!!
Percy-them?
Hazel+Frank- Maybe not them...

Percy-happily throwing Octavian down
Also Percy-Panic attack cause he hurt a possessed Leo who was trying to kill everyone.

Hope your enjoying the story!!!!!!!

Chapter 9: The aftermath of chaos is more chaos

Notes:

Hi guys!!!!!!!

As I'm trying to write this I keep getting error 500 or 503 which means I can't cross reference with other chapters currently. Therefore if there is any major difference please point it out and I will get round to changing it!!!!!! Update: I have had to stop writing for tonight as I am too nervous with ao3 being down that I will lose it all. I write directly onto the site and don’t keep backup (ik stupid right) so if my page goes then im dead, all 2287 words written so far will disappear!!!!

This chapter is up on Monday (future me: no it’s not bc ao3 went down) as promised!!!!!! This is the last week before school starts so I will try to upload at least once more before I'm bombarded 7 days a week again!!!! Hopefully I will be able to stick with Monday update schedules however I will let you know if I have to change it to another day!!!!!

Hope your enjoying the story and thanks again to everyone who have commented, it means a lot to me!!!!!!

Percy lay in his bed, feeling more and more self-conscious with each passing second. Six demigods stood around him, their eyes boring into him with an intensity that made him squirm. It was like being under a magnifying glass, except this was way more uncomfortable. Twelve eyes, each one fixed on him, like he was the subject of some intense scientific study.

One pair of eyes was blue—so blue it was almost unreal. It reminded Percy of Montauk on a perfect summer day, where the ocean was calm and clear. But this blue wasn’t just calm; it had a storm brewing underneath, like a sky about to crack open with thunder. Those eyes had a sharpness to them, like they could slice through any illusion or lie. And yet, there was something ancient and heavy behind that gaze, as if the person had seen more battles and made more tough calls than anyone should. Looking into them felt like standing at the edge of a storm—powerful and impossible to ignore.

Next, there were two pairs of brown eyes. Brown might sound boring, but these eyes were anything but.

The first pair was like molten bronze, warm and lively. They had this mischievous sparkle, like the flicker of a campfire with trouble just simmering beneath the surface. They reminded Percy of his cabin, cozy and inviting. But there was also a deeper vibe, a hint of vulnerability. Those eyes seemed to be always on the lookout for the next big idea or creative spark. Percy had to admit, he kind of liked this guy. There was a restless energy to those eyes that made you feel like they were always about to burst with something new and exciting.

The second pair of brown eyes was a stark contrast—deep and steady. They were like the calm of a forest at twilight, grounded and unshakable. These eyes didn’t flicker or dance; they were a rock-solid source of stability. There was a gentleness in them, a warmth that promised protection and kindness. But underneath that calm exterior, there was a core of determination, like a mountain that wouldn’t move no matter how hard the storm raged. It was clear these eyes belonged to someone who could handle anything life threw at them with quiet strength.

As Percy turned his head slightly, he got a better look at the two pairs of eyes. He gulped.

One of the pairs didn’t stick to just one color; they shifted and swirled like one of those old toys where you’d look through and see the colors move. Percy remembered one his mom had bought him when he saved up enough. It wasn’t fancy, but he’d loved it, especially when Gabe hadn't found it for a couple of days. These eyes were like that toy—constantly changing, a rainbow of colors that danced with each emotion. They were soft and warm, like a gentle breeze, but also had a sharpness that could catch you off guard. They could soothe you, or if necessary, cut through a lie with a single glance. They were eyes that made you feel like you were the only person in the world when they were focused on you, and that kind of warmth was both comforting and challenging.

The other pair made Percy clutch his pajamas tighter under the covers. They were gold, and that made his heart race. Golden eyes always made him think of Luke, whose eyes had been possessed by Kronos. But these eyes were different—softer and less menacing. They were a rich, deep gold, like sunlight catching on buried treasure. There was a warmth to them that felt precious, almost timeless, like an old soul’s wisdom mixed with a gentle kindness. They seemed to hold secrets and stories from both the best and worst of the world. These eyes were beautiful but had a depth that suggested there was more lurking just below the surface.

The final pair, right in the middle, had Percy feeling cold all over. They were grey—stormy, unyielding grey. They were like the storm clouds right before lightning strikes, and they held a sharpness that made Percy’s heart race. These eyes seemed to dissect his thoughts, laying bare everything he tried to hide. There was an intensity to them that felt like a challenge, a demand to be better, to keep up with a mind that was always several steps ahead. It was clear these eyes had faced down gods and monsters and wouldn’t hesitate to do it again. They were fierce and almost frightening, making Percy feel exposed, like he was caught in a riptide with nowhere to escape.

Percy shuddered and tried to turn away, the unrelenting stares getting under his skin. He felt like he was being judged, and the weight of those twelve eyes was starting to get on his nerves.

“Hey guys! W-what are you doing?” Percy asked, his voice trembling as he struggled to free himself from the tangled mess of blankets that had ensnared his legs. His cheeks burned with the heat of embarrassment. The very idea of fainting in front of everyone, of collapsing like a weakling, made his stomach churn. Why couldn't he just be stronger, like he was supposed to be?

“You fainted,” Annabeth said, her tone sharper than a dagger’s edge. Her arms were crossed, and her eyes were piercing, holding an intensity that made Percy feel even smaller.

“I-I did?” Percy stammered, trying to piece together the foggy memories. The humiliation was overwhelming. The thought of fainting like some fragile, pathetic person made his face burn with shame. Why did he have to be so weak?

“You did,” Leo said, his eyes flashing with frustration. The disappointment in Leo’s gaze felt like a physical blow. He was a hero who couldn't even handle his own fears and stress. What was the point of being part of this quest if he was just a burden?

“How are you even on this quest?” Piper demanded, disbelief clear in her voice. “You can’t keep up with the rest of us. You weren’t injured, you hadn’t been attacked, and yet here you are, passed out.”

Their words cut deeper than any blade. He couldn’t keep up. He wasn’t strong enough. Maybe he was only here by mistake, a place where he didn’t belong. The realization that he was dragging everyone down made him feel even more worthless.

“She’s right,” Jason chimed in, holding Piper’s hand tightly for support. “And to think you were supposed to be my replacement. I don’t know what Juno was thinking when she picked you.”

Jason’s words were like a final verdict. To be considered a replacement and fail so spectacularly was a cruel twist of fate. He felt like a joke—a bad one. How could he have been chosen for anything significant if he couldn’t even handle something as simple as staying conscious?

“And you're vicious,” Hazel added, her voice trembling with hurt. “You tackled Leo. You caused him to get a head injury. You hurt him.”

The weight of Hazel’s words crushed him further. He hadn't meant to hurt Leo. He had only tried to prevent an attack, but somehow, he had managed to hurt a friend. He felt like a monster, causing harm when all he wanted was to help.

“Why?” Frank’s voice was a mix of confusion and accusation. “Why would you deliberately hurt him? I thought only monsters would do something like that to their friends.”

Monster. The word echoed in his mind, making his heart sink. His mind raced with painful memories. Gabe’s cruel voice filled his thoughts, blaming him for everything, telling him he was worthless. Gabe had always said he was a rotten child, punching him over and over while yelling that he deserved it. That he was trying to beat the rottenness out of him. Maybe if he hadn't fought back, if he had let him hurt him as much as he wanted then it would have worked. Maybe Gabe was right. Maybe deep down, there was something fundamentally wrong with him.

Maybe he was just that—an actual monster.

"It's because he is a monster," Annabeth said coldly, turning her back and walking out the door. Her departure was like a slap in the face, leaving Percy feeling more isolated and worthless than ever.

Tears stung at his eyes. He hadn’t meant to hurt Leo. He had only tried to stop him from attacking the Romans. If only he had been more careful, if only he hadn’t tackled him so roughly. Maybe he had failed them all. Maybe he was truly monstrous.

The slam of the door jolted him from his spiral of self-loathing. He realized everyone had left, their disappointment palpable. Desperate to apologize, to beg for forgiveness, he tried to leap out of bed. But as he struggled to free himself from the tangled sheets, he tripped and fell, his arm slamming into the bedside table.

“Ouch!” he muttered under his breath, wincing as a sharp pain shot through his arm. He glanced down, expecting a bruise or scrape, but instead, he saw a deep gash running from his wrist halfway down his forearm. No blood trickled from the wound as would be expected, but what really shocked him was the intricate web of spidery lines spreading from the cut.

As he watched in horror, the skin on his arm began to disintegrate, turning to dust as if it were made of sand. Panic surged through him. What was happening? What kind of punishment was this for his failures? The sight of his arm crumbling away was the ultimate confirmation of his fears—he was losing control, losing himself. His thoughts spiraled deeper into self-loathing, convinced that this was his true nature being revealed: a monster, unworthy of the quest, unworthy of redemption.

He was a monster.

--------------------

 

Percy’s eyes snapped open, and he felt a scream clawing its way up from his chest, desperate to escape. He clamped his mouth shut, refusing to let it out, even though the terror from the dream still gripped him like icy tendrils.

It was just a dream.

He shook, trying to steady himself as the realization sank in. His friends hadn’t abandoned him. They hadn’t yelled at him or called him a monster. And he hadn’t disintegrated into dust.

"Percy?"

A tanned hand appeared in his line of sight, and he flinched back instinctively, still on edge. The hand paused, hovering for a moment before it slowly moved closer. It reached his face, cupping his chin gently. Another hand joined in, brushing his nose with soothing strokes, moving up and down in a steady, calming rhythm.

"Pollo?" Percy mumbled, his voice shaky as he leaned into the comforting touch. The god of healing and music hummed softly in response, his presence instantly easing the tension in Percy’s chest.

He wasn’t sure why Apollo was there, but he was grateful. The god’s touch was grounding, helping to steady Percy’s heartbeat, which was slowly returning to a normal, even rhythm. His mind, still buzzing with remnants of the nightmare, began to calm, replaced by a warm, fuzzy feeling that spread through his entire body.

"Wha' you doing 'ere?" Percy yawned, his words slurring slightly as Apollo gently adjusted him so that his head was resting against the god’s shoulder. Apollo was sitting on the bed with him, one arm wrapped around Percy while the other continued to stroke his hair.

"I was called, seashell," Apollo answered, his voice soft and warm, wrapping around Percy like a blanket.

Safe. That’s what Apollo’s voice felt like. No matter the situation, Percy knew he could listen to that voice and feel safe. Even in the midst of a battle, he was sure that Apollo’s voice could calm him. It was such a sharp contrast to the harsh voices in his dream, the ones that had berated him, called him a mon—

His breath hitched slightly as the memory of those accusations resurfaced.

Apollo tightened his hold, tilting Percy’s chin up so they could make eye contact. Percy stared into the god’s warm golden eyes—eyes that were somehow different from Hazel’s, yet equally comforting—and felt his breath start to even out again. It was as if just looking into those eyes could make everything better, could heal all the scars Percy carried, both the visible ones and the ones buried deep in his mind. Scars that he desperately wanted to forget, to leave behind in the past where they belonged.

"Bad dream, Perc?" Apollo asked, his voice a gentle murmur.

Percy nodded, grateful when Apollo didn’t press for details. Instead, the god simply nodded back, then resumed humming a soft lullaby, the same soothing tune he’d used before.

"You said you were called?" Percy asked, his body relaxing even further, sinking deeper into the comfort Apollo provided. "Who called you?"

"You did, silly," Apollo replied, smiling down at Percy with those rosy lips that seemed to radiate warmth and kindness.

Percy felt his face heat up as he noticed the freckles scattered across Apollo’s nose and cheeks. They looked like someone had sprinkled stars across his face, and Percy couldn’t help but think they were... cute. He forced himself to focus, trying to push away the distraction. It was a bad habit he had, getting lost in his thoughts at the worst times, and he knew it. The others were never as easily distracted as he was.

"Seashell?" Apollo’s voice broke through his thoughts.

"Hmm?" Percy responded, blinking to refocus.

"You were off in your own world there, Perc. You good?" Apollo asked, pressing his fingers lightly against Percy’s chin, trying to draw him out of his thoughts.

Percy’s gaze dropped, embarrassment flooding him.

"Yeah," he said, trying to get his brain back on track. What had they been talking about? "What do you mean you heard me? I don’t remember calling you."

The last thing he remembered was the Romans turning on them—throwing things, shouting, attacking. Then he was climbing a ladder, seeing Leo, tackling him, and then… nothing.

"I passed out. I—I passed out, but I didn’t call you."

Apollo gave him a look that reminded Percy of his mom when he’d get expelled from another school—a mix of pity and exasperation. “You did, Perc. You wished for me to help. It was kind of like a prayer. And, well, I got it.”

“Seriously?” he muttered. “I don’t remember doing that.”

Apollo shrugged, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “I guess your wish was treated like a prayer. It reached me, at least. Sorry I didn’t get here sooner. Sneaking away from Rome’s not exactly easy, even for me.”

Percy shrugged. It wasn’t like Apollo was on call 24/7.

“And when I finally did get here,” Apollo continued, “I found you passed out by the banister, a bleeding Jupiter kid, and your girlfriend arguing with someone—didn’t even notice you were out cold.” He spat out the word ‘girlfriend’ like it was something gross.

Percy blinked. “My girlfriend—oh, Annabeth?”

How had he forgotten, even for a second, that he and Annabeth were dating?

“Yeah,” Apollo said, his voice going cold. But he quickly softened again, handing Percy a glass of water that appeared out of nowhere. “Anyway, you’re awake now, and it hasn’t been that long. What do you want to do?”

Percy took a sip of the water, trying to make his brain catch up. “I don’t mind,” he said, nibbling on the ambrosia Apollo offered next. His thoughts were still swirling like a tornado in Kansas. Why had Apollo shown up just because he wished for him? Most gods ignored desperate demigods unless there was a life-or-death situation. Percy wasn’t even dying this time—just panicking a little. So what if he passed out?

Apollo must have noticed Percy was spiraling again because he interrupted his thoughts. “How about we head to the mess room? I heard the Hephaestus kid did a good job making it comfy, and I’m sure this room is starting to feel like a prison cell.”

Percy nodded, swinging his legs off the bed and trying to stand up. As soon as he did, the room tilted, and he lurched forward. Apollo caught him before he face-planted on the floor.

“Whoa there, you good?” Apollo asked, still holding on to Percy.

“Yeah, yeah,” Percy muttered, embarrassed. He batted Apollo’s hands away and tried to stand on his own, but Apollo didn’t seem too convinced.

“Look at that—Percy Jackson, back from the dead and ready to yell at me about paying my taxes,” Apollo said with a grin as he followed Percy out the door. “You know, you’re probably dizzy because you haven’t eaten enough.”

“I’ve eaten,” Percy argued, though he knew that probably wasn’t true.

“Sure,” Apollo said with a roll of his eyes. “And I’m the god of being sensible. One bite of pizza doesn’t count as a meal.”

“Hey, I had three pieces of ambrosia!”

“Yeah, and that should’ve healed you up, but your head’s still not better.”

“My head?”

“You hit it.”

“When?”

“When you fainted,” a soft voice cut in.

Percy jumped. Hazel and Frank were sitting by a table, both of them looking like they’d just seen a ghost.

“Frank?” Percy called, a little worried Frank might actually be frozen.

Frank blinked and looked at Hazel, who patted him on the back. He finally seemed to snap out of it, but he didn’t say anything. Just kind of stared.

Apollo gave Percy a nudge toward the table. When Percy glared at him, Apollo just said, “You were swaying.”

Percy sat down reluctantly, feeling like he was being treated like a toddler, but he couldn’t deny the chair felt good under his sore muscles. Apollo pointed at Hazel and Frank. “If he tries to get up, tell me.” He tapped Percy's head. "I’m just going to check on the Jupiter kid. I’ll be back in a minute. Stay seated."

As soon as Apollo left, Percy was tempted to jump up just to spite him, but he stayed put. Something about Apollo’s overprotectiveness was… nice? Percy wasn’t used to people worrying about him like this, and it was weirdly comforting, even if it was annoying too.

He glanced around the room. Leo had really outdone himself. The walls were covered in live images of Camp Half-Blood—places Percy knew like the back of his hand. The beach where he used to relax, the lake where he got claimed, the forest where they played Capture the Flag. And best of all, the view of the sunset next to Thalia’s tree. His heart squeezed as he watched the Golden Fleece glitter in the sun.

Home.

Percy didn’t even notice when the others came back until Apollo plopped down in the chair next to him, blocking Annabeth from sitting there.

“So, we’ve landed,” Leo said.

Wait, what? When had that happened?

“What now?” Frank asked, fiddling with his bowstring. “We need to figure out that prophecy, right? The one Ella spoke? From the Sibylline Books?”

Leo looked confused. “The what?”

Percy looked at Leo and was relieved to see he wasn’t hurt from being tackled. Leo was listening to Frank explain how Ella had memorized the special books. "That’s why you didn’t tell the Romans," Leo guessed. "You didn’t want them to get hold of her."

Percy turned back to the image of Half-Blood Hill. He explained, "Ella’s sensitive. She was a captive when we found her. I just didn’t want…" He clenched his fist, anger flaring, but Apollo tapped his foot lightly, grounding him. Percy took a breath and relaxed his hand. "It doesn’t matter now. I sent Tyson an Iris-message, told him to take Ella to Camp Half-Blood. They’ll be safe there."

But deep down, Percy doubted any of them would be safe. Not with an angry Roman camp on their tails and Gaea and the giants still out there. He had to hope, though.

Annabeth folded her hands on the table, her face all business. “Let me think about the prophecy, but we have more immediate problems. We have to get this ship fixed. Leo, what do we need?”

Leo seemed relieved by the change of topic. “"The easiest thing is tar," Leo said, looking relieved at the change of topic. Percy guessed he still felt bad about attacking the Romans. Percy should’ve been mad at him, but he couldn’t muster the energy. Leo clearly hadn’t been in control. "We can get that in the city, at a roofing supply store or someplace like that. Also, Celestial bronze and lime. According to Festus, we can find both on an island in the lake, just west of here."

“We’ll have to hurry,” Hazel warned. “If I know Octavian, he’s searching for us. The Romans will send a strike force after us. It’s a matter of honor.”

Most eyes turned to Leo. “Guys…I don’t know what happened. Honestly, I—”

Annabeth raised her hand. "We’ve been talking. We agree it couldn’t have been you, Leo. That cold feeling you mentioned…I felt it too. It must have been some sort of magic, either Octavian or Gaea or one of her minions. But until we understand what happened—"

"A cold feeling?" Apollo cut in, staring at Annabeth before shifting his gaze to Leo.

"Y-yeah, I felt a fuzzy feeling before I lost control," Leo muttered.

"Lost control?" Frank asked.

"I remember, but it’s like I was watching myself do things. I couldn’t control it," Leo responded, looking up from where he had been staring at his lap.

"Do you know of anything that could cause that?" Percy asked Apollo, hoping the god might have some answers.

"There are a few things that could. Ancient spirits, certain nymphs, or curses. I’d need more information to narrow it down," Apollo replied, his mind clearly working through the possibilities.

Frank grunted. "How can we be sure it won’t happen again?"

"I’m fine now," Leo insisted, though he didn’t look too sure of it. "Maybe we should use the buddy system. Nobody goes anywhere alone. We can leave Piper and Coach Hedge on board with Jason. Send one team into town to get tar. Another team can go after the bronze and the lime."

"Split up?" Percy asked. "That sounds like a really bad idea."

He wasn’t eager to split up again. The last time they had, things had gone horribly wrong.

Hazel nodded. “But it’ll be quicker. Besides, there’s a reason quests usually have three demigods, right?”

Annabeth gave Hazel an appraising look. “You’re right. The ship will protect us, but we can’t attract too much attention by going in big groups.”

Percy wasn’t thrilled, but he sighed. “Fine.”

Annabeth smiled at him. “I’ll partner with you.”

For some reason, that didn’t make Percy feel any better. There was this weird, unsettled feeling when it came to being alone with Annabeth right now, and he didn’t know why.

Apollo didn’t seem thrilled either. “Percy shouldn’t be going off on his own. He’s still recovering from that head injury.”

“Oh, yeah, how did you even get that?” Hazel asked, turning to Percy with a curious look.

Percy stammered, “I—uh…”

“He was attacked last night,” Apollo cut in. “And tackling Theo probably didn’t help.”

“It’s Leo.”

“That’s what I said,” Apollo replied, rolling his eyes. “It was bound to happen sometime soon.”

“So tackling Leo caused him to re-injure something, which made him faint?” Frank asked, still trying to wrap his head around it.

Percy turned to Leo, feeling guilty. “Look, man, I’m really sorry for tackling you. I wasn’t thinking straight. You were possessed, and I just—”

“It’s fine, sea guy,” Leo said, waving him off. “I would’ve done the same thing. Thanks for snapping me out of it.”

Annabeth cleared her throat. “So, who’s coming with us to get the tar?”

“I’m coming,” Apollo insisted. Percy noticed Annabeth was glaring at Apollo again.

“Okay, but how do we get there?” Percy asked, rubbing his temple.

Hazel smiled. “Oh, that’s easy. Frank, you were amazing, turning into a dragon! Could you do it again to fly Annabeth and Percy into town for the tar?”

Frank opened his mouth like he wanted to protest. “I…I suppose. But what about you?”

“I’ll ride Arion with Sa—with Leo, here.” She fidgeted with her sword hilt, something Percy noticed she did when nervous. “We’ll get the bronze and the lime. We can all meet back here by dark.”

Frank scowled. He didn’t seem to like the idea of Leo going off with Hazel.

“Leo,” said Annabeth, “if we get the supplies, how long to fix the ship?”

“With luck, just a few hours.”

“Fine,” she decided. “We’ll meet you back here as soon as possible, but stay safe. We could use some good luck. That doesn’t mean we’ll get it.”

Percy shifted uncomfortably as Annabeth and Apollo continued to exchange tense glances. The last thing he wanted was more conflict between his friends, especially when his mind still felt like it was full of static. He hadn't meant to cause any trouble by passing out, and he definitely didn't want to be the cause of a fight now.

"Alright," Percy said, raising his hands in a gesture of peace. "Let's not argue about it. We can all stick together if that's what it takes to get the job done and keep everyone safe."

Apollo didn't look convinced, but he nodded anyway. "Fine, but I'm keeping an eye on you, seashell. One wrong move, and I’m carrying you back here myself."

Percy winced at the threat, but he couldn’t help but feel a little comforted by Apollo's concern, even if it was wrapped in a layer of sarcasm.

Annabeth glanced between Percy and Apollo, her gaze softening slightly. "Okay, let's just focus on getting what we need and coming back in one piece. We can argue later."

Hazel gave a small, reassuring smile. "We’ve got this, Percy. Just take it easy, okay? We’ll be back here before you know it."

Frank, still looking uneasy, stepped forward. “I’ll change into a dragon now, then. You two can hop on.”

Percy swallowed nervously. Flying on a dragon wasn’t exactly his idea of fun—he preferred the sea, where he had control. But he wasn’t about to complain. Not when they had more important things to worry about.

They walked up the stairs to the deck so there'd be room for a fully grown dragon.

As Frank began to shift into his dragon form, Percy looked over at Leo. The fire user had his hands shoved in his pockets, staring at the ground. Percy caught his eye and nodded. “We’ll be back soon, alright? Just… stay safe.”

Leo gave a small grin, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You too, man. Don’t let the dragon drop you.”

Percy chuckled half-heartedly as he watched Frank complete his transformation. The dragon was huge, with scales that shimmered in the dim light of the room. His wings stretched out, nearly brushing the sides of the ship.

“Okay, that’s still weird,” he muttered, watching Frank finish his transformation.

Apollo just shrugged. “Demigods. Always surprising.”

Percy took a deep breath, steeling himself.

Annabeth was the first to approach the dragon. She patted Frank’s snout gently before climbing up onto his back, and Percy followed her, trying not to think too much about how high they’d be flying in a few moments.

Before he could second-guess himself, he swung his leg over and settled in behind Annabeth. Frank’s scales were surprisingly warm, and the dragon rumbled beneath them as he prepared to take off.

Leo gave them a mock salute. “Don’t do anything reckless, you four. We’ll meet you back here later.”

"I'll meet you down there." Apollo said, smiling slightly before disappearing, leaving behind the feeling of power.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine,” Annabeth called back. She glanced over her shoulder at Percy. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Percy muttered, gripping tightly to one of Frank’s spikes.

With a powerful flap of his wings, Frank launched into the air, and they soared out of the room, leaving Leo, and Hazel behind.

The cool air hit Percy’s face as they flew higher, the city sprawled out below them. It was almost peaceful up here, away from the chaos of the last few hours. Percy could see the lake shimmering in the distance, their destination.

“Hey,” Annabeth said, her voice soft as they flew. “You okay?”

Percy hesitated before answering. “Yeah. Just… a lot on my mind. You never know when Zeus will attack me for being up here, you know!”

She nodded, understanding without needing to ask for more details. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Percy felt his tension rise at her words, they seemed less like a promise but more like a command. Like they had to be together or he would get it.

As they approached the city, the buildings grew larger, and Percy could see people moving about like ants far below. Frank circled lower, heading toward what looked like a supply store on the edge of town.

“Almost there,” Annabeth said, leaning forward as they began their descent.

Percy braced himself as Frank prepared to land, hoping that whatever came next, they’d be able to handle it.

--------------------

The city lights flickered as Frank touched down on a rooftop, transforming back into his human form. He surveyed the streets below, where cars and pedestrians moved in oblivious rhythm. The sprawling metropolis was a maze of buildings and bustling activity, an urban jungle that was both familiar and alien.

“Alright, I’m on lookout,” Frank said, his voice steady as he glanced around. “Keep an eye out for trouble. I’ll alert you if I spot anything unusual.”

Percy nodded, feeling a pang of guilt. Frank was an invaluable ally, but the plan had necessitated him being on guard. The city was their next challenge, and Percy had no idea what was coming.

Apollo appeared beside them, looking every bit the concerned guardian. “Percy, are you sure you’re ready for this? Cities can be a mess, and you’ve just had a head injury.”

Percy tried to ignore the worry in Apollo’s eyes. “I’ll manage. It’s just retrieving some tar. How bad can it be?”

Annabeth, who had been scanning a map of the city that she had somehow gotten, looked up with a furrowed brow. “We need to find a roofing supply store and get the tar. This city is huge, and we don’t even have a specific location.”

Apollo’s gaze shifted from Percy to Annabeth, clearly unimpressed. “I don’t like the idea of you two wandering around here without a solid plan. And Percy’s still recovering.”

Annabeth’s eyes flashed, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she began pointing out potential routes on the map, trying to piece together a plan as best as she could.

“Alright, here’s the plan,” Annabeth said, her voice filled with determination. “We’ll head to the nearest supply store, and if we run into trouble, we’ll deal with it as it comes.”

Percy couldn’t help but feel uneasy. The city’s chaos was overwhelming, and his nerves were already on edge. He had no idea what they might encounter, but the feeling of unease was exacerbated by the tension between Annabeth and Apollo.

As they descended into the city streets, the bustling noise of traffic and pedestrians enveloped them. Buildings towered overhead, creating a maze of concrete and glass. The cacophony of horns and voices was a stark contrast to the relative calm of their previous battles.

They soon arrived at a roofing supply store, but as they entered, the unexpected happened. Out of nowhere, black, sticky tar monsters emerged from the shadows of the store’s darkened back room, their bodies writhing and oozing with malevolent intent.

“Tar monsters? Really?” Percy muttered, his eyes widening in shock. He had been expecting obstacles, but not this.

Annabeth’s face tightened. “I didn’t anticipate this. We need to come up with a plan, fast.”

Apollo looked alarmed, his eyes darting around. “This is not good. I don’t want you two getting overwhelmed but I can't- I can't help too much, Jupiter will see and-”

"It's fine, we're used to this." Percy said.

He gritted his teeth, trying to suppress the surge of self-doubt. His previous embarrassment about passing out was still fresh in his mind, making the sudden appearance of the tar monsters even more unnerving.

Annabeth drew her sword, her movements swift and precise. “We need to find a way to contain these things. Percy, try to control the water around us.”

Percy nodded, summoning water from the nearby fire hydrant and surrounding the tar monsters with a swirling vortex. The water collided with the tar, creating a thick, steamy mist. He could feel the weight of the tar clinging to his clothes and skin, dragging him down.

The tar monsters hissed and gurgled as the water mixed with them, but they kept coming. Percy could see mortals looking around, confused and alarmed. He had to be careful not to draw too much attention.

“Focus, Percy!” Annabeth shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. “We need to contain them before they get any closer to the street.”

Apollo hovered nearby, his concern palpable. “Percy, stay close. I’ll make sure no one gets in your way.”

Percy tried to focus on the task at hand, though the presence of the tar monsters and the pressing danger made it difficult. He swung his sword through the gooey masses, his strikes leaving behind a trail of black sludge.

As the battle raged on, the city around them continued to buzz with activity. Pedestrians screamed and scattered, cars honked, and the streetlights flickered erratically. It was like a scene out of a disaster movie, and Percy was right in the middle of it.

“Annabeth!” Percy shouted over the noise. “We need to figure out how to finish this quickly. The longer we stay here, the worse it gets!”

Annabeth nodded, her eyes scanning the surroundings. “We need to find a way to drive them back. Maybe we can use the city’s infrastructure against them.”

Apollo’s eyes narrowed as he kept watch, Percy guessed he was controlling the mist. He hoped he made it so that Percy didn't end up wanted in another state. “I don’t like this. The longer you’re out here, the more dangerous it becomes.”

He seemed torn between helping and getting found out by his father. Percy knew though that he'd be more help not being banned from leaving Olympus. They could handle this.

Annabeth, her face set with determination, shouted, “Percy, aim for the water sources around the city. We can use them to our advantage!”

Percy summoned every ounce of his power, channeling the water from various sources—the fire hydrants, the small fountains, and even the city’s sewage system. The combined force of the water surged toward the tar monsters, pushing them back with renewed vigor.

The battle felt endless, but finally, the last of the tar monsters were driven off, retreating into the shadows from whence they came. Percy was covered in a thick layer of tar, his clothes and skin sticky and uncomfortable. The city around them was in disarray, with people still looking around in shock.

As they made their way back to the ship, Percy couldn’t shake the feeling of defeat. The fight had been tougher than he had expected, and the sense of disconnection with Annabeth lingered. He felt as if he had barely managed to hold things together, and now the weight of their chaotic victory was settling heavily on his shoulders.

Annabeth was silent as they flew, her face set in grim lines. She looked around the damaged city with a critical eye, clearly thinking about their next steps.

When they finally reached the ship, Percy was exhausted and covered in tar. He felt both relieved and drained, the weight of their ordeal pressing heavily on him. The battle in the city had been a harsh reminder of the chaos and unpredictability they faced. As he looked at Annabeth,Percy could tell their relationship was strained. He didn't know exactly why, yet he knew he needed to have a conversation with her.

Apollo appeared next to him and handed him a bucket of tar.

Oh yeah, the one thing they went for.

He smiled at him but Percy felt exhausted as they made their way down the corridor looking for their friends. They didn't have to look for long as they literally ran into them.

“Roofing tar?” Piper guessed as she smiled at them. Percy was sure they smelt terrible so he didn't mind when he saw her scrunch up her nose.

He heard Frank stumble up behind them, which would surely make made the hallway pretty jam-packed with demigods.

“Ran into some tar monsters,” Annabeth said. “Hey, Jason, glad you’re awake. Hazel, where’s Leo?”

Piper pointed down. “Engine room.”

Percy was just nodding when the entire ship suddenly listed to port. All the demigods stumbled. Percy almost spilled his bucket of tar. Yet he managed to keep it in the bucket, his only thought being 'I don't want that smell on the nice ship floor'. He had less though about keeping himself up but Apollo had him covered from that point.

“Uh, what was that?” he demanded.

“Oh…” Hazel looked embarrassed. “We may have angered the nymphs who live in this lake. Like…all of them.”

"Great.” Percy handed the bucket of tar to Frank and Annabeth. “You guys help Leo down at the engine. I’ll hold off the water spirits as long as I can. Apollo? Stay here, Ze-Jupiter might be watching after the city deal”

“On it!” Frank promised.

Apollo reluctantly nodded his head.

Percy ran up to the deck.

Percy stood alone on the deck of the Argo II, the chill of the lake air biting through his jacket. The misty haze of the lake had taken on a sinister quality as the nymphs emerged from the water, their faces contorted into snarls of anger. Percy could feel the raw, unbridled fury emanating from them, a palpable force that seemed to electrify the air.

"Great," Percy muttered to himself, his voice tinged with sarcasm. "Just what I needed. Nymphs gone wild."

The nymphs advanced, their forms undulating with an unnatural fluidity. Their once-beautiful faces were now twisted with rage, their eyes glowing with an eerie, otherworldly light. Percy gripped Riptide tightly, the celestial bronze blade feeling reassuringly heavy in his hand. Despite his nerves, he forced himself to stay focused.

The deck of the ship felt like an island in a storm, the nymphs closing in from all sides. But it wasn’t just their physical attacks that threatened Percy—it was their control over the water. The nymphs began to summon waves from the lake, directing them with a malevolent will. The water surged up like living serpents, trying to knock the Argo II off balance and send it crashing into the lake.

Percy’s eyes widened as he saw the ship lurch and tilt under the force of the water. He could almost hear the creaking of the hull, the groans of the ship as it struggled against the onslaught. Panic surged through him, but he forced himself to stay calm. If he didn’t regain control, the ship—and everyone on it—was in serious danger.

“No way I’m letting this happen,” Percy muttered through gritted teeth. “I can handle this.”

He concentrated, reaching out with his powers over the water. It was like wrestling with a wild beast; the water was slippery and unpredictable, responding to the nymphs’ angry commands. Percy fought to assert his own control, pushing back against the waves with all his might. He could feel the water's cold pressure against his will, like icy fingers trying to drag him under.

Sweat dripped down his face as he struggled to balance the water, his muscles straining with the effort. Each wave he pushed back seemed to be replaced by another, stronger than the last. The deck was slick and treacherous, and Percy had to fight not just the nymphs’ control, but also to keep his footing.

“You can do this, Percy!” he yelled at himself, trying to muster every ounce of strength he had. “Just keep pushing!”

The nymphs, sensing his resistance, redoubled their efforts. Water lashed out with renewed ferocity, crashing against the ship and sending spray flying. Percy gritted his teeth, focusing intently. He could feel the energy draining from him, but he knew he had to push through. The ship was tilting dangerously now, and he had to stabilize it before it capsized.

With a final, desperate surge, Percy channeled all his power into a single, concentrated force. The water around the ship began to calm, the waves reducing to gentle swells. The pressure on the hull eased, and the ship stopped its violent rocking. Percy let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his whole body trembling with exhaustion.

“Nice timing, Percy!” Leo’s voice cut through the chaos. “I’m trying to get this thing in the air, but those nymphs are all over the controls!”

Percy glanced over to see Leo struggling with the ship’s controls, his face a mask of concentration and stress. The Argo II’s engines roared, and Percy could see the ship shudder as it began to lift. His heart sank as he realized that Leo was getting the ship ready to fly, but it was still grounded, and the nymphs were closing in on him.

“Leo, just get it up in the air!” Percy shouted. “I’ll hold them off!”

Leo nodded, determination in his eyes reflecting his will to get them out of this mess. With a final burst of effort, he got the ship’s engines roaring louder, and the Argo II started to rise, its massive form shuddering against the weight of the angry nymphs. The ship’s lifting seemed to push some of the nymphs back, but not all.

Percy continued to fight, his movements growing more frantic. He could feel the exhaustion setting in, the weight of his self-doubt making each swing of his sword feel like an uphill battle. He knew he was on borrowed time. He had to keep going, or the nymphs would overrun him.

As the Argo II finally began to lift off, Leo joined Percy on the deck, his face pale but determined. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, his voice strained. “Just had to get the ship stable!”

Together, they fought off the remaining nymphs, Leo using his fire abilities to create barriers of flame that pushed the nymphs back. Percy’s heart pounded as he swung Riptide with renewed focus, his movements now synchronized with Leo’s fiery defenses. The nymphs, caught between water and fire, began to retreat, their shrieks echoing as they vanished back into the misty lake.

As the last of the nymphs disappeared, Percy slumped against the railing, panting heavily. He felt the weight of his own thoughts pressing down on him, but he also felt a flicker of relief. The ship was finally lifting off, and they were getting out of this mess.

Leo wiped sweat from his brow, giving Percy a quick nod. “Nice work out there. You okay?”

Percy managed a weak smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just—let’s get out of here.”

As the Argo II soared into the sky, Percy looked down at the retreating lake, feeling a mix of relief and lingering frustration.

He had gotten cleaned up from the water hitting him yet, as always found himself perfectly dry.

"You wanna head down to get some food?" Leo asked, setting the ship on autopilot before calling up coach hedge to keep an eye on things.

He recognised the satyr from delivering a couple of kids to camp but Percy didn't really know the guy. He also didn't have the time to talk as he nodded at Leo. Percy wasn't hungry but he knew Apollo would come up if he stayed up here too long.

They all made their way to dinner. It was the first time they’d all sat down together—just the seven of them.

Percy didn't know what would happen next, but he was sure he would be exhausted by the end of it.

Notes:

Ok so this chapter somehow got to 7421 words. oops.

IMPORTANT- Do you want me to do the entire of mark of athena, compressing chapters together so that they condense or would you prefer I just get to tartarus only including one or two things??? I'm happy to do both but I want you guys's opinion. Or would you prefer me do a mix of both??? If so what scenes do you want???? I'm just conscious of how high the word count is already getting.

What's your favourite line in this chapter???

It would have came out yesterday but ao3 went down halfway through writing this- i got scared :(

There aren't any notes for this chapter soz, however if you have any ideas for future chapters please say!!!!! I want to include your ideas as much as possible!!!!

Comment what you think of this chapter???? Hope your enjoying the story!!!!!!

Chapter 10: I talk, I panic and I blush

Notes:

Okay I'm soooooooo sorry that I didn't get it up on Monday. By the time I got home I had the mother of all migraines which meant I couldn't start the chapter until late at night so I had to stop mid-way through. If this happens multiple times I will consider changing my update day so that I can get this up on time!!!

Anyway, finally Percy has a little talk. Let's see how it goes.

Hope you enjoy this short chapter!!!!

Percy wasn’t that hungry. In fact, he wasn’t really bothered by being around the others either. He just couldn’t muster the energy. All he wanted to do was collapse into the nearest chair and disappear for a while. Keeping those nymphs away had drained him, and now he had no strength left. He moved toward the closest chair, ready to sink into it, when things took an awkward turn.

The problem? The chair he was aiming for was at the head of the table—the one Jason Grace was about to sit in.

Jason's glare was icy, a far cry from their usual banter. Sparks literally crackled from his hands as his gaze locked on Percy’s, daring him. A year ago, Percy would’ve met that challenge head-on. His own powers would have surged, the rivalry between them rising to the surface. But now? Percy knew he was weaker than Jason. He didn’t need to prove anything. He wasn’t trying to challenge him.

Before Percy could say anything, his legs gave out. He crumpled toward the floor, his body folding in on itself like a wave collapsing back into the sea. Panic rose in his chest as his eyes filled with tears. No, not now. He couldn’t cry in front of the others. They needed him to be strong, to keep going no matter what. But the weight of everything—his exhaustion, his weakness—pressed down on him. He tried to force the tears back. He could control water, couldn’t he? He could control this.

Just as he was about to lose that battle, a voice whispered in his ear, “I’ve got you, Percy.”

Strong arms wrapped around him, steady and warm. Percy barely registered who it was as they guided him to a chair next to Jason, a blue one. He was ready to collapse into it, but the person gently steered him toward the golden chair instead, the one bathed in sunlight. It gleamed like something out of a dream. He sank into it, feeling the warmth of the sun against his skin, and the person sat beside him in the blue chair—less grand, but somehow more comforting.

“You haven’t eaten, have you?” Apollo asked from his seat, his voice half accusing, half worried.

Percy shook his head slightly, leaning into Apollo’s hand as the god checked his temperature. His touch was warm, campfire warm, soothing against Percy’s too-cold skin.

“I’m not hungry,” Percy muttered, his head dropping onto Apollo’s shoulder. The mud from earlier still clung to his face, cooling him even though he’d tried to scrub it off.

Apollo wasn’t convinced. “You haven’t eaten all day, Perc'. You’ve got to eat something,” he said, his golden eyes filled with concern. He cupped Percy’s cheek, lifting his head so their eyes met.

“I’m fine,” Percy insisted, trying to sound more convincing than he felt. He swatted at Apollo’s hands half-heartedly, but he was too tired to really fight him off.

Percy was used to going hungry. Back when Gabe was still around, there were plenty of nights he hadn’t been allowed food. Gabe had turned it into a game, letting Percy’s report cards decide whether or not he got to eat. Two meals a day for an A, one meal for a B, and anything lower? Well, those came with punishments. Percy knew hunger, knew what it felt like to go days without eating. Even on quests, he’d often given his rations to Grover or Annabeth, telling them he’d already eaten when he hadn’t.

But Apollo didn’t seem to care about any of that. The god was always watching him, always worrying about him. In the last twenty-four hours alone, Apollo had seen Percy break down more times than any of his friends had. And yet, there was something oddly comforting about it. Maybe it was the way Apollo fussed over him, something Percy wasn’t used to. It made his chest feel light, like a bunch of butterflies had decided to hatch inside his ribs.

“Percy, come on. At least try to eat something,” Apollo urged, brushing a strand of hair from Percy’s face. “I know you’re not hungry, but I’m worried about you. I can’t give you any more ambrosia. Can you just try for me?”

Percy felt guilty. Apollo looked genuinely concerned, and the thought of disappointing him—especially when all he had to do was eat—made Percy feel even worse. He couldn’t say no.

“Fine,” he muttered, letting his head flop onto Apollo’s shoulder again.

As Percy stared across the table, he saw Leo trying to fling peas into Piper’s hair. Three had already landed in her braid, and one had somehow managed to hit the bead at the end. He watched, slightly amused, as the others talked about their escape from the nymphs. Apollo gave a pretty accurate description of how they’d ended up looking like they’d just survived a fun run through a swamp.

But the mood around the table was heavy. Leo’s story about tricking Narcissus wasn’t enough to lift the gloom hanging over them. Everyone knew what was at stake. Another quest, the weight of the gods and demigods counting on them—it was too much.

“So, what’s the plan now?” Leo asked, his mouth full of pizza. “I patched the ship enough to get us out of the lake, but we should really stop again and do a proper fix before we head across the Atlantic.”

Percy glanced down as a plate of blue pasta appeared in front of him, along with a fork that Apollo practically shoved into his hand. Reluctantly, he picked up two pieces and swallowed them. “We need to put some distance between us and Camp Jupiter,” Percy said. “Frank saw eagles over Salt Lake City. The Romans aren’t far behind.”

That didn’t exactly help the mood.

Piper’s voice broke the silence, her tone laced with guilt. “Maybe we should go back and try to reason with the Romans. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough with the charmspeak.”

Jason, sitting beside her, squeezed her hand. “It wasn’t your fault, Pipes. Or Leo’s,” he added quickly. “Whatever happened, it was Gaea’s doing. She wants the camps divided.”

Piper still looked uneasy. “Maybe if we could explain that…”

“With no proof?” Annabeth cut in. “And no idea what actually happened? I get it, Piper. I don’t want the Romans against us either, but going back now is suicide.”

“She’s right,” Hazel said. She looked pale, probably still seasick from the rough ride across the lake. Percy had noticed before that water travel didn’t sit well with her. She was nibbling on saltine crackers, which Percy silently approved of. Her plate was rimmed with rubies, glittering in the last rays of sunlight.

Percy glanced down at his own plate. The fork Apollo had placed in front of him was patiently waiting, held out as if expecting him to take it. With a sigh, Percy took another bite of the blue pasta.

Apollo smiled, relieved. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Percy chewed slowly, the quest was weighing on them all, but for now, he focused on the small victories—like keeping Apollo from worrying, even if it was just for a moment.

“Reyna might listen, but Octavian won’t. The Romans have honor to think about. They’ve been attacked. They’ll shoot first and ask questions post hac,” Hazel said, her voice growing stronger. She didn’t sound like the quiet girl Percy had first met in Alaska. Now, she was a lot more like a soldier, hardened by her time in New Rome.

Percy glanced around the table. The tension was thick, like the air before a storm. Everyone looked worn down, faces shadowed with worry. If Percy didn’t know better, he’d say the Romans were the least of their problems, but no one else seemed to be cracking a smile. Not even Leo.

“You’re right,” Piper said. “We have to keep going. Not just because of the Romans. We have to hurry.”

Hazel nodded, her gold eyes shimmering with something like dread. “Nemesis said we have only six days until Nico dies and Rome is destroyed.”

Jason’s brow furrowed. “You mean Rome Rome, not New Rome?”

“I think,” Hazel said. “But either way, that’s not much time.”

Six days. Percy’s gut twisted. “Why six days? And how are they going to destroy Rome?”

He asked, hoping for some kind of answer that made sense, but the silence at the table was answer enough. Apparently, no one had the faintest clue.

Piper chewed on her lip, the way she always did when she was about to say something she didn’t want to. “There’s more,” she said, hesitating.

Frank froze with a forkful of spaghetti halfway to his mouth. “More? Like what?”

“They don’t really make sense,” Piper admitted, “just garbled images, but I saw two giants. Dressed alike. Maybe twins?”

Annabeth stared at the screen showing Camp Half-Blood’s Big House. Percy could tell her mind was already spinning a thousand miles an hour. “Twins… like in Ella’s prophecy,” Annabeth said slowly. “If we could figure out those lines, it might help.”

“‘Wisdom’s daughter walks alone… The Mark of Athena burns through Rome.’” Percy quoted the prophecy, thinking aloud as he forced another bite of his pasta. Ugh. Even the food wasn’t doing it for him anymore. “Annabeth, that’s gotta be you.”

Annabeth didn’t say anything, just kept watching the fire flickering on the screen. Apollo, seated next to Percy, added, “Juno mentioned something about a tough task in Rome for you, Annabeth. But your mother seemed confident you could handle it.”

Annabeth let out a long breath, still deep in thought. “Reyna was about to tell me something right before the ship fired on us. She said it had to do with Athena—a legend the Roman praetors know. Maybe it’s why the Greeks and Romans have never been able to get along.”

Percy caught the uneasy looks Leo and Hazel exchanged, like there was some inside joke he wasn’t in on. “Nemesis mentioned something too,” Leo said, scratching his chin. “An old score that had to be settled.”

Hazel nodded. “She said it was the only way to bring the gods’ two sides together. ‘An old wrong finally avenged.’”

Percy frowned, swirling his pasta around, trying to make it look like he’d eaten more than he had. “I was only a praetor for, like, two hours whilst awake, so I don’t know much about New Rome’s history. Jason, you ever hear anything like that?”

Jason still had Piper’s hand in his. He didn’t meet Percy’s eyes. “I… uh, I’m not sure,” he said. “I’ll give it some thought.”

Percy squinted. “You’re not sure?”

Jason didn’t answer. Percy wondered if Jason was avoiding the question on purpose, but before he could press further, Leo chimed in.

“What do you mean when you were awake?” Leo asked, eyebrow raised.

Apollo answered for Percy, glancing down at him. “He was unconscious for most of it after the battle.” Percy gave the god a grateful nod before returning his attention to the others. Silence settled over the table again, thick and awkward.

Thankfully, Hazel broke the tension. “What about the other lines?” She ran her fingers around the edge of her plate, tracing the embedded rubies. “Twins snuff out the angel’s breath, who holds the key to endless death.”

“Giants’ bane stands gold and pale,” Frank added, “won through pain from a woven jail.”

“Giants’ bane,” Leo said, tapping his fingers against the table. “Anything that can kill giants is good for us, right? That’s probably what we’re looking for. If it helps the gods get their act together, all the better.”

Percy nodded. Leo had a point. “We can’t kill the giants without the gods helping.”

Jason turned to Frank and Hazel. “I thought you guys killed that one giant in Alaska without a god’s help.”

“Alcyoneus was a special case,” Frank said. “He was only immortal in Alaska. But anywhere else… well, it’s like dragging him across the Canadian border killed him. I wish it were that easy with all the giants.”

Percy’s eyes flicked to Apollo. He wondered how much the god could actually do for them. Having Apollo around gave him a little hope, but the more Percy thought about it, the more he worried. Apollo wasn’t supposed to get too involved, and Percy didn’t want the god getting into trouble. But there was going to come a moment when they really needed him, and Percy wasn’t sure Apollo could just sit back and do nothing.

The other lines of the prophecy rolled around in Percy’s brain. What was a woven jail? And who were these twins? Whatever it all meant, it didn’t sound good.

Leo pushed his chair back from the table. “So… first things first, we’ll have to land in the morning to finish repairs.”

“Someplace close to a city,” Annabeth suggested, “in case we need supplies. But somewhere the Romans can’t find us easily. Any ideas?”

The group fell into silence again, no one eager to make the next call. Then Piper cleared her throat. “Well… how do you guys feel about Kansas?”

--------------------

It was late, yet Percy had only just gotten the note from Annabeth to meet her here, now. The Argo II creaked as it drifted over the quiet landscape below, but the sound barely registered in Percy’s ears. His hands were clammy as he stood at the edge of the ship, staring into the night sky, trying to work up the courage to face her.

He wasn’t ready. Not for this conversation. But when Annabeth told you to meet her, you didn’t have much of a choice.

He sighed, stuffing the note back in his pocket, and forced his legs to move. His heart pounded like it was trying to break free from his chest. There was a time when he’d run to meet Annabeth with a smile. Now, his feet dragged as if they were made of lead.

When he reached her, she was waiting near the mast, arms crossed, her stormy gray eyes scanning the horizon. When she turned to look at him, the intensity in her gaze hit him like a wave, almost knocking the wind out of him.

“You’re late,” she said, her voice sharp, a little more than it should’ve been. Percy had been distant lately, pulling away without even realizing it.

But still, that edge in her tone. It made his stomach twist.

“Yeah,” Percy mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry. I got—distracted.”

Annabeth didn’t respond right away. She just studied him, those eyes searching for something, something Percy didn’t want her to find. He swallowed hard, feeling like he was under a microscope.

“We need to talk,” she said, finally breaking the silence. Her voice was firm, but there was something else underneath. A hint of concern, maybe. Or frustration. “You’ve been... off lately. What’s going on?”

Percy shifted uncomfortably, looking anywhere but her eyes. He felt the urge to joke, to brush it off with some sarcastic remark, but the words wouldn’t come. Not this time.

“Nothing,” he muttered, which was the biggest lie he could’ve told.

Annabeth frowned. “Don’t do that, Percy. Don’t shut me out. I can tell something’s wrong.”

She stepped closer, but Percy instinctively took a step back. His chest tightened, and he cursed himself for being so obvious. He didn’t mean to flinch away, but it happened anyway. Annabeth stopped in her tracks, her eyes narrowing slightly.

“Why are you acting like you’re scared of me?” she asked, her voice quieter now, but the intensity hadn’t left.

“I’m not,” he said too quickly. He could hear the panic creeping into his voice, but he couldn’t help it. He forced himself to meet her gaze, even though it made his skin crawl. “I just—”

“You just what?” she pressed. “Percy, I’m trying to understand. Why are you pulling away from me? What did I do? Reyna said you seemed afraid of me after I flipped you.”

She sounded hurt now, and that made it worse. Percy hated this. Hated making her feel like it was her fault, because it wasn’t. It was him. He was the problem.

“I don’t know,” Percy mumbled. He felt like he was sinking, trapped under the weight of her gaze, of the conversation. His hands trembled slightly, and he stuffed them into his pockets to hide it.

But Annabeth wasn’t letting this go. “Percy, I can’t help if you don’t talk to me. If I’ve done something wrong—”

“You haven’t,” Percy cut her off, his voice rising. His chest tightened even more, like an invisible fist was squeezing his lungs. “It’s not you, okay? It’s me.”

She blinked at him, her eyebrows furrowing. “What does that even mean? You’ve been acting like I’m some kind of... monster lately. Every time I try to talk to you, you look at me like—”

“Like Gabe.”

The words slipped out before Percy could stop them. Annabeth froze, and Percy’s heart dropped into his stomach. He didn’t mean to say that. Why did he say that?

“What?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I—I didn’t mean—” Percy stammered, his pulse skyrocketing. He could feel his throat closing up, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

Annabeth’s eyes were wide, shocked, confused. “You think I’m like Gabe? Your stepdad?”

“No!” Percy practically shouted. His hands were shaking uncontrollably now. “It’s not like that. I don’t—Annabeth, I don’t think you’re like him, okay? I just... I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”

“Then try,” she said, her voice tight. She crossed her arms again, her knuckles turning white as if she was holding something in. “I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s going on. You’ve been so distant, and I don’t know why. I feel like I’m losing you.”

The words hit Percy like a physical blow, and his breath caught in his throat. He looked down at his feet, unable to meet her eyes. He couldn’t deal with this right now. He couldn’t give her an answer that would make things better.

Because... there wasn’t one.

“It’s... I don’t know, Annabeth. Ever since we got back together, it’s like... like I’m walking on eggshells. Like I can’t do anything right.” His voice cracked, but he kept going. “You remember when you got mad at me for... for liking New Rome? I didn’t mean to make you feel like Camp Half-Blood wasn’t my home anymore, but you looked at me like I was betraying you.”

Annabeth’s expression softened slightly, but she didn’t say anything. Percy felt a lump rising in his throat, but he forced himself to keep talking.

“And then, when you judo-tackled me on the ship, after I told you how much I missed you... I don’t know. It just—it felt like I wasn’t enough for you. Like even when I’m trying, it’s never enough.”

Annabeth opened her mouth as if to argue, but Percy could see the struggle on her face. She wasn’t going to deny it, and that was almost worse.

He could feel the distance between them now, like a chasm that was too wide to cross. Something had shifted between them, something that neither of them could take back. He couldn’t shake the feeling that things had already broken, and they were just pretending it wasn’t true.

“I’ve been trying to act like I’m okay, but I’m not,” Percy admitted, his voice trembling. “You’re so strong, and I feel like... like I can’t keep up with you. I’m scared that... that one day you’re going to realize I’m not enough. That I’ll never be enough.”

Annabeth’s eyes filled with tears, and for a second, Percy thought she was going to come closer. But she didn’t. She just stood there, her arms wrapped around herself, as if she were holding herself together.

“I don’t think that, Percy,” she whispered, but it sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as him. “I never thought that.”

But her words felt hollow, like they were coming from someone who was trying to remember how things used to be. Percy knew she meant well, but the damage was already done. He couldn’t unsee the cracks.

“You say that now,” Percy whispered, his voice barely audible. “But I don’t think... I don’t think we’re the same anymore.”

Annabeth flinched, and Percy’s heart ached. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but the truth was too heavy to ignore. He could feel himself unraveling, the weight of everything pulling him down.

He couldn’t breathe.

“I’m sorry,” Percy choked out, his chest tightening with panic. “I’m sorry I can’t...”

His breath came in short, shallow bursts, and his vision blurred. The world around him was closing in, and he could barely hear Annabeth calling his name through the haze.

But even as she reached out, something told Percy that this—whatever it was—was already over. They were just too afraid to say it.

Percy stumbled away from her, the world around him blurring into a chaotic whirl. His breathing came in short, ragged gasps, and his vision darkened at the edges. The weight of everything seemed to press down on him, each breath coming harder than the last. He felt trapped, suffocated, as if he was drowning in a sea of his own making. Drowning in water and couldn't get out, couldn't breathe, couldn't control it.

He didn’t notice where he was going until he nearly collided with a stack of crates on the ship’s deck. He sank to his knees, clutching his head and trying to steady his breathing. But it was no use. His thoughts raced faster than he could handle, each one more suffocating than the last.

“Percy, hey!”

The voice was soothing, though he couldn’t quite place it through the fog of his panic. He looked up to see Apollo standing over him, his golden eyes blazing with concern and something else—anger.

Angry at him?

Percy whimpered, curling into himself further.

Apollo knelt beside him, his expression a mix of irritation and protectiveness. “Perc’, breathe with me. Focus on my voice.”

Percy’s breathing was erratic, each inhalation a struggle. Apollo’s hand gently stroked Percy’s nose, a grounding technique he’d used before. The touch was surprisingly soothing, like a cool breeze on a hot day. Percy’s heart raced with both panic and something else—an unfamiliar flutter in his chest that he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Come on, seashell,” Apollo said softly, though his tone carried an edge. “Inhale slowly. One, two, three... exhale. You’re doing great.”

The rhythmic motion of Apollo’s hand helped Percy to focus. He tried to follow the god’s instructions, taking in a deep breath and then letting it out slowly. It wasn’t easy, but the contact was grounding, like a lifeline pulling him from the depths of his fear.

“Annabeth… she…” Percy stammered, his voice barely more than a whisper. “She just… I couldn’t handle it. Everything she said, it’s like…”

Apollo’s eyes narrowed, his anger directed at something. What or who Percy wasn't sure. “I know Perc’, I know. What she's done to you is not okay though. You get that right. You didn't deserve any of it."

The words stung, but they were also oddly comforting. It was nice to have someone acknowledge the pain he was feeling, even if it didn’t completely erase it. Apollo’s presence was like a balm to his wounded heart, easing some of the sting. Percy was grateful for the god’s patience, for the way he always seemed to know exactly what Percy needed, even when Percy himself didn’t.

As Percy’s breathing began to slow, he became acutely aware of the warmth from Apollo’s body and the steady rhythm of his voice. There was something intensely reassuring about it, even as it made Percy blush, the heat spreading across his cheeks. He didn’t quite understand why he was reacting this way, but he couldn’t deny the comfort it brought.

“Thank you,” Percy managed, his voice steadier now. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“Hey,” Apollo said gently but with a firm edge. “You don’t need to apologize for having a hard time." He gripped Percy's chin lightly, looking at him. "You’re not worthless Seashell."

He yelped, wondering how on Gaia's ugly head he knew Percy's fears. "Yu talk in your sleep." The god explained, Percy having just realised he'd been talking allowed. "And I’m not going to stand by and let her or anyone treat you like that.”

The intensity in Apollo’s eyes was both comforting and intimidating. Percy could feel the depth of the god’s frustration with the way he’d been treated. The reassurance from Apollo was mixed with a sense of protectiveness that Percy hadn’t fully realized he needed. He didn't know why the god was helping, but he was scarily leaning on it. Something you should never do as a demigod.

“Annabeth… she’s been so harsh,” Percy said, struggling to put his feelings into words. “I feel like everything she’s done has just been to make me feel like I don’t belong, like I’m not good enough.”

“Don’t let her moods affect you,” Apollo said, his tone softening slightly but still carrying a note of anger. “You’re more than good enough Perc'. Your the greatest hero, you did things that the gods would struggle to do. I'm not just speaking from me but everyone. The demigods worship you, they love you, they respect you. The other gods respect you Seashell, they are intrigued by what your going to do next. You father can never shut up about how proud of you he is; Athena cursed him a month or two ago because he went on for over two hours! You deserve the world darling."

Percy nodded, feeling a mixture of gratitude and embarrassment. He wasn’t sure what to make of the strange fluttering sensation in his chest, but for now, he was just thankful for Apollo’s support. The god’s touch, the warmth, and the soothing words were all he needed to start finding his footing again.

As Percy regained his composure, Apollo’s hand lingered on his shoulder for a moment longer before he slowly pulled Percy in closer, tucking the shorter boy into his neck. The gesture was both tender and casual, as if it were second nature to him. And for Percy, it was a reminder that even in his darkest moments, he had someone who cared deeply for him.

"You changed?" He suddenly realised, registering what Apollo had just said.

"I changed what?"

"You went Greek, you were Roman before and then you went Greek. Why?"

"You really what to know?" Apollo asked, waiting for the affirmative nod from Percy. "You needed me in Greek. You needed me in my Greek form so I became Greek."

Percy didn't know how to process that, and just lay there. He didn't know how long he lay there but he must have drifted off at one point as it was now light outside. What really unnerved him though was the lack of any nightmares.

“Feeling better?” Apollo asked when he noticed that he was awake, his tone lightening but with a lingering edge of concern.

“Yeah,” Percy said, managing a small, grateful smile. “Much better, thanks.”

“Good,” Apollo said with a nod. “Just remember, when things get tough, I’m always here to help.I'm just a prayer away, I'll always hear your prayers.”

Percy took a deep breath, finally feeling like he had his feet back under him. He stood up, with Apollo’s help, and looked at the god with a renewed sense of calm. “I’ll remember that. Thanks, Apollo.”

“Anytime, seashell,” Apollo replied with a smile that was both warm and reassuring, though the frustration in his eyes was still evident.

As Percy made his way back to where the others were, he couldn’t help but feel a newfound appreciation for Apollo’s presence. There was something undeniably comforting about the god’s support, and even though he didn’t fully understand his own feelings, he was grateful to have someone like Apollo in his corner.

Notes:

Hi!!!!!! Again I'm sorry for the late update!!!! It's 4708 words!!!!!!

I really had to fight to get this chapter up, my body kept trying to crash and sleep but I needed to get this done!!!

What's your favourite line in this chapter???

There aren't any notes for this chapter again sorry, however as always if you have any ideas for future chapters please say!!!!! I want to include your ideas as much as possible and we're getting to the interest part of this book now!!!!

Comment what you think of this chapter???? Hope your enjoying the story!!!!!!

Chapter 11: I trip

Notes:

Hi guys!!!! I know this is late but I'm trying to get into a routine.

A lot of you guys requested that I get straight to Tartarus so here it is, however there will be flashbacks to different events in mark of athena where I can include things like Poseidon being protective and all of that. Also if people would like it, when I finish this fic I create an alternate one where I go through the entire of Mark of Athena.

Anyway, here is this chapter. Good luck.

(It's been six days-Annabeth has already gone off on her solo quest)

Percy had a bad feeling.

Not the sort of feeling you get before skydiving or when you’ve eaten something questionable. No, this was the kind of bad feeling you get when your friends suggest exploring an abandoned house. The gut-deep, creeping dread that Percy had learned to never ignore in all his years of being a demigod.

The problem? No one was listening to him.

Ever since he’d freaked out yesterday while facing his sister the monster—one he’d rather not think about right now—his friends had been giving him strange looks. They didn’t sit near him anymore. They hardly spoke at dinner. The distance between him and the others was palpable, like he’d suddenly sprouted extra heads and they weren’t sure which one to talk to.

Well, almost everyone. Apollo had stuck around. The god with his cute, golden eyes and sun-kissed skin. He was the only one who hadn’t treated Percy like he was some kind of ticking time bomb. Apollo had stayed when no one else had, keeping Percy company with his easy jokes and the kind of warmth that made Percy feel like maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.

But even that was gone now.

Zeus had grown suspicious of Apollo’s involvement—too much time with Percy, too many questions. So, like always, Olympus had interfered. Zeus called Apollo back to the throne room, locking the place down tighter than before. Percy wasn’t even sure if he’d see Apollo again.

Percy sighed and stared out at the sea, his fingers absentmindedly twisting the edge of his shirt. The ocean usually gave him comfort, but today, the waves just seemed distant. He couldn’t shake the gnawing fear crawling up his spine, the feeling that something worse was coming. Something he wouldn’t be able to handle on his own.

And maybe he deserved it. After all, hadn’t he let everyone down? His panic attack, his inability to act like his old self—it was all piling up, and he could feel the weight crushing him. He remembered Annabeth’s disappointed face, the sharp words that cut into him deeper than any sword. Even now, her accusations still echoed in his head: “You liked New Rome more than Camp Half-Blood, didn’t you? You were never going to stay!” He tried to push the thought away, but the sting lingered.

It wasn’t just her words, though. The way she’d tackled him back at Camp Jupiter—it was like she didn’t care that it hurt. Like she didn’t see him anymore, not really. Just an obstacle in the way, something to defeat. He wasn’t sure when things had shifted between them, but it felt wrong. Everything felt wrong. How was he supposed to lead or fight alongside his friends when he was barely holding it together?

He wanted to tell someone how much Annabeth’s actions had hurt him—how being judo-tackled to the ground wasn’t exactly something you brush off, especially when it’s done by the person you thought you loved. But how could he even begin to explain that? How could he bring up how Gabe used to shove him around when he was a kid, how that same feeling of helplessness surged back every time Annabeth was careless with him? He couldn’t. Percy was too ashamed to even think about it, let alone say it out loud.

He had told her though. And she got mad at him. She yelled and yelled until Percy was left gasping and crumbling where he stood. No one cared. And why should they? Percy hadn't even told Annabeth that he wanted to break up with her, he had never ended things. He deserved it.

So he kept it to himself. Like always.

But the worst part? Percy had no idea how to stop any of this. His friends were drifting away. He couldn’t stop thinking about how useless he’d been in that fight. And the constant fear… it was building, pressing down on him like the weight of the sea.

"Great," Percy muttered to himself, the weight of the last few days pressing down on his shoulders. He thought about going back inside to talk to the others, but the memory of their awkward silences stopped him. He wasn’t sure he could take any more of those looks. The ones that said they weren’t sure if they could trust him. The ones that reminded him he wasn’t as in control as he pretended to be.

The worst of those looks had come from Annabeth. She hadn’t said much, but she didn’t need to. Her sharp glances and cold responses spoke volumes. It was clear she didn’t trust him, not anymore.

He wanted to trust them, but how could they trust him if he didn’t trust himself?

Percy stared at the horizon, feeling like the sea was the only thing that still understood him. Yet even the waves seemed to mock him now, swirling in a way that felt chaotic, out of sync with his own emotions. He reached out to the water, willing it to calm down, but his control faltered. The waves remained restless, crashing against the shore like they were laughing at him.

Of course, he couldn’t even do that right.

His chest tightened, breath hitching as panic began to creep up again. He clutched the railing of the ship, forcing himself to take slow breaths, trying to ground himself. It wasn’t working. The creeping dread, the fear of losing everything—it was too much. He wasn’t strong enough for this. He wasn’t enough, period.

For a brief moment, Percy found himself wishing Apollo were here. That small, warm touch that grounded him whenever his thoughts spiraled too far. The way Apollo would gently stroke his nose, distracting him just enough to pull him back from the brink.

But Apollo wasn’t here. Not this time.

Percy shivered, staring at the restless sea, and wondered how much longer he could pretend to be okay.

"Percy?" a voice called, startling him. He realized he had been leaning dangerously close to the edge of the ship, lost in thought.

Leo approached, the only one still brave enough to address him. His eyes sparkled, reflecting the sunlight in a way that made Percy wonder if they were shining with excitement or... something else. Tears, maybe? Percy wasn’t sure.

"Yeah?" Percy responded, trying to keep his voice steady.

Leo stopped a few paces away, far enough that Percy noticed the distance—like Leo had left just enough space to run if he needed to. That stung more than Percy wanted to admit. Even Leo, the guy who laughed in the face of fire and casually worked with explosives, was wary around him now. Just great.

"We’ve given her as much time as we could," Leo started, blinking once before shaking his head like he was clearing away a jammed cog. "Piper’s getting anxious. She wants to get Annabeth out now. Whether the quest was supposed to be solo or not, we’ve given her enough time to try."

Percy frowned, trying to piece together what Leo was talking about. The conversation about how long they should wait for Annabeth felt fuzzy in his memory. Apollo had been there, distracting him. The god had insisted Percy eat some blue tomato soup—because apparently that was a thing—while running his fingers through Percy’s hair. Percy had been too focused on Apollo’s fingers, the gentle way they tugged and stroked his dark locks, to pay much attention to the strategy talk.

And now, standing here on the deck with Leo, everything felt distant and disjointed. His mind kept returning to the same dark thoughts, the hurt that wrapped around his chest and made it hard to breathe. Annabeth had been gone for hours. Maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Maybe space was what they needed... What he needed.

"Y-Yeah, I guess," Percy mumbled, still unsure. "But... do you guys even know where she is? I mean, couldn't she be anywhere underground right now?"

Leo gave him the same look he’d been getting for days—a mixture of confusion and wariness, like they weren’t sure who Percy was anymore. It was like they were waiting for him to snap, for the part where he went full-on son of Poseidon and flooded the ship out of pure frustration. He hated it. "Didn’t we mention it?" Leo asked, his tone cautious.

Percy shrugged. "I don't really remember."

Leo sighed, glancing around like he was hoping someone else would take over the conversation. But the deck was empty. "She's under this car park. That’s why we parked here."

Percy blinked. A car park? The first-ever spider, the creature Annabeth had been chasing, could be lurking under something as mundane as a parking garage? It seemed absurd. Demigod life was full of weird stuff, but this was... anticlimactic.

"Right," Percy muttered. "Makes sense."

But it didn’t. Nothing made sense anymore. His brain was all over the place, and his chest tightened with the familiar wave of anxiety that always seemed to lurk just beneath the surface. He didn’t want to admit it, but Annabeth being underground, fighting her own battle, wasn’t the only thing eating away at him. He could still feel her words from days ago gnawing at him, the accusations that he liked New Rome more, that he didn’t want to stay at Camp Half-Blood.

It had stung—more than that, it had wrecked him. He’d fought so hard to get back to her, only to be met with coldness and blame. He never thought Annabeth could make him feel small, not like Gabe had. But somehow, she had. And it scared him to his core.

The others didn’t get that. Not really. How could they?

He thought about pressing Leo for more information, but what was the point? The others already saw him as fragile, as someone who’d lost it. He didn’t need to give them more reasons to think that. So, instead of asking questions or arguing, he nodded and followed Leo, trailing behind the group like a ghost.

Inside, Percy felt the pressure building—fear, doubt, anger, all swirling around in a toxic storm. He was scared for Annabeth, for the quest, for himself. But more than anything, he was scared he’d lost his place in the group. Lost himself.

And he had no idea how to find his way back.

Shaking his head, Percy hurried to catch up with the others as they made their way onto the ship, ready to blast through the carpark. Or that's what he assumed they were doing when they aimed the ballistae at the asphalt and fired.

It collapsed.

The floor fell through, causing many Italian cars to rain down into the cavern beneath. Percy suddenly remembered that Annabeth was down there—very much in the radius of flying cars and meteors made of asphalt. His breath caught in his throat as he scanned the wreckage, searching for her. Then, through the dust and chaos, he made out the Athena Parthenos. A glowing force field surrounded it, keeping the debris at bay.

And, to his twisted delight, he watched as a particular bright red car crashed into Arachne, pulling her down into the pit below. Straight to—

Tartarus.

Percy shuddered, the air growing colder around him as he realized that beneath the rapidly disappearing floor was a one-way ticket straight to the deepest, darkest place in existence. The pit loomed beneath them, a chasm of nothingness, exhaling cold air like the breath of a dead god. Chunks of debris flew past him, swallowed by the endless abyss.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Annabeth. She was covered in cobwebs, strands of leftover spider silk trailing from her arms and legs like the strings of a marionette. Somehow, miraculously, none of the debris had hit her. There were tapestries along the walls, but they were crumbling to dust as daylight touched them.

"Annabeth!" Piper called from beside him, her eyes shining with joy and relief.

“Here!” Annabeth sobbed.

The room seemed to shake as Annabeth managed to stand, visibly relieved to see them. Percy noticed that her backpack was missing, and she held no knife—the blade she’d carried since she was seven was gone. The floor beneath her looked stable for the moment, but Percy knew it wouldn’t hold for long.

Percy peered down at the massive hole the red car had made. Jagged rock walls plunged into the darkness, and strands of spider silk hung like Christmas tinsel over the sides. The pit went straight to Tartarus, and for a brief, gut-wrenching moment, Percy had to fight the urge to vomit.

The Argo II hovered above, lowering a rope ladder, but Annabeth stood in a daze, staring into the darkness. Percy’s heart pounded in his chest as Piper climbed down the ladder, checking that Annabeth was okay before dragging her toward safety. But before she could reach the ladder, Annabeth turned and made eye contact with Percy, and in that moment, something broke inside her. She burst into tears, throwing herself into his arms.

“It’s okay,” Percy muttered awkwardly, holding her as she sobbed into his shoulder. He didn’t say, “You’re okay” or “You’re alive,” because he wasn’t sure either of those things were true. Her ankle was puffy, swollen, maybe broken. But even with everything between them, Percy was glad she was still breathing.

Their friends gathered around. Nico, standing a little apart from the group, paled as he noticed the pit. Percy reminded himself that Nico had only been down there for a few minutes. He had gotten out. He was safe. But still, the sight of Tartarus must have triggered memories for Nico, and Percy saw a flicker of fear in his dark eyes.

“Your leg.” Piper knelt next to Annabeth and examined her makeshift cast. “Oh, Annabeth, what happened?”

Annabeth started to explain, her words halting and stilted at first. But as she spoke, the words flowed more easily, and by the time she finished, the others stood slack-jawed in amazement. Percy found himself filled with a familiar surge of pride. Even with the tension between them, Annabeth had faced her greatest fear and won.

“Gods of Olympus,” Jason said, shaking his head. “You did all that alone. With a broken ankle.”

“Well… some of it with a broken ankle,” Annabeth replied weakly.

Leo grinned. “You made Arachne weave her own trap? Annabeth, that’s insane! Generations of Athena kids tried and failed to beat her, and you pulled it off. You’re amazing.”

Everyone turned to gaze at the Athena Parthenos.

“What do we do with her?” Frank asked. “She’s huge.”

“We’ll take her to Greece,” Annabeth said. “She’s powerful. I think something about the statue will help us stop the giants.”

“The giants’ bane stands gold and pale,” Hazel quoted. “Won with pain from a woven jail.” She smiled at Annabeth. “You tricked Arachne into weaving it.”

Leo raised his hands, framing the Athena Parthenos with his fingers as if taking measurements. “Well, it’ll be tricky, but I think we can squeeze her through the bay doors in the stables. If she sticks out a little, I’ll wrap a flag around her feet or something.”

“What about you guys?” Annabeth asked. “What happened with the giants?”

Jason filled her in on rescuing Nico, Bacchus’s unexpected appearance, and the fight with the twin giants in the Colosseum. When Nico didn’t chime in, Annabeth glanced at him with concern. Percy could tell Nico wasn’t ready to talk about it, so he took over, explaining what they had learned about the Doors of Death. As soon as he mentioned Tartarus, the temperature in the room seemed to drop.

“So the mortal side of the Doors is in Epirus,” Annabeth said. “At least that’s somewhere we can reach.”

Nico grimaced. “But the other side… is the problem. Tartarus.”

The word echoed through the chamber. Percy felt the weight of it settle like lead in his chest. Tartarus. The pit exhaled another cold blast of air, and Percy’s skin prickled with dread. That’s when he knew for sure—the chasm beneath them went straight to Tartarus. Nico must have felt it too because he edged a little farther from the precipice, and the others followed suit. As Annabeth walked, spider silk trailed from her arms and legs like the remnants of a terrible dream.

Annabeth opened her mouth to ask something, but Frank interrupted, “Bacchus mentioned something about Percy’s journey being harder than he expected. Not sure why…”

Before anyone could respond, the chamber groaned. The Athena Parthenos tilted dangerously to one side, its head catching on one of Arachne’s support cables. The marble foundation beneath it crumbled.

“Secure it!” Annabeth yelled, her voice filled with panic.

Everyone sprang into action. Frank transformed into a giant eagle, grabbing Leo as they soared toward the helm. Jason summoned the wind, pulling Piper along as they shot into the air. But Percy’s attention was still on Annabeth, and when she stumbled toward the ladder, falling into Nico, his heart skipped a beat.

“What is it?” Percy called, rushing toward them.

“She’s tangled in the silk!” Hazel shouted, pointing to Annabeth’s ankle, which was still wrapped in strands of spider silk. Percy watched in horror as Nico lunged for her and began slashing at the strands with his Stygian iron sword.

Suddenly, one of the strands looped around Nico’s foot, yanking him toward the pit.

“Nico!” Percy shouted, lunging forward. He grabbed Nico’s arm, but the momentum dragged them both toward the edge.

“Help them!” Hazel screamed.

Percy saw Annabeth stop, halfway up the ladder as she turned, Hazel trying to disentangle her cavalry sword from the rope ladder. Their other friends were still focused on the statue, and Hazel’s cry was lost in the general shouting and the rumbling of the cavern.

Nico grunted as he hit the edge of the pit. His legs went off the side. Too late, Percy realized what was happening: he was tangled in the spider silk that he pulled from Annabeth. He hadn’t noticed that one of the strands was wrapped around his foot—and the other end went straight into the pit. It was attached to something heavy down in the darkness, something that was pulling him in.

“No,” Percy muttered, light dawning in his eyes. “My sword…”

But he couldn’t reach Riptide whilst being pulled with Nico down. He couldn't reach it properly without letting go of Nico's arm. He slipped over the edge. Percy fell with him.

He felt himself fall, and blindly reached out his arm, searching for one of those ledges he had noticed before. Somehow he felt his fingers crash into something flat and sharp; wrapping them tightly round the edge, he vowed not to let go. Percy had managed to grab a ledge about fifteen feet below the top of the chasm. He was holding on with one hand, gripping Nico's wrist with the other, but the pull was strong.

“No escape,” a voice whispered from the darkness below.

Nico’s trembling intensified, and Percy could feel the boy’s struggle. Fear had gripped him, and Percy didn’t blame him—Tartarus had already pulled Nico in once, even if it was only for moments. Percy swore he would never let the boy fall back into that pit.

“Nico,” Percy said, his voice straining as he held them both up, “I’m going to swing you up. When I do, you’ve got to grab the ledge, okay?”

Nico’s wide, fearful eyes locked onto his, and despite his shaking, he nodded. His grip on Percy’s hand tightened like a lifeline. They both knew what was at stake.

“One, two—” Percy inhaled sharply, gathering his strength. “Three!”

He swung with all his might, launching Nico upward. His fingers slipped from the ledge, sending him plummeting further before he caught another jagged outcropping. The sharp rock bit into his hands, and Percy gritted his teeth as he held on, his body dangling in the air.

Above him, Nico had landed safely on the edge, clutching it with trembling hands. Hazel was there, crying out for help, her voice barely cutting through the chaos. Nico, tears streaking his face, reached down desperately for Percy.

The ledge Percy clung to was crumbling, barely big enough to hold him. His fingers, slick with blood, dug into the stone. He glanced up, his heart sinking at the distance between him and Nico’s outstretched hand. Too far.

“Percy!” Nico’s voice cracked with panic.

Percy’s arms trembled. He could feel it now, the pull of Tartarus. It wasn’t just gravity dragging him down—it was something darker, more inevitable. The chasm wanted him.

Nico suddenly swung a leg over the edge, preparing to climb down.

“No!” Percy yelled, his voice sharp. “Stay there!” He locked eyes with the boy. “The other side, Nico. I’ll see you there, I swear. Understand?”

Nico’s eyes widened, his face pale as he realized what Percy meant. “But—”

“Lead them there,” Percy ordered, his tone firm despite the fear crawling up his spine. “Promise me!”

“I—”

“Promise me, Nico!”

Tears spilled down Nico’s cheeks as he nodded, choking out, “I-I promise.”

A cruel laugh echoed from the depths below. “Sacrifices,” a voice hissed. “Beautiful sacrifices to wake the goddess.”

“Good, and Nico?” Percy called.

Nico turned back, his eyes full of desperation, like he knew exactly what Percy was about to say. That made one of them. Percy wasn’t even sure what he was about to do, but deep down, he knew this was a one-way trip.

A really long, really hard fall.

Maybe this was karma. The universe’s way of saying, “Hey, Percy, remember all those monsters you killed? Time to join them.” Tartarus was their home, after all. Maybe Percy had just been a monster this whole time. Just hadn’t realized it until now.

“Can you do me a favor?” Percy asked, his voice cracking, but he forced himself to smile. “Tell Apollo… I’m glad I got to see the sun shine in its true form. You know, one last time.”

Nico’s eyes went wide, and Percy heard both him and Hazel screaming for help, but Percy barely registered it. He looked up one more time at the sunlight—way, way up there—probably the last he’d ever see. What would Apollo think? Would he even care? Percy doubted it. He wasn’t exactly a star in the godly popularity contest.

His fingers slipped.

Percy let go of the ledge and plummeted into the darkness.

Notes:

Hi!!!!!!!! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!!!!!!!!! It's 3773 words!!!!!!

What was your favourite line for this chapter????????????

Percy has fallen on his own, down, down, down. Did you like the changes I made to the original plot??? How will Percy cope with Tartarus.

Anyway next chapter should be up Monday (I know I've been late multiple times) however it won't ever be up later then Tuesday (hopefully). I really appreciated all the comments I've received and am doing my best to respond to them all!!!!!!!!!!

There aren't any notes for this chapter again sorry, however as I say all the time, if you have any ideas for future chapters please say!!!!! I want to include your ideas as much as possible and we're getting to Tartarus now.

Hope your enjoying the story!!!!!!

Chapter 12: The very, very, very long fall

Notes:

Hi!!!!!!!!!!

So what I'm thinking is that I change my update schedule to Tuesday's as I've been consistently late over the past few weeks. What do you guy's think?

Also, I apologise for the shorter chapter but I'm planning to update more this week if possible at all so hopefully that will make up for it!

Anyway enjoy this chapter!!!!

Nine days. That was how long Percy guessed he’d been falling. Nine whole days.

But honestly, he wasn’t sure. That number was only the number he had heard Annabeth prattling on about when they first heard about Nico's treacherous trip. Something about Hesiod and speculations; Percy hadn't really been paying attention.

Now, he hoped he’d heard wrong. Maybe it had only been a few hours. Or a day? It felt like centuries. Falling through this endless darkness was like being trapped in math class, watching the clock tick slower and slower, only to find out that, surprise! You’ve still got an entire period to go.

He'd been clutching riptide eve since he dropped into the chasm, knuckles white around the handle as he tumbled through absolute darkness

Wind whistled in Percy’s ears. The air was getting hotter and stickier, like he was free-falling into the throat of some massive, angry dragon. Somewhere on the way down, he’d smacked into a ledge. Now his leg was bleeding, and he couldn’t tell how bad it was, but it hurt like Hades. To make things worse, his clothes were covered in some kind of sticky, wiry goo that had soaked through everything. Yeah, Arachne had definitely gotten the last laugh. Even after being trapped in her own web, crushed by a car, and tossed into Tartarus, she still managed to mess things up.

That stupid spider had snagged Annabeth with her silk and dragged her towards the pit. Annabeth had been fighting back, but Percy could see she wasn’t going to make it. Nico, being way too noble for his own good, had tried to help and ended up going over the edge himself. Percy had done the only thing he could think of: he grabbed onto Nico before the kid could get himself killed.

And now he was falling into the depths of Tartarus.

Percy clenched his fists around Riptide, trying not to think too much about what awaited him below. The thought of Nico up there, safe with Hazel and the others, was the only thing keeping him from completely losing it. That kid had been through enough; Percy wasn’t about to let him go back down here. He had promised.

So, yeah, Percy wasn’t thrilled about his own situation, but at least Nico was safe. Sort of.

It was all that stupid spider’s fault. Percy didn’t even want to think about Arachne still being alive somewhere below him in the darkness. The thought made his skin crawl. He really didn’t want to run into that monster again when—or if—they ever reached the bottom. She’d already messed with Annabeth enough to leave Percy with a serious case of arachnophobia. But hey, if there was a bottom, he’d probably be flattened on impact anyway, so giant spiders were the least of his worries right now.

Suddenly, Percy felt like crying, which was weird considering he was in free fall. He couldn’t help but think about Apollo—his face, his smile, and the way the sun seemed to shine brighter whenever the god was around. That just made him miss him more. Of course, Percy had never expected his life to be easy. Most demigods didn’t get a chance to grow old. They usually died young, eaten by some horrifying monster or another. That was just the way things were. The Greeks had invented tragedy, after all. They knew the best heroes didn’t get happy endings.

And Percy? He was pretty sure he didn’t deserve one anyway. Not after everything he’d done, after all the demigods who’d died because of him. He wasn’t a hero. He was the monster they should’ve been afraid of.

Still, this felt wrong. He’d gone through so much just to get here—to survive this long, not get killed by the gods. Struggles through so many quests to be granted the right to live, to finally have some semblance of a normal life. And just when he’d started to think things might be okay, that he might actually get to be happy, he ended up falling to his death.

This was so not fair. So unfair that even the gods couldn’t devise a fate so twisted.

But Dirtface, as Leo had so affectionately dubbed her, wasn’t like the other gods. The Earth Mother was older, meaner, and definitely more bloodthirsty. Percy could almost picture her laughing as he plummeted into the abyss.

Then it hit him—the next few seconds could be his last. His lips started moving on their own, whispering words he didn’t even know he was saying.

“I love you,” he murmured, a quiet prayer wrapped in three tiny words. He wished Apollo could hear him, wished he could say those words face-to-face. He wished Apollo was with him.

He didn’t know if Apollo could hear him, but if this was it—if he was really about to die—those were the words he wanted to go out on.

As he tumbled through the darkness, he thought of everyone he’d leave behind upon impact. His mom would be devastated, sure, but she was finally starting to find happiness. Paul was treating her the way she deserved—like a queen. With Percy gone, she’d have the chance to start fresh, to build a family. To live without the stain which was Percy, shadowing over her life. She’d mourn, but Percy knew she’d move on. She would get over it.

His dad? Yeah, he’d be upset. That as more than other demigods could say about their immortal parents. Poseidon would probably whip up a hurricane or two, maybe an earthquake. But he’d get over it like his mom. He’d seen his kids die before. Why would Percy be any different? Triton would probably throw a party when Percy was gone, a little celebration of the disgrace of his father’s infidelity being wiped from existence, Gone from memories until only Uncle Hades would remember that Percy even existence.

Who else would miss him?

Chiron would be sad, but he’d keep going. Mr. D would just be relieved there was one less demigod to worry about. As for the other campers, well, they were used to losing people. Just another casualty in a long line.

His friends? They’d be sad, but not as much as they would’ve been a few weeks ago. Annabeth and he were over. She’d be okay, probably a bit glad. Jason and Piper would move on. Frank and Hazel had each other. Leo would be bummed out, but he was used to loss. Who wasn’t when it came to demigods

And then there was Apollo. Would Apollo even care if Percy died? Probably not. Percy was just the biggest mistake, the forbidden demigod no one asked for. Sure, they had something, but it was unspoken, nothing concrete All that he knew was that when he made eye-contact with the god his cheeks flamed up to look like a coke can and his head turned to that mushy pea feeling you get when you haven't slept in too long. Percy may have felt something but that didn't mean Apollo had, in fact, Apollo most certainly did not reciprocate the little (massive) crush, it didn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things.

Besides, Apollo would get over it. He was a god. Percy figured he’d just be another mortal Apollo knew once. Nothing more.

Maybe he would forget even quicker than the others? Gods were already skilled in detaching themselves from the mortals of modern times, like a tick detaching itself from its body.

But he still tried desperately to come up with a plan. He wasn’t a daughter of Athena—thank all the gods for that—but he’d managed to figure out his way through some pretty impossible situations before. He was good at coming up with plans in dire situations, and this counted as a dire situation Right now, though? His brain was blank. Completely and utterly empty. No brilliant idea to stop him from free-falling to his doom.

He couldn’t fly, like Jason, who could control the wind. He couldn’t turn into a giant eagle like Frank. Honestly, he’d always been a little jealous of those powers. Frank could just shift into a bird and poof, problem solved. But even if Percy had that kind of power, he wouldn’t trust himself to use it. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t do it in fear. He’d probably end up transforming into something terrible and get stuck that way forever. Stuck as a- monster.

Yeah, no thanks.

He wasn’t stupid. Sure, he had his moments of being clueless and, okay, maybe he wasn’t exactly the most observant guy, but he knew one thing for sure: if he hit the bottom at this speed, he’d go splat. End of story. Like an ice cream cone dropped by a kid on a hot summer day. Not exactly a heroic end for the son of Poseidon.

The only thing he could think about was whether there’d be enough of him left to reach the Fields of Asphodel. If he was just a Percy pancake, would the judges still let him in? Was there, like, a special line for demigods who died horribly in Tartarus?

But then, just as he was about to get desperate enough to pray to Zeus (not that he thought that would help), something changed. The darkness around him took on a grayish-red tinge. He could see the rocks below with a bit more clarity, and the sound of the wind rushing past his ears grew louder. The air turned unbearably hot, and the smell of rotten eggs hit him like a punch to the face.

Fantastic. Just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, he was falling straight into a giant rotten egg.

Tartarus really knew how to roll out the red carpet for its guests.

Suddenly, the chute he’d been falling through opened into a massive cavern.

For a second, Percy’s brain just froze. The cavern below was so huge that the entire island of Manhattan could’ve fit inside it—and he could only see part of it. Red clouds hung in the air, like someone had vaporized blood and made it into fog. The ground was a nightmarish landscape of black rocky plains, jagged mountains, and fiery chasms. To his left, the ground dropped off in a series of cliffs, like giant stair steps leading even deeper into the abyss.

The air smelled like rotten eggs, making it hard to think straight. But Percy forced himself to focus on the ground right below him. A ribbon of glittering black liquid snaked through the landscape—a river. Maybe the only river in the world that could look even worse than the East River back in New York.

He was shaking so badly, his vision kept blurring. If anyone else had been with him, they’d see his face was a mix of shock and terror. But there was no one here. He’d made sure of that. He’d kept Nico from falling in too. Percy wasn’t going to drag anyone else into this pit with him. It was his mess to clean up.

He tried to push down his fear and think clearly. He could control water, right? So maybe, if he was really lucky, and if whatever was below him was actually water, he could slow his fall. But he’d heard all kinds of horror stories about the rivers in the Underworld. Some of them could burn your skin off. Others could strip away your memories until you forgot everything, even who you were.

He couldn’t think about that now. He couldn’t think about anything except surviving. He’d gotten really good at not thinking too much over the years. It was a skill he’d picked up from his lovely stepdad, Gabe.

Gabe had been the master of making Percy feel worthless. Every insult, every nasty look, every time Gabe had gotten drunk and decided Percy’s face needed to meet the wall—Percy had learned to shut it all out. He’d had to, or he would’ve lost it long before he’d even learned about demigods and monsters. When he was little, he’d curl up in his bed, counting the seconds until Gabe passed out or left for the night. He’d tell himself over and over that it would be okay, that he could survive, as long as he didn’t think too much.

So Percy didn't think about Gabe, or the fact that he was plummeting into a river that might kill him. He’d survived this long, and he wasn’t going to give up now. This was his only chance.

The river was rushing up fast, a dark, glittering scar across the hellish landscape. At the last possible second, Percy shouted in defiance. He reached out with all his willpower, and the water surged up to meet him, exploding into a massive geyser that caught him like the world’s angriest tidal wave.

And then everything went black.

Notes:

Hi!!!!!!!! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!!!!!!!!! It's 2161 words!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is one of my shorter chapters but it's sort of the filler chapter, with the next one being about the other's reaction to Percy falling (as requested by a commenter).

What was your favourite line for this chapter????????????

I really appreciated all the comments I've received and am doing my best to respond to them all. However couldn't respond this week due to problems I've been having with ao3. It keeps signing me out of my account midway through my reading session or commenting session which would then delete the reply. However I'm determined to get it done this week/today.

There aren't any notes for this chapter again sorry, however as I say all the time, if you have any ideas for future chapters please say!!!!! I want to include your ideas as much as possible as I mentioned before. Even if it takes a while to get your ideas up, I promise I'm getting every single idea into the story even if it's in like months!!!!!!!!

Hope your enjoying the story!!!!!!

Chapter 13: He just... Fell

Notes:

Hi guys as commonly requested by commenters, this chapter will be the other's response to Percy falling into Tartarus!!!!!! It will be from Apollo's point of view so.....

This chapter might be short or it might be long, I haven't decided yet!!!!!!!

Either way I hope you enjoy this chapter!!!!!!!

Apollo appeared on the deck of the Argo II in a soft burst of golden light, but this time his usual brilliance was dimmed, weighed down by the anxious knot twisting in his gut. Something was wrong. He hadn’t been able to check on Percy for days because Jupiter, in one of his typically paranoid fits, had been keeping a close eye on Apollo, making sure he stayed out of mortal affairs. But now, with the pressure finally eased, Apollo could feel the worry deep within him—a gnawing tug at his divine instincts, pulling him toward the ship.

So, he had done the natural thing and had come to check in, only to find an overwhelming silence on the deck.

The moment he arrived, the tension hit him like a tidal wave. The crew stood in scattered, broken clusters. Nico was sitting on the ground, trembling and pale, clearly on the verge of falling apart. Jason and Piper were speaking in hushed tones, and Annabeth... Annabeth was pacing, her face locked in a tight, emotionless mask.

It was a silent storm of emotions, one Apollo hadn’t expected to walk into.

Something was terribly wrong.

"Where’s Percy?" The question fell from his lips before he could stop it, his voice tight with urgency. He already knew the answer was bad—too bad.

Silence stretched across the deck. No one answered. Nico’s eyes flickered up briefly before looking back down, and Annabeth’s pacing stopped for a moment, though she refused to meet his gaze.

Why was no one answering?

"Where. Is. Percy?" Apollo repeated, louder this time, stepping towards them. His heart was pounding now. His golden eyes flickered anxiously between the crew, but all he got in return was the crushing silence, the weight of an unspoken tragedy.

He could barely contain the mounting panic rising inside him. Percy wasn’t here, and it felt like every second that passed was tearing Apollo apart.

Finally, Nico’s voice cut through the suffocating quiet. “He… he fell into Tartarus,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he spoke.

The world seemed to stop.

Tartarus. Percy had fallen into Tartarus. Alone.

Tartarus. The place where monsters reformed, where even gods dared not tread lightly. Percy was there. Alone.

"How?" Apollo’s voice cracked, disbelief mixing with the sharp edge of panic. His usual charm and bravado had evaporated the second those words left Nico’s mouth. Percy, the boy who’d captured his attention, the one who carried too much weight for someone his age, the boy who was too kind, too brave for his own good, had fallen into the darkest pit in existence.

The breath rushed out of Apollo’s chest like he’d been hit by a celestial bronze hammer. Percy, the boy who had captured his attention from the very beginning—the Sea Prince with a kind heart and that stubborn courage—was in the darkest, most dangerous place in all of existence. Alone. He could already see it: Percy, with his defiant smirk, fighting tooth and nail to survive in a place that even gods feared.

But this was different. This wasn’t just another quest. This was Tartarus.

Nico’s eyes filled with tears. “It—it was my fault. I was trying to save Annabeth. I didn’t realize the webs wrapped around me, I got pulled in. I… I couldn’t hold on. Percy grabbed me before I could fall, he- he threw me up but when I looked back—he let go.” Nico’s voice faltered, his hand gripping his sword in a white-knuckled grasp.

Apollo felt his heart shatter. Of course Percy did. The kid was selfless to a fault. He’d give up his life for the people he loved without thinking twice. That part of him—the reckless, infuriating bravery—was something Apollo had admired, maybe even fallen for. And now it had led Percy into the darkest corner of existence, where not even Apollo’s light could reach him.

His hands clenched into fists. Anger and worry boiled together in his chest, mixing into a tempest of emotions. He should’ve been there. He should’ve stopped this.

Apollo, god of so many things, felt helpless.

"And you just let him?" Apollo's voice came out sharper than intended, eyes narrowing at Annabeth, who still hadn’t said a word. She stood with her arms crossed, looking distant, almost... indifferent.

Apollo turned on her, unable to keep the anger from his voice. "You’re just standing there while he—" He cut himself off, gritting his teeth. He’d noticed the cracks in Percy and Annabeth’s relationship long before anyone else. Annabeth’s coldness, her sharp words, and the way she seemed to brush Percy aside lately. He had always admired the wisdom of Athena’s daughter, but lately, he couldn’t help but feel contempt for her. She didn’t appreciate what she had, and it showed.

She crossed her arms defensively. "He made his choice," she said, her voice hard, as if those words could excuse everything.

Apollo’s eyes flared with anger. “His choice? He’s been running himself ragged for months, and you—" His voice dropped, unable to finish. Percy had been dealing with so much—too much. Apollo had noticed how the boy barely ate, how his usually bright smile had dulled. The self-esteem issues that lurked beneath his bravado were painfully obvious to the god of light, though Percy tried to hide them from everyone else.

Before he could say more, a faint, flickering prayer pierced Apollo’s mind—so soft, so fragile it nearly broke him.

I love you.

Apollo’s breath caught in his throat. It was Percy’s voice. Percy, praying to him—right now. His heart thundered in his chest, and for a moment, the world around him fell away, leaving only those three words echoing in his mind.

“I love you,” Percy had prayed.

The rawness in the prayer hit him like a knife, the words laced with finality. Percy believed these were his last moments, his last chance to reach out to Apollo. He was lost in Tartarus, thinking he’d never see the light again. Thinking that this was the end.

Apollo’s chest tightened painfully. He had to go after him. He had to do something. He couldn’t lose Percy, not like this.

Nico’s trembling voice pulled him back to the present. “Before he fell... Percy told me to tell you something,” Nico said, his eyes hollow, guilt gnawing at him. “He said, ‘he was glad he got to see the sun shine in its true form one last time.’ I don’t know what it means but I’m guessing you do?”

Apollo’s knees nearly gave out. Percy’s words echoed in his head. One last time. It felt like someone had driven a dagger through his chest. He had always known Percy saw him as more than just another god—there was a connection between them that had grown deeper with time. But now, in what Percy thought were his final moments, he was thinking about Apollo. About the sun.

About how Apollo had shown him the most amount of his Godly form without incinerating his love.

The sun god clenched his fists, his whole body trembling with anger, sorrow, and an overwhelming need to act. But Jupiter’s watchful eye had kept him away, had kept him from being there when Percy needed him most. He’d let Percy fall into the pit alone, and now the boy—his boy—was in Tartarus, praying what he thought were his last words.

“I have to go after him,” Apollo said, his voice shaking with emotion. He couldn’t wait. He wouldn’t let Percy die down there, in the darkness, thinking he was unloved, thinking he was alone.

Nico shook his head. “You can’t. Not yet. Tartarus is… it’s different. If you go now, you’ll—”

"I don’t care!" Apollo snapped, eyes blazing with divine fire. “I can’t just leave him down there!”

But Nico grabbed his arm, his voice soft but pleading. “We’ll get him back. We will. But if you go now… you'll be lost too.” Nico's words carried a weight of understanding, the same horror lingering in his own voice from his brief encounter with the pit. He, of all people, understood the dangers. "Percy let go to close the doors, to help us."

Apollo’s anger dimmed, but only slightly. He knew Nico was right. Even gods didn’t walk freely through Tartarus without consequences. But that didn’t make it any easier to bear.

His gaze softened as he looked out toward the horizon, his heart aching. Percy—brave, selfless, beautiful Percy—had sacrificed himself again, always thinking he wasn’t enough, always putting others first. And now, he was lost in the darkness, far from Apollo’s light.

But Apollo wouldn’t leave him there. He couldn’t.

Taking a deep breath, Apollo forced himself to stay, but his voice was trembling with conviction “We’ll get him back. I don’t care what it takes. I won’t let him die down there.”

The crew watched him, their fear and worry mirrored in his own. But there was a storm brewing inside Apollo—a protective, fierce love that wouldn’t rest until Percy was safe. He was the god of light, of healing. He couldn’t lose Percy to the darkness. Not now. Not ever.

And Tartarus? Tartarus had no idea what kind of fury it had just invited.

Apollo didn’t waste a moment, he flashed straight to Olympus, landing with a heavy thud on the gleaming marble floor of the throne room. His arrival was unceremonious, lacking the usual flair of his golden aura, and his face was set in a grim expression that rarely touched his divine features. There was no time for grand entrances or casual teasing—Percy was in Tartarus. Alone.

“Emergency meeting. Now,” Apollo’s voice rang out, commanding the attention of every god present. Conversations and leisurely activities came to an abrupt halt. There was an unfamiliar edge to Apollo’s tone—one that made even the immortal gods feel uneasy.

Poseidon was the first to appear on his sea-green throne, looking unusually tense. “What’s happened?” he demanded, his voice unsteady, laced with an urgency that sent ripples through the room. He didn’t need to be told—he already knew something was wrong with his son. A father’s instinct.

Apollo clenched his fists, forcing himself to stay calm. “Percy—he’s fallen into Tartarus. Alone.”

The effect was immediate. The gods, normally so composed, collectively froze. The air seemed to grow heavier, suffocating. Even those who usually remained impassive in moments of crisis exchanged uneasy glances.

The room was deathly silent.

Poseidon’s trident slipped from his grasp and clattered onto the floor with a deafening echo. The mighty god of the sea stared at Apollo; disbelief etched across his face. He looked like he’d just been struck by a tidal wave “My son… my kid...” he whispered, his voice breaking; his usual stoic composure shattered.

Apollo’s heart clenched painfully. He had never seen Poseidon like this—never seen a god, his uncle, fall apart. The other gods, too, were staring in stunned silence. Poseidon’s vulnerability hit them hard. The idea of a god breaking down, showing raw, mortal-like emotion—it was terrifying, even for them.

“How… how did this happen?” Poseidon asked, his voice thick with grief, his face pale as if all the color had drained from him.

Apollo forced the words out, the lump in his throat growing larger with each passing second. “Percy… Percy sacrificed himself for Nico. He was about to fall into the pit, and Percy saved him. But when Nico was safe—Percy let go. He let go to close those stupid doors.”

Poseidon’s eyes widened, and for a moment, it looked like he might break completely. It was as if all the breath had been sucked from him. His eyes widened, and he surged to his feet, raw panic flashing across his face—an emotion rarely seen in the mighty god of the sea. Poseidon’s face darkened. “He let go?” The disbelief, the raw pain in his voice.

The room was eerily still. Even the gods who rarely expressed emotion—Ares, Hermes, Artemis—had grim expressions on their faces. The only ones who remained unmoved were Hera, Athena, and Demeter, though their silence was enough to show they understood the gravity of the situation.

"He did it to save Nico," Apollo added softly, though the words felt hollow. There was no comfort in them.

At that, Hades stood from his throne, his dark robes swirling around him. His expression was impassive, but the worry in his eyes was unmistakable. "Percy saved my son," he said, the words heavy with gratitude and regret. “He saved Nico.”

Zeus, seated in his grand throne high above the others, shifted uncomfortably, his fingers drumming against the armrest. His eyes flicked between Apollo and Poseidon, and for the first time in what felt like centuries, his hardened, kingly exterior cracked. The strain of the situation—the knowledge of what his Roman side had done—sat heavy on his broad shoulders.

He cleared his throat, his voice unusually soft. “I… regret what Jupiter did Apollo.” His gaze dropped to the floor, a rare moment of humility shining through. “If I... he hadn’t, perhaps…” His words trailed off, but the remorse was clear. He had always liked Percy, admired the boy’s strength and resilience, even if he rarely showed it. And now, the weight of his decisions seemed to press down on him.

Apollo wasn’t sure what to say. He wanted to yell, to lash out, to blame Zeus for what had happened. But the prayer, that tiny sliver of Percy’s voice—I love you—echoed in his mind, and all he could think about was getting Percy back. “I should have been there,” Apollo said instead, his voice barely above a whisper. “He—he prayed to me, thinking it was his last chance to say anything.”

Artemis, who had been sitting quietly, her silver eyes narrowing as she processed the situation, stood up and moved toward Apollo. Her hand tightened around her silver bow, eyes glinting with barely contained fury. “That old fool,” she muttered under her breath, annoyed at Jupiter’s actions. Then, more softly, with a touch of vulnerability she only reserved for Apollo, “We’ll get him back.”

Apollo nodded, appreciating the quiet resolve in his sister. She wasn’t one for emotional outbursts, but her protective instincts, especially for him and those she considered worthy—like Percy—ran deep.

“How bad is it?” Dionysus asked, for the first time admitting his concern over the camper.

“It’s bad,” Apollo said, voice low. “I—Di, I don’t know how long he can survive down there. He’s—he’s been struggling. More than he lets on.”

He spotted Hermes’ face tighten, becoming uncharacteristically serious. He shared a quick glance with Hermes, the unspoken bond between them carrying the weight of words unspoken. Hermes knew how Apollo felt about Percy. He had seen him fret over the boy for a long time now, silently watching as Percy’s confidence crumbled under the weight of impossible expectations.

At his words Zeus flinched, and Poseidon let out a broken sob, burying his face in his hands. The sea god’s shoulders shook with the force of his grief, the sound of his anguish filling the room. The other gods stared, wide-eyed, in disbelief. They had never seen Poseidon like this—never seen a god of his power unravel. It sent shivers down their spines.

The silence was deafening, broken only by the tremble in Poseidon’s voice. “My son is down there… in Tartarus, and I can’t… I can’t do anything.” His voice cracked, and he looked up, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Please. Let me go after him.”

Zeus, visibly shaken by his brother’s breakdown, looked as if he might bend under the pressure. His concern for his brother and his own remorse warred with his kingly responsibilities. He stood slowly, speaking with more caution than Apollo had ever heard. “We cannot allow it, brother. If you fall into Tartarus, the consequences would be catastrophic. You know this.”

Poseidon’s hands tightened into fists, his grief morphing into frustration. “He’s my son, Zeus. I won’t leave him to die.” Suddenly his normal regal tone shattered from his own desperation. “I can’t let him die...”

Zeus seemed even more pained by his next words, “Tartarus is no place for gods to wander—especially not now. The risk is too great."

Risk. Apollo wanted to scream. What about Percy’s life? What about the fact that he was down there, suffering, probably thinking no one was coming to help him?

Poseidon’s fists clenched, and for a moment, Apollo thought the sea god might defy his brother’s decree right then and there. He wanted him to. He wanted Poseidon to tear the skies apart if that meant Percy could be saved. But Poseidon just stared down at his hands, his chest rising and falling with shaky breaths, his fear overtaking his usual bravado.

A heartbreaking silence followed.

"He’s my son," Poseidon whispered, more to himself than anyone else. His voice was hoarse, broken. "He’s my son, and I can’t—" He cut himself off, his face crumpling as he struggled to hold back the tide of grief. The weight of his words fell on the room like a leaden blanket.

Hades’ voice cut through the quiet, steady and firm. "We will get him back. Percy Jackson has proven time and again that he can handle the impossible." He glanced at Poseidon, his eyes softening slightly. "But we have to be smart about this. He’s a fighter. If anyone can survive the horrors of Tartarus long enough for us to act, it’s him."

Ares, who typically scoffed at emotional displays, stood stiffly, his jaw clenched. “The kid’s got guts. He’s survived worse odds.” His eyes flicked to Poseidon, and though his words were rough, the concern in his expression betrayed his true feelings.

Artemis, standing beside her twin, crossed her arms, her silver gaze filled with quiet worry. “Percy is strong,” she said, her voice firm, yet gentle. “He’ll hold out until we can help him. We just need to move quickly.”

Apollo wanted to agree, but that prayer—I love you—still echoed in his mind, reminding him just how fragile Percy’s spirit had become. Percy was a fighter, but he’d also been worn down by the weight of everything he’d been through. The lack of food, the constant danger, and worst of all, the self-doubt that gnawed at him, whispering lies Apollo could hear in every flicker of Percy’s hesitant smile.

He couldn’t take it anymore. “We can’t just sit here. We need a plan—something.” His voice broke, and he ran a hand through his hair, the frustration mounting. “Percy’s been struggling. He’s… he hasn’t been eating. His self-esteem—it’s worse than anyone knows.” His words hung in the air, heavy with truth. The gods all knew Percy had been through too much for someone his age, but hearing Apollo voice the boy’s deeper struggles made it all the more real.

Artemis placed a reassuring hand on her brother’s arm, though it shook slightly, her own fear evident. “We’ll help him, Apollo. But we must be patient.”

Zeus, sensing the unrest in the room, leaned forward. "Apollo," he said, his voice heavy with finality. "You cannot enter Tartarus. The consequences—"

“I don’t care about the consequences!” Apollo snapped, his usual deference to his father vanishing in an instant. “Percy is down there, alone, and he thinks no one’s coming for him. He—he prayed to me, even though he thought it was his last chance to say anything!”

The entire room stiffened at that, and even Zeus seemed to hesitate, unsure how to respond. Hermes’ face softened with empathy, and Artemis reached out to grip Apollo’s arm, grounding him with her silent strength.

Zeus looked to Apollo, his face lined with tension. “You cannot go to Tartarus, Apollo. None of us can.” His voice was calm but resolute. “You will not go. "You will not go to Tartarus. But you will help in any way necessary to get him back. Work with the others on their quest—guide them, aid them. But Tartarus is off-limits, even for you."

He wanted to argue, to defy the restrictions his father had placed on him. But then his gaze drifted to Poseidon, who looked like he’d aged a millennium in mere minutes, his face drawn and pale as he stared numbly into the distance. Apollo’s anger deflated slightly, replaced by a shared determination.

Poseidon, who had remained quiet, suddenly spoke again, his voice hollow. “Get him back,” he whispered, his voice raw, breaking as he stared into the abyss of his own helplessness. “Just—get him back. I can’t lose him,” he whispered, his eyes fixed on the floor. “He’s… he’s all I have left.”

The room fell silent again, the gods exchanging uneasy glances. Even Zeus, who stood firm as the king of the gods, looked shaken by his brother’s vulnerability.

Zeus placed a hand on Poseidon’s shoulder, an unspoken gesture of support. “We won’t lose him,” he said quietly, his tone unusually gentle. “Not this time.”

Hermes stepped forward, trying to lighten the mood, though his heart wasn’t in it. “Percy’s good at surviving. We just have to be ready when the time comes to get him.”

But despite the attempts to offer comfort, the fear lingered. Percy Jackson was strong enough to survive—if they could figure out how to help him in time, then possibly...

Apollo’s heart ached. All he could think about was the prayer Percy had sent him—I love you. The desperation in those words still haunted him.

He just hoped they wouldn’t be the last words Percy ever said to him.

Notes:

Hi hope you all enjoyed this chapter, it's 3629 words!!!!!!!!

This is more Apollo's response to him falling though it does have the others as well!!!!!!!!!!

What was your favourite line for this chapter????????????

If you commented and didn't receive a response from me maybe check again as I've just made sure I've replied to all comments. However if I start to be late to replying just bare with me, for example I'm super sick this week so I will be slower!!!

Notes for this chapter:
Apollo:Ah finally I'm not being watched by my dad, time to go see the love of my life
Others: Percy fallen to hell
Apollo:...
Apollo:AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Nico:Percy saved me after helping Annabeth
Apollo: THAT LITTLE SHIT FELL CUS STUPID BLOND GIRL WAS HERE!!!???

Annabeth:Percy knew what he was doing...
Apollo: That's it, you can have Huntington's disease

Apollo:Emergency meeting my boyfriends fallen to hell
Poseidon: *HAVING A STROKE*
Athena: But my statue's back so yay!

Apollo: *Prepared to do an Albus Dumbeassadoor's impression and swan dive into Tartarus
Zeus:Apollo no
Apollo: Apollo Yes
Hermes: Apollo No
Apollo: Apollo maybe?
Artemis: Apollo NO
Apollo: Apollo no :(

If you have any ideas for future chapters please say!!!!! I want to include your ideas as much as possible as I mentioned before.

Hope your enjoying the story!!!!!!

Chapter 14: I drink fire

Notes:

Hi!!!!!!!!!!!!

From now on if I update on tuesdays it does not count as late. Anyone who has been following this story long enough has already subconsciously shifted updating time to tuesdays anyway.

This chapter is long, I think? As I'm writing this note it's long so...

Either way it's the start of a long, horrid journey which you all get to follow along. How will Percy cope on his own?

Have fun...

If Percy had ever imagined how he might die, freezing to death in the literal fiery pits of hell hadn’t been on the list.

Icy water punched the breath from his lungs, numbing his limbs until he couldn’t move. He started to sink, dark water pressing around him. Eerie, wailing voices filled his ears—countless whispers of pure sorrow. It was like the river itself was made of sadness, raw and unfiltered. The voices were worse than the cold, dragging him down, each one a weight that settled over him.

What’s the point of fighting? the voices murmured. You’re already dead. You’ll never leave.

It would be so much easier to let go. Sink to the bottom, let the river carry him wherever it wanted. Just close his eyes and let it all slip away.

Who would even miss him? His friends, they probably tolerated him more than actually cared for him. His mom would move on; she had a chance at a life without him, a fresh start. Letting go would be easier. Kinder, even.

Percy’s eyes started to close, his grip on Riptide loosening. It wasn’t until he felt the pen slipping from his fingers that he jolted, his fist snapping tight around it. Riptide was the first thing his father had ever given him—the only real gift. Did Poseidon even know where he was now? Did he even care?

Percy’s eyes snapped open as he broke through the river’s surface, gasping for air even though the sulfurous fumes burned his lungs. He realized, suddenly, that the water around him had formed into a whirlpool, buoying him up. When had he done that?

He could just barely see the shape of the shore in the distance, though the realization did nothing to lift his spirits. Normally, water gave him strength, but not here. Not this river. Every second of control he exerted over it seemed to drain him. The whirlpool started to collapse, and the voices grew louder around him, as if they sensed his weakness.

Life is despair, they hissed, their tones relentless, invading his mind. Everything is pointless, and then you die.

"Pointless," Percy muttered, teeth chattering uncontrollably. He let himself sink lower, arms heavy and limp at his sides, eyes fluttering closed.

The freezing water wrapped around him, dragging him down. He had a distant memory of Nico explaining the Underworld’s rivers to him and Thalia one night, his voice solemn. The River of Lamentation, Nico had called it. Cocytus, the river made of pure misery.

“Misery,” Percy echoed softly, the numbness thickening in his bones, filling him until he could barely remember what he was doing here in the first place.

But suddenly, like a surge cutting through the fog, a voice broke into his mind. “Fight it!” it urged, strong and unyielding. He froze, the voice vibrating through him, shocking him with its warmth, cutting through his pain.

For a moment, the river stilled, as though listening. The haze around him lifted just enough to let him hear again, and he knew that voice. A familiar brightness filled him, though he could find no name, no face—just a sense of warmth, like laughter, like home. A happiness in the middle of misery.

His limbs were moving before he’d even made sense of it, kicking desperately through the current. Why? He couldn’t be sure. But he had to reach something, somewhere, someone...

Through the blur of his vision, he could just make out a dark line—the shore, almost within reach. As he struggled closer, the voice appeared again, as clear and strong as sunlight. “What do you want to do after this, Percy? Didn’t you say you wanted to go to college?”

“College,” he choked out. He’d barely ever admitted that to himself, much less anyone else. Who would he have told? He was Percy, the kid who bounced from school to school like an unlucky lottery ball. College was a luxury for people whose lives made sense.

“What would you study, Percy?”

“Dunno,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper, feeling like an idiot for talking to himself.

“Marine science,” the voice suggested easily, “or maybe oceanography? Or how about the art of eating cookies?"

Percy laughed, the sound like an unexpected punch, and it sent shockwaves through the water. The voices faded, dimming to a low murmur, and Percy wondered if anyone had ever laughed in Tartarus before—just a laugh, free and unburdened. It couldn’t have been too common, he figured. But he used the strength left in him to reach the edge, his legs finding the muddy bottom as he stumbled, gasping, to the dark shoreline. He collapsed on the coarse sand, breath rattling in his lungs.

Everything in him wanted to sink into sleep, to shut his eyes, forget this nightmare, and wake up in his bunk on the Argo II, surrounded by friends. He wanted—needed—to close his eyes and escape the shadowy ghosts that plagued his memories. It wasn’t much, but he longed for that one peaceful night, under the stars, safe and quiet. That one night where no terrors waiting for him in corners, Apollo's light having been enough to keep them at bay.

But no, he was really here, in Tartarus. At his feet, the Cocytus flowed past, a river of liquid sorrow and grief, its scent sharp and sulfurous. He looked down at his arms to see angry red rashes breaking out across his skin, and his palms stung with embedded shards of jagged black glass.

This place was like something Gabe would’ve dreamed up. Torture built into every breath, every touch. The air was acid. The water was pure misery. The ground was glass meant to slice him apart. Percy took a shallow breath, his lungs burning, and wondered if the Cocytus had been right all along. Maybe fighting for survival was pointless. He’d be dead within an hour, maybe less.

Maybe it would be better if he just—

Riptide’s cold lid brushed his wrist, jolting him back. His hand tightened around the pen, and he coughed out a faint laugh, muttering to himself, “This place smells just like my ex-stepfather.”

And the more he thought about it, the more it did. Nico had mentioned some myth or theory once, something about how the deepest pits of hell would mirror the worst memories in a person’s mind. Seemed far-fetched, sure, but then again, who was crazy enough to prove it?

Well, at least Percy had points for originality if he didn’t make it out of here alive. He’d never get to tell Nico that, though…not unless the Ghost King made a trip to the fields.

That thought stung, but he couldn’t give in to it. Grieving would come later, if he survived. Right now, he had no food, no water, no real supplies to keep him going.

Yep. Off to a promising start.

He was sure he looked terrible. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead, his tattered shirt barely hanging together. His fingers were raw, scraped to the bone from clinging to that ledge for so long before he’d finally fallen. Not that it had done him any good in the end. And his lips—he could see, even feel, that they were tinted blue. His fingers, too, had taken on that faint, worrying color.

“You should keep moving, or you’ll get hypothermia,” the voice appeared again, a steady, quiet presence in his mind, issuing more of a dare than advice. Percy could almost feel it challenging him to ignore it.

He scanned the expanse around him. Above, there was no trace of the tunnel he’d fallen through—just endless blood-red clouds suspended in a haze of gray air, like an endless sky of poisoned fog. It felt too dense to be breathable, like a thick soup of despair and sulfur. Beneath him, the jagged black-glass beach stretched inland a ways before it vanished, dropping suddenly off a cliff. From where he stood, he couldn’t see what lay at the bottom of that drop, only the faint flicker of red light glinting up from below, as if massive fires were blazing somewhere unseen.

Further down the shore, a hundred feet or so, Percy noticed something out of place—a baby-blue Italian sports car, smashed nose-first into the sand. He’d seen that car just hours—no, lifetimes—ago when it had sent Arachne hurtling into the pit. He hadn’t expected it to make the journey with him, and seeing it again struck a chill even deeper into his bones.

But how many Fiats could there possibly be in Tartarus?

Part of him resisted going anywhere near it, but he forced himself forward. He stumbled toward the wreckage, feeling slower, more drained with each step. In the backwater eddy of the Cocytus, one of the car’s tires had come off and bobbed slowly in place, looking oddly innocent in such a cruel landscape. The car’s windows were shattered, shards of glass littering the dark sand around it. A faint glint of silk peeked out from beneath the crushed hood—the remains of the cocoon Annabeth had tricked Arachne into weaving, a trap that now lay in broken tatters. It was unmistakably empty, a trail of slash marks leading away down the shore… as if something massive and multi-legged had dragged itself into the shadows.

She was alive.

A horrible thought sprang up unbidden, digging icy claws into his mind. If Tartarus was monster home court, their sanctuary, what if they couldn’t die down here? It would mean endless enemies, relentless, invincible, and hunting for him.

Percy shook his head, forcing himself to stay focused. Despite the suffocating heat, he was still shivering, a deeper cold settling into him that he couldn’t shake. He glanced down at his hands, half-surprised to see they were still bleeding from the glass. Healed wounds were one of the perks of being a demigod, and especially when water was nearby, he recovered quickly—except here. The cuts were slow to stop, and an unsettling numbness crawled up his fingers, tightening his throat.

The voice returned, sharp and sure, breaking his clouded thoughts: “Breathe.”

Percy tried, only to find his chest wouldn’t expand. He forced out, “This place is killing me. It’s… it’s literally going to kill me, unless…”

Fire. That distant memory sparked, casting light through his exhausted haze. He turned inland, where the cliffs beyond the beach glowed, red flames flickering up from below.

It was completely insane. But crazy plans were all he had.

He needed to find the River of Fire.

Yet, nothing was ever that simple. Reaching the ledge, Percy felt certain he’d just signed his own death warrant.

The cliff plunged down at least eighty feet, dropping into a vision of hell itself: a river of fire winding through a jagged, obsidian canyon, like a twisted version of the Grand Canyon. The fiery current cast blood-red shadows against the cliff walls, throwing out waves of heat that burned his face. The cold of the Cocytus clung to his bones, but his skin felt raw, like he was already sunburned. Each breath was a struggle, his lungs stiff and tight as though filled with Styrofoam. The cuts on his hands bled more, not less.

He eyed the cliff. He didn’t have many options. Staying here meant death. Already, blisters were popping up on his arms from the toxic air, as if he’d stepped into a fallout zone. He noticed a thin fissure running diagonally from the ledge to the canyon floor—just big enough for a precarious descent. It was, without a doubt, a crazy idea, even by his standards.

Percy wedged his toes into the tiny ledge, fingers clawing for any purchase on the glassy rock. He’d ripped off his T-shirt sleeves, wrapping the cloth around his bloody palms, but his fingers still slipped and trembled with each movement. Step by step, he worked his way down, the name of the river—Phlegethon—circling his mind. It sounded more like a spitball competition than a river of fire, but there he was, inching toward it anyway.

Halfway down, his thoughts started to swarm, threatening to shake his focus. He’d made it about a third of the way, high enough that one wrong move would mean an instant splat. Sweat stung his eyes. His arms felt like jelly. But, somehow, he managed to reach the canyon floor.

Percy’s skin felt clammy, and a fever was starting to take hold. Red boils erupted across his face, his vision blurred, his throat blistered. Stumbling over jagged rocks and slick glass ledges, he dodged stalagmites that would’ve skewered him if he slipped. His clothes steamed in the river’s heat as he staggered, finally collapsing at the bank of the Phlegethon.

“You have to drink,” the voice whispered, this time with urgency.

Percy swayed on his knees, barely conscious, taking a three-count just to respond.

“Uh…drink fire?” Percy asked, struggling to speak through his constricting throat.

“The Phlegethon flows from Hades’s realm down into Tartarus,” the voice replied, sounding almost conversational despite Percy’s worsening state. "The river is used to punish the wicked, but some legends call it the River of Healing.”

“Some legends?” Percy rasped, barely able to keep his head clear as sparks from the river whirled up in the air, stinging his face. “But it’s fire. How can I—”

“Drink it.”

Normally, Percy knew better than to listen to strange voices, especially in Tartarus. But he didn’t have any better options. Running out of time and strength, he plunged his hands directly into the fiery river.

It was reckless. Probably stupid. But he felt as if he had no choice. If he waited, he’d die. Better to take a desperate chance than to give up.

At first, the liquid fire felt shockingly cold, most likely too hot to register. Before he could second-guess himself, he scooped up a handful of the burning liquid and brought it to his mouth.

The taste was beyond horrible. It made gasoline seem palatable. Once, back when his mom had ordered Indian food, he’d tried a ghost chili on a dare. This was worse—a thousand times worse, like downing a ghost chili smoothie. His mouth seared with pain; his nose and throat filled with pure agony. His eyes watered with boiling tears as every pore on his face popped. His entire body convulsed, and he doubled over, gagging and shivering uncontrollably.

When he finally caught his breath, he realized his fever was gone. His arms, once covered in blisters, were healing as the fire worked its way through his system. Weak and nauseous, Percy managed to sit up and grimace.

“Spicy,” he muttered, smacking his lips. “And disgusting.”

No doubt about it—they really were in Tartarus.

His surroundings now felt more real than ever, the memory of his descent sharpening in his mind—a series of plateaus plunging down into endless darkness. “The welcome mat,” Percy murmured to himself. It wasn’t exactly friendly. “Welcome to misery and suffering” was a more accurate interpretation.

He looked up at the swirling blood-red clouds hovering in the gray sky. Climbing back up the cliff was impossible, even if he’d wanted to. He was left with only two choices: heading downriver or upriver, keeping close to the Phlegethon for what little it could offer in terms of survival.

I’ll find a way out, he promised himself. He had to close the Doors of Death. Just before his fall, he’d made Nico di Angelo promise to guide the Argo II to the mortal side of the Doors. Percy had to try and meet him, but the idea felt so overwhelming. Wandering through Tartarus alone to locate and close the Doors felt like a joke. He’d barely managed to move a hundred yards without almost dying.

But he had to. Not just for himself. For everyone he cared about, for the whole world. If the Doors stayed open, monsters would keep spilling into the mortal realm, and Gaea’s forces would overrun everything. Percy knew he was right, but imagining a plan—figuring out how to get there, how to meet Nico on time—felt impossible. He didn’t even know if time worked the same way down here. And on the other side of the Doors, Gaea’s strongest monsters were rumored to stand guard. How could he face a legion of monsters?

The thoughts swirled, but he pushed them aside. After swimming in the Cocytus, Percy had heard enough self-pity and despair to last a lifetime. He promised himself no more complaining, no matter what. Besides, he’d need every ounce of strength for what lay ahead.

He took a step toward the river, planning to follow it downstream, but something caught his eye. His gaze locked on a massive dark shape barreling toward him from the opposite bank—a snarling, monstrous mass with spindly, barbed legs and gleaming, menacing eyes.

And it was coming straight for him.

Percy didn’t remember drawing Riptide, only the movement—the glint of bronze flashing as the blade cut through the air in a graceful arc above him. A terrible, high-pitched wail shattered the silence, echoing off the cliffs and filling the canyon.

Yellow dust—Arachne’s remains—rained down, clinging to him like thick pollen. Percy scanned the obsidian rocks and shadows around him, ready for more enemies. But nothing stirred. The golden dust settled on the ground, disappearing into the dark glass. Riptide’s blade gleamed defiantly in the murky air, the Celestial bronze sizzling against Tartarus’s oppressive heat, like a snake hissing a warning.

He felt strangely hollow. Arachne—the reason he was in Tartarus—was gone just like that. If it hadn’t been for her web, he’d be safely aboard the Argo II. A twisted part of him wished her end had been more painful, more drawn-out, matching the suffering he was about to endure. He caught himself, jolted by the cruelty of his thoughts. How could he wish for torture? Even after everything he’d faced, this wasn’t him.

But at least now he knew monsters could be killed here, though he didn’t plan on sticking around long enough to see how long Arachne stayed dead. He clenched Riptide tighter, its glow unwavering against the gloom.

With renewed resolve, Percy turned and set his gaze downstream, toward the deeper, deadlier parts of Tartarus, toward the Doors.

Percy had only managed a few hundred yards when he heard voices drifting down the river path, slicing through his exhaustion. The fiery water of the Phlegethon had healed him enough to keep moving but did nothing for the gnawing hunger and thirst clawing at him. The river wasn't about comfort; it kept you just alive enough to suffer more. Classic Tartarus.

He ducked behind the nearest boulder, edging close to the riverbank until the heat from the Phlegethon licked at his ankles. Somewhere along the narrow trail between the cliff and the fiery river, the voices were growing louder—sharp, agitated. Percy pressed against the rock, holding his breath. The voices sounded almost human, but he knew better than to assume anything friendly here.

Long before his demigod days, Percy had learned how to stay out of sight—thanks to Gabe, whose abuse taught him a survival instinct that ran deeper than any demigod training. Even now, he slipped into that wary mode, staying low, keeping his heartbeat steady. But he knew hiding was risky. Monsters could smell demigods, especially powerful ones. A boulder wouldn’t do much when they caught his scent.

Yet the creatures on the other side hadn’t changed pace, their footsteps shuffling closer, the voices rasping.

"Are we there soon?" a gravelly voice wheezed, like its throat was full of gravel.

“Oh my gods!” another voice snapped. It was younger, sharper, and annoyingly familiar. “I told you, it’s three days from here, okay?”

Percy tensed. That voice. He knew it.

The footsteps stopped just beyond his hiding place. Percy guessed there were at least half a dozen of them. He wondered if the suffocating air of Tartarus masked his scent, sparing him, at least for now.

One of the voices, a grating, older tone, growled, “Are you sure you know the way?”

“Oh, shut up, Serephone,” snapped the younger voice. “When’s the last time you left this pit? I was in the mortal world just a few years ago. I know where I’m going! And I know exactly what we’re facing up there.”

“The Earth Mother didn’t make you boss!” shrieked another.

More snarling, hissing, and vicious scuffling echoed across the cliff walls until the older voice, Serephone, barked, “Enough! We’ll follow…for now. But if we discover you’ve misled us about Gaea’s call—”

“Listen, I don’t lie!” snapped the young voice. “I’ve got my own enemies to devour. And trust me, you’ll feast on the blood of heroes. Just leave one special morsel for me—the one named Percy Jackson.”

Percy felt a surge of cold anger. For a second, he wanted to jump from his hiding spot and tear through them with Riptide, but he held back. The flash of rage unsettled him, made him feel monstrous. It was as if the air of Tartarus itself was creeping into his thoughts, feeding the aggression.

“Believe me,” said the familiar voice with a wicked edge. “Gaea’s calling us, and we’re going to have a blast. Before this war’s over, mortals and demigods alike will fear the name…Kelli!”

Percy’s grip on Riptide tightened, his knuckles white. He’d almost yelled out at the name; it was Kelli, the empousa who’d nearly killed him and his friends before. In the dim red glow of the Phlegethon, he felt his face tighten, his skin hot and his thoughts sharper. He could feel the fury bubbling up, but he swallowed it down, crouching behind the boulder.

Empousai, he thought, gritting his teeth.

Percy recalled his encounters with Kelli all too vividly. Two years ago, she and another empousa had ambushed him during freshman orientation, disguised as cheerleaders. If it hadn’t been for Rachel Dare’s quick thinking, things might’ve ended very differently. Later, Kelli had ambushed him and Annabeth in Daedalus's workshop. That time, Annabeth had been the one to take her down, sending Kelli straight here—to Tartarus.

Now the creatures’ voices faded as they shuffled off, and Percy peered cautiously around the boulder. Just as he’d feared, he spotted a group of five empousai limping along on mismatched legs—each one with a mechanical bronze left leg and a shaggy, cloven-hooved right. Their hair flickered like torches, their bone-white skin almost glowing against the dark backdrop of Tartarus. Most wore tattered, ancient Greek dresses, but at the head of the pack, Kelli’s outfit was unmistakable. She wore her singed cheerleader’s uniform: a torn blouse and short pleated skirt, hanging on as if frozen in time.

Percy clenched his jaw. Over the years, he’d fought all kinds of monsters, but empousai were among the worst. It wasn’t just their claws and fangs or their terrifying speed—it was their power over the Mist. They could twist reality, fooling mortals into seeing whatever they wanted them to see. And for Percy, who’d struggled to understand the Mist and the magic surrounding it, this power hit a nerve. The empousai could use their abilities to lure mortals close, charm them, and ultimately consume them. Their favorite victims were men, and they were notorious for using charmspeak to make men fall in love with them—only to drain their blood and devour them.

Kelli, in particular, had made her mark on him. She’d manipulated Luke, Annabeth’s oldest friend, coaxing him down a dark path in service of Kronos. The thought of that angered Percy, yet he forced himself to focus.

He straightened up, watching as they trudged away. As much as he hated it, these vicious empousai were heading toward the Doors of Death. If he was going to make it there, this might be his best, if not only, shot.

He’d have to follow them.

Notes:

Hi I hope you enjoyed this chapter!!!!! It's 4014 words!!! However it does cover 3 chapters of the book House of Hades so I feel like I did a pretty good job there.

This is Percy's first proper time spent in Tartarus and he's not doing very well now is he? He's definitely struggling!!!!!

What was your favourite line for this chapter????????????

I have not responded to any comments yet and will be doing it tomorrow for the last chapter, but have been struggling with a horrid illness going around currently so I am currently behind.

I'm afraid there's no notes for this chapter.

If you have any ideas for future chapters please say!!!!! I want to include your ideas as much as possible as I mentioned before.

Hope your enjoying the story!!!!!!

Chapter 15: I meet an unlikely friend

Notes:

Hi Guys!!!!!

Sorry for any bad grammar, words lost etc. My keyboards broken so I'm struggling to write this properly as a new one won't be coming for a while!!!!!!! However I didn't want to leave any or you for to long so this might also be a shorter chapter but I'll make up for it when I've got my new keyboard!!!!!

Anyway, good luck for this chapter!!!!!!!

Percy has gone on many walks during his time on this planet, usually they involved some sort of monster appearing from the bushes or the inside of a vending machine. Some of them were quite scenic taking him through the outer terrain of the city, passed beautiful lilies or fawns in forests.

This was not one of those walks.

He followed the River Phlegethon, stumbling over the glassy black terrain, jumping crevices and hiding behind rocks whenever the vampire girls slowed in front of him.

It was tricky to stay far enough back to avoid getting spotted but close enough to keep Kelli and her comrades in view through the dark hazy air. The heat from the river baked Percy’s skin. Every breath was like inhaling sulphur-scented fibreglass. When he needed a drink, the best he could do was sip some refreshing liquid fire.

Yep. Percy definitely knew how to take the scenic route out.

At least he no longer felt the urge to jump off any cliff, that was a start. For how long that urge would stay gone for was another matter that Percy didn't want to consider currently.

Percy didn't know when it had started, but for years now he had been feeling off, as if his purpose in the world was to be the prophesised child. He didn't know what to do with himself once the fight was over. He had been raised as a soldier and, despite how annoyingly inconvenient it was for him, he was half glad when he found out he would be in the next prophecy.

Weird right?

But Percy's mind had reasoning. For once. It was just that he couldn't forgive himself if others had to take in the huge burden that prophecies came with whilst he sat back and watched. It would tear him apart. Also, Percy didn't know how to be at peace.

How could someone just shut off their brain and relax after years of being on edge? It didn't make any sense to him; cause he just couldn't. Lying at ho- he didn't even have a home anymore did he? Camp half blood could maybe still be his home but Jason would probably have replaced him fully by now if the Romans didn't get their first. Because at this very minute the Romans were marching up to destroy the first place where he felt as if he belonged. All because if him.

So what if he was in Tartarus? So what if he would die down here, painfully and slowly. Would his soul even get out of here or would it just stay, saving a trip back down after he got judged? As long as he died after the doors had been shut then he would be at peace, he couldn't let his friends down on that aspect.

So Percy did feel better mentally, more at peace with his situation he guessed.

Physically, Percy felt better too, though his clothes looked like he’d been through a hurricane of broken glass. He was thirsty, hungry and scared out of his mind, but he’d shaken off the hopeless cold of the River Cocytus. And as nasty as the firewater tasted it seemed to keep him going.

Time was impossible to judge. He trudged along, following the river as it cut through the harsh landscape. Fortunately the empousai weren’t exactly speed walkers. They shuffled on their mismatched bronze and donkey legs, hissing and fighting with each other, apparently in no hurry to reach the Doors of Death. Once, the demons sped up in excitement and swarmed something that looked like a beached carcass on the riverbank. Percy couldn’t tell what it was – a fallen monster? An animal of some kind? The empousai attacked it with relish.

When the demons moved on, Percy reached the spot and found nothing left except a few splintered bones and glistening stains drying in the heat of the river. Percy had no doubt the empousai would devour demigods with the same gusto.

Yet he still made sure to catch up with them as quietly as possible, terrified that he would lose them, in turn losing his way to the doors.

As he walked, Percy thought about the first time he’d fought the empousa Kelli at Goode High School’s freshman orientation, when he and Rachel Elizabeth Dare got trapped in the band hall. At the time, it had seemed like a hopeless situation. Now, he’d give anything to have a problem that simple. At least he’d been in the mortal world then. Here, there was nowhere to run. Wow. When he started looking back on the war with Kronos as the good old days – that was sad. He kept hoping things would get better the other demigods, but each and every one of their lives just got more and more dangerous. His especially seemed as if the Three Fates were up there - wow the underworld was really above him right now- spinning their futures with barbed wire instead of thread just to see how much one demigod could tolerate before cracking.

After a few more miles, the empousai disappeared over a ridge. When Percy caught up, he found himself at the edge of another massive cliff. The River Phlegethon spilled over the side in jagged tiers of fiery waterfalls. The demon ladies were picking their way down the cliff, jumping from ledge to ledge like mountain goats. Like Grover...

Gods he missed his friend.

Yet the fact that he hadn't seen his half-goat honorary brother in a while was probably for the best. It would probably hurt less when someone told him the news. It wasn't as if he'd been a very good friend to the satyr lately, with disappearing for six months and all.

As he stared back down the cliff his heart crept into his throat. Even if he reached the bottom of the cliff alive, he didn’t have much to look forward to. The landscape below him was a bleak ash-grey plain bristling with black trees, like insect hair. The ground was pocked with blisters. Every once in a while, a bubble would swell and burst, disgorging a monster like a larva from an egg.

Suddenly Percy was feeling rather sick.

All the newly formed monsters were crawling and hobbling in the same direction – towards a bank of black fog that swallowed the horizon like a storm front. The Phlegethon flowed in the same direction until about halfway across the plain, where it met another river of black water – maybe the Cocytus? The two floods combined in a steaming, boiling cataract and flowed on as one towards the black fog.

The longer Percy looked into that storm of darkness, the less he wanted to go there. It could be hiding anything – an ocean, a bottomless pit, an army of monsters. But if the Doors of Death were in that direction it was his only chance to get home.

He peered over the edge of the cliff.

‘Wish I could fly,’ he muttered. He wondered how he would look flying around and Grover -probably cause he had just been thinking about him- sprang to mind. The guy had made an excellent flying goat boy with those cursed shoes...

The ones that had been cursed to drag their wearer into Tartarus. The ones that had fallen into the pit after almost dragging his friend down. Would they still be down here or had they been destroyed in the horrors of this place?

However, despite the fact that Percy was about seventy percent sure Zeus couldn't zap him down here, he still didn't think it was the best idea to fly around this place. Above him, dark winged shapes spiralled in and out of the blood-red clouds. Possibly some kind of fury or demons that chose to stay in Tartarus for a bit. Tartarus wasn't short on choice on which horror it wanted to send out next, there was probably thousands within a mile of him right this second.

Percy guessed he would need to climb then.

He couldn’t see the empousai below him any more. They’d disappeared behind one of the ridges, but that didn’t matter. It was clear where he needed to go. Like all the maggot monsters crawling over the plains of Tartarus, he should head towards the dark horizon. As it was clear he would just continue to move further away from the light.

As he started down the cliff, Percy concentrated on the challenges at hand: keeping his footing, avoiding rockslides that would alert the empousai to his presence and of course making sure he didn't plummet to his death.

About halfway down the precipice Percy's wound started screaming at him. He cursed himself for not taking a break earlier.

He sat on a ledge next to a roaring fiery waterfall, shaking from exhaustion. His stomach felt like it had shrunk to the size of a gumdrop. If he came across any more monster carcasses, he was afraid he might pull an empousa and try to devour it.

And despite cursing himself for that thought, he knew that if it helped the others then he would do it. For the others, his morality be damned.

He would find a way to the doors, he had to.

He didn’t think much of fates and prophecies, but he knew one thing. That bloody door needed to be closed, and he needed to the one to do it. Throughout the years, Percy had kept finding himself near the doors in some sort of fashion; from nearly being pulled in at twelve to his dreams.

However things could have been worse. The others could have been forced to subject this as well.

He closed his eyes, smelling the smoke on his clothes and he could almost imagine he was at the campfire at Camp Half-Blood.

'You could’ve fallen into the River Lethe,’ that voice said appearing out of nowhere and almost shocking Percy enough to fall off the ledge . ‘Lost all your memories.’

Percy’s skin crawled just thinking about it. He’d had enough trouble with amnesia for one lifetime. Only last month, Hera had erased his memories to put him among the Roman demigods. Percy had stumbled into Camp Jupiter with no idea who he was or where he came from. And a few years before that he’d fought a Titan on the banks of the Lethe, near Hades’s palace. He’d blasted the Titan with water from that river and completely wiped his memory clean.

Yeah, the Lethe was not his favourite.

The Titan, Lapetus he thought his name was, had then been renamed Bob and was left in Hades’s palace … He wondered if he was still content being Bob, friendly, happy and clueless. Percy hoped so, but the Underworld seemed to bring out the worst in everyone – monsters, heroes and gods.

He gazed across the ashen plains. The other Titans were supposed to be here in Tartarus – maybe bound in chains, or roaming aimlessly, or hiding in some of those dark crevices. Percy and his allies had destroyed the worst Titan, Kronos, but even his remains might be down here somewhere – a billion angry Titan,particles floating through the blood-coloured clouds or lurking in that dark fog.

Percy decided not to think about that; either way he needed to keep moving.

He struggled to his feet. The rest of the cliff looked impossible to descend – nothing more than a crosshatching of tiny ledges – but he kept climbing down.

Percy’s body went on autopilot. His fingers cramped. He felt blisters popping up on his ankles. He got shaky from hunger.

He wondered if he would die of starvation, or if the firewater would keep him going. He remembered the punishment of Tantalus, who’d been permanently stuck in a pool of water under a fruit tree but couldn’t reach either food or drink.

Jeez, Percy hadn’t thought about Tantalus in years. That stupid guy had been paroled briefly to serve as director at Camp Half-Blood. Probably he was back in the Fields of Punishment. Percy had never felt sorry for the jerk before, but now he was starting to sympathize. He could imagine what it would be like, getting hungrier and hungrier for eternity but never being able to eat.

Yet he kept climbing.

A billion years later, with a dozen new blisters on his feet, Percy reached the bottom, collapsing on the ground.

Ahead of him stretched miles of wasteland, bubbling with monstrous larvae and big insect-hair trees. To his right, the Phlegethon split into branches that
etched the plain, widening into a delta of smoke and fire. To the north, along the main route of the river, the ground was riddled with cave entrances. Here and
there, spires of rock jutted up like exclamation points shouting 'Come here and we'll kill you!'

Under Percy’s hand, the soil felt alarmingly warm and smooth. He tried to grab a handful, then realized that, under a thin layer of dirt and debris, the
ground was a single vast membrane … like skin.

He almost threw up, but forced himself not to. There was nothing in his stomach but fire.

He started to feel like something was watching him – something vast and malevolent. He couldn’t zero in on it, because the presence was all around them. Watching was the wrong word, too.

That implied eyes, and this thing was simply aware of him. The ridges above them now looked less like steps and more like rows of massive teeth. The spires of rock looked like broken ribs. And if the ground was skin … Percy forced those thoughts aside. This place was just freaking him out. That was all.

But he knew he was lying to himself, just like he did when a little boy. It was easier to lie to himself, to pretend that if he was good enough then the fists would stop, then accept the harsh reality. It took practice, sure but Percy had a lot of practice.

About a hundred yards ahead of him, a blister burst on the ground. A monster clawed its way out … a glistening telkhine with slick fur, a seal-like body and stunted human limbs. It managed to crawl a few yards before something shot out of the nearest cave, so fast that Percy could only register a dark green reptilian head. The monster snatched the squealing telkhine in its jaws and dragged it into the darkness.

Reborn in Tartarus for two seconds, only to be eaten. Percy wondered if that telkhine would pop up in some other place in Tartarus, and how long it would
take to re-form.

He swallowed down the sour taste of firewater.

As he fumbled his way back onto his feet, he thought about how just not fun this was going to be. He was going to have to walk across an empty, very visible plain.

He took one last look at the cliffs, but there was no going back. He would’ve given a thousand golden drachmas to have Frank Zhang with them right now – good old Frank, who always seemed to show up when needed and could turn into an eagle or a dragon to fly him across this stupid wasteland.

But that would mean Frank would have to submit himself to these tortures, and that made Percy immediately rescind his decision.

He started walking, trying to avoid the cave entrances, sticking close to the bank of the river. He was just skirting one of the spin- spires when a glint of movement caught Percy’s eye – something darting between the rocks to his right.

A monster following him? Or maybe it was just some random baddie, heading for the Doors of Death.

Suddenly he remembered why he’d started following this route, and he froze in his tracks.

The empousai were missing.

Maybe the demon ladies had been snapped up by that reptile in the cave. If the empousai were still ahead of him, they should’ve been visible somewhere on the plains.

Unless they were hiding …

Too late, Percy drew his sword.

The empousai emerged from the rocks all around him – five of them forming a ring. A perfect trap.

Kelli limped forward on her mismatched legs. Her fiery hair burned across her shoulders like a miniature Phlegethon waterfall. Her tattered cheerleader outfit was splattered with rusty-brown stains, and Percy was pretty sure they weren’t ketchup. She fixed him with her glowing red eyes and bared her fangs.

‘Percy Jackson,’she cooed. ‘How awesome! I don’t even have to return to the mortal world to destroy you!’

Percy recalled how dangerous Kelli had been the last time he’d fought in the Labyrinth and that was with Annabeth's help. Despite those mismatched legs, she could move fast when she wanted to. She’d dodged his sword strikes back then and would have eaten his face if Annabeth hadn’t stabbed her from behind.

Now she had four friends with her.

‘And where is your darling Annabeth?’ Kelli hissed with laughter. ‘I thought I'd never see one without the other? Did she abandon you once she saw where you were heading sea child?'

The others cackled along with her.

Percy tried to think. He had battled countless monsters against terrible odds, but he wasn't exactly in tip-top shape right now. Not to mention how he was hopelessly outnumbered. There was nowhere to run. No help coming.

Briefly Percy considered calling for Mrs O’Leary, his hellhound friend who could shadow-travel. Even if she heard him, could she make it into Tartarus? This was where monsters went when they died. Calling her here might kill her, or turn her back to her natural state as a fierce monster. No … he couldn’t do that to his dog.

So, no help.

Maybe he could try talking?

‘So …’ he started, ‘I guess you’re wondering what I'm doing in Tartarus.’

Kelli snickered. ‘Not really. I just want to kill you.’

'So you have no idea what is going on in the mortal world?'

The other empousai circled, watching Kelli for a cue to attack, but the ex-cheerleader only snarled, crouching out of reach of Percy’s sword.

We know enough,’ Kelli said. ‘Gaia has spoken.’

'Yeah well the last time someone had spoken was Kronos and guess what... I killed him.'

‘The boy hides behind the past.’ Kelli said. ‘So the Titans lost. Fine! That was part of the plan to wake Gaia! Now the Earth Mother and her giants will destroy the mortal world, and we will totally feast on demigods!’

The other vampires gnashed their teeth in a frenzy of excitement. Percy had been in the middle of a school of sharks when the water was full of blood. That wasn’t nearly as scary as empousai ready to feed.

He prepared to attack, but how many could he dispatch before they overwhelmed him? It wouldn’t be enough.

‘The demigods have united!' He yelled. ‘You’d better think twice before you attack us. Romans and Greeks will fight you together. You don’t stand a chance!’

The empousai backed up nervously, hissing, ‘Romani.’

Percy guessed they’d had experience with the Twelfth Legion before and it hadn’t worked out well for them.

‘Yeah, you bet Romani.’ Percy bared his forearm and showed them the brand he’d got at Camp Jupiter – the SPQR mark, with the trident of Neptune. ‘You mix Greek and Roman, and you know what you get? You get BAM!’

He stomped his foot, and the empousai scrambled back. One fell off the boulder where she’d been perched. That made Percy feel good, but they recovered quickly and closed in again.

Percy took a deep breath preparing, though the air in Tartarus was like breathing in razor blades. The empousai circled him, sneering. At the front of the pack, Kelli stood with her eyes alight, fiery hair cascading over her shoulders like molten lava. “Percy Jackson,” she purred, “Far from home. Helpless. Alone.”

They advanced in sync, grinning in a frenzy of anticipation. Percy’s grip on Riptide tightened, his knuckles whitening. He’d fought these monsters before, but something about the shadows in Tartarus sharpened their fangs, made their sneers sharper.

The memories of past battles twisted in his mind, darker than usual. A part of him wanted to unleash everything he had on these monsters, to see them crushed into dust. Without realizing it, his hand shot out, catching one of the empousai around the neck. For a second, Percy’s vision dimmed, shadows pooling at the edges, and the creature began to squirm, her eyes bulging in agony from… something.

He released her in shock, watching her stumble backward, gasping for air. What had happened to her? Percy shook his head, clearing the strange, fractured feeling inside him, something like a faint crack running through his core. He tried to shove the feeling away, raising Riptide to slash at the remaining empousai. One of them lunged, and he slashed her in half, dusting her with a clean stroke. His head still pounded, and his fingers were tingling, an ache running from his grip into his chest.

“Jackson,” Kelli hissed, stepping closer, her smile wicked, watching him falter. “Let it out. We all know it’s in you.”

Percy tried to ignore the strange sensation of her words echoing in his mind. There was something else here, some undercurrent that made his blood feel too warm. Another empousa leapt at him, claws sinking into his shoulder. Instinctively, he wrenched her away with a strength that felt unfamiliar, almost wrong, and she flew back, slamming against a spire of rock with a strangled scream before dissolving into dust.

Kelli charged, and this time, Percy didn’t see her coming. A flash of pain erupted as her talons raked across his side, ripping through fabric and skin alike. He gasped, stumbling back, fresh blood pouring from the wound and soaking his shirt. The metallic tang filled his mouth, but he pushed through the pain, refusing to show weakness.

“Nice,” Kelli mocked, her grin widening, taking in his momentary hesitation. “Maybe you belong here after all.”

Percy’s vision blurred. He tried to breathe, but the sickly sweetness of Tartarus, that iron tang that settled deep in his bones, clouded his senses. Pain flared up his side as Kelli raked her claws across him, leaving a jagged burn in her wake. The agony spread like fire through his veins, and he staggered back, trying to regain his balance.

Before he could shake off the dizziness, another empousa had leapt onto him, her fangs sinking into his neck, sending waves of searing pain coursing through his body. He staggered back, struggling to maintain his balance as another empousa grabbed his arm, preventing him from raising Riptide. She let out a hiss, her eyes blazing, but Percy barely noticed the glimmer of red seeping into the air around them, forming strange trails on the ground like rivers pooling from an invisible wound.

“What…?” He couldn’t tell what was happening. His thoughts were slipping, every second a hazy mess of pain and exhaustion. He kicked out, trying to throw off the empousa on his back, but his muscles trembled with fatigue. Something cracked deep inside him—just for a second—a strange hollow sensation that passed through his mind like a distant memory.

Kelli lunged again, claws extended, and Percy barely brought Riptide up in time, swinging wildly. His vision sharpened just in time to see Kelli falter, her gaze flickering with uncertainty as she took a step back.

“You can’t win here,” she said, but her voice held a trace of hesitation, glancing at the smeared, pooling trails on the ground. “You don’t belong here.”

Percy tightened his grip on Riptide, steadying his breath. “Guess you’ll have to find out.” He met her gaze, the ache in his bones numbing to a cold determination.

With a snarl, Kelli lunged. Percy brought Riptide up, slashing through her, and she dissolved in a shower of dust. He staggered forward, glancing back at the fading trails on the ground, unsure of what exactly had happened. The empousai surrounding him seemed to sense his hesitation, closing in with renewed fervor. He stumbled, the world spinning around him as he clutched at the fresh wounds on his neck and side, every breath a reminder of the monsters waiting to feast.

A vampire jumped on his back sank her teeth into his neck. Searing pain coursed through his body. His knees buckled.

That was it.

He swang Riptide viciously backwards, beheading the last stupid vampire.

Then a shadow fell across Percy. A deep war cry bellowed from somewhere above, echoing across the plains of Tartarus, and a Titan dropped onto the used battlefield.

Percy thought he was hallucinating. It just wasn’t possible that a huge silvery figure could drop out of the sky.

But that’s exactly what happened. The Titan was ten feet tall, with wild silver Einstein hair, pure silver eyes and muscular arms protruding from a ripped-up blue janitor’s uniform. In his hand was a massive push broom. His name tag, incredibly, read BOB.

He turned to Percy with a confused look, as the Titans' massive eyes scanned the place.

‘SWEEP!’ The Titan grinned with delight and did a victory dance. ‘Sweep, sweep, sweep! Percy sweeped! Bob came to help but Percy didn't need it!’

Percy couldn’t speak. He couldn’t bring himself to believe that something good had actually happened.

‘H-how …?’ he stammered.

'Percy called me!’ the janitor said happily. ‘Yes, he did.’

Percy slowly nodded, grimacing as he suddenly felt bone tired. At the same time his knee gave out, probably from the wounds still slowly oozing out blood, and he slumped to the floor.

The janitor frowned when he noticed the blood. ‘Owie.’

Percy flinched as Bob knelt next to him and the titan withdrew for a second, a puzzled expression on his face.

‘It’s okay,’ Percy said, still woozy with pain. ‘You're friendly.’

He remembered when he’d first met Bob. The Titan had healed a bad wound on Percy’s shoulder just by touching it. Sure enough, the janitor tapped Percy's leg and it mended instantly. Bob chuckled, pleased with himself, healing his bleeding neck and arm as well. The Titan’s hands were surprisingly warm and gentle.

‘All better!’ Bob declared, his eerie silver eyes crinkling with pleasure.

'Uh … yeah,’ Percy managed still shocked. ‘Thanks for the help, Bob. It’s really good to see you again.’

And he meant that; despite not having the most amount of time to think about the guy, Percy was still glad to see him and make sure he was okay.

‘Yes!’ the janitor agreed. ‘Bob. That’s me. Bob, Bob, Bob.’ He shuffled around, obviously pleased with his name. ‘I am helping. I heard my name. Upstairs in Hades’s palace, nobody calls for Bob unless there is a mess. Bob, sweep up these bones. Bob, mop up these tortured souls. Bob, a zombie exploded in the dining room.’

Percy's face twisted slightly, whether from pain or disgust at the lack of appreciation for Bob he couldn't be sure.

‘Then I heard my friend call!’ The Titan beamed. ‘Percy said, Bob!’ He grabbed Percy’s arm and hoisted him to his feet.

‘That’s awesome,’ Percy said. ‘Seriously. But how did you –’

‘Oh, time to talk later.’ Bob’s expression turned serious. ‘We must go before they find you. They are coming. Yes, indeed.’

‘They?’ Percy asked, scanning the horizon. He saw no approaching monsters – nothing but the stark grey wasteland.

‘Yes,’ Bob agreed. ‘But Bob knows a way. Come on, friend! We will have fun!’

And who was Percy to refuse?

Notes:

Well this turned out to be 4602 words!!!!!!

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and again, I apologise for any mistakes!!!!

What was your favourite line????

Percy's slowly getting deeper and deeper into Tartarus!!!! I wonder what's going to happen next (cause I won't have a clue till the next time I update!!!) especially now he has someone to talk to!!!!

Would you guys like the next chapter to be of Tartarus again, a flashback, a dream and a bit of tartarus, the others on their quest or something else???? I'm open to suggestions and ideas as always!!!!!

Hope your enjoying the story!!!!!!!!!!!

Chapter 16: I can't breathe

Notes:

Hi guys guess who's keyboard arrived!!!!!!

I would just like to say a massive thank you to everyone who has commented, giving kudos or even just read this as we have now passed 20,000 hits!!! We've also had over 1000 kudos and that really means sooooo much to me as I thought this would be a flop. I can't wait to hear how everyone finds this chapter!!!

Anyway, a lot of people have been saying they either want a dream or Tartarus for this chapter so I thought why can't I do both!! Then I re-read the four chapters I'm combining here and went oh in canon Annabeth has a dream so we're sorted!!!!!!

Anyway it's half term now so I should have time to update more, however every time I say that I then don't so oops.

Either way buckle in...

Please remind Percy to never say, or think in this case, 'who was he to...'.

No matter how anyone decided to finish that sentence it would still end up as a curse, as did it now.

If the stupid monsters didn't kill him. Nor the poisonous atmosphere, or the treacherous landscape with its pits, cliffs and jagged rocks. Then he would die from an overload of weirdness that would make his brain explode.

First, he's already had to drink fire to stay alive. Then he was attacked by a gaggle of vampires, led by a cheerleader Annabeth had killed two years ago. Before finally having Bob appear on top of the vampires because Percy had casually mentioned his name. (Okay that last one he's been warned about his entire life by now but still!) Completely ordinary right?

Now, Percy followed Bob through the wasteland, tracing the path of the Phlegethon as they approached a massive storm of darkness. Every so often, Percy gargled some more of that fire-water—because apparently, that’s what was keeping him alive. He wasn’t about to pretend he understood the science of Tartarus, but the stuff left his throat feeling like he’d just downed a gallon of battery acid.

His only comfort was the fact that Bob seemed to know what he was doing, or at least the two of them hadn't been lead into a hoard of hungry monsters yet. "So, Bob …" He tried to sound casual and friendly, which wasn’t easy with a throat scorched by firewater. But Bob was his fr-tourguide right now and either way his mom had taught him manners. That was at least if you ignored the general manners you gain when growing up in the impoverished parts of NYC running drugs here and there. "How did you get to Tartarus?"

"I jumped," Bob said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Percy blinked. "You jumped into Tartarus because I said your name?"

"You needed me." Bob's silver eyes gleamed in the darkness. "It’s okay. I was tired of sweeping the palace. Come along! We are almost at a rest stop."

Rest stop. Percy wasn’t sure what those words meant in Tartarus, but he had a feeling it wasn’t going to be a five-star resort. Usually, rest stops on quests involved being turned to stone, getting set on fire, or just plain dying. The only remotely okay rest stop Percy could think of was Calypso’s island, and even then, he'd been stuck there against his will for an unknown amount of time before walking into his own funeral.

That, or Medusa’s snack bar when he was twelve. Best fries and milkshakes ever, even if he’d almost gotten himself and his friends killed in the process. The cheeseburgers? Divine.

Call him crazy, but Thalia had agreed with him—eat the food first, then kill the monsters. And right now, Percy would kill for a cheeseburger. Anything to make Tartarus even slightly less unbearable.

Wherever Bob was leading him, Percy really hoped there was a snack machine.

He trudged along, stomach growling, trying to ignore the pit of hunger gnawing at him. He stared at Bob’s back as they neared the wall of darkness. Bob’s blue janitor’s coveralls were ripped between the shoulders, as if someone had tried to stab him. Cleaning rags stuck out of his pockets, and a squirt bottle of blue liquid swung from his belt, sloshing rhythmically as they walked.

Percy couldn’t help but think back to his first encounter with Bob—when he was still Iapetus. Percy, Thalia, and Nico had teamed up to defeat the Titan on the banks of the Lethe. But after both Percy and Iapetus accidently fell into the river and lost his memories, Percy couldn’t bring himself to kill him. Neither could the others. The Titan became so sweet and cooperative, they left him in the Underworld, where Persephone promised he’d be looked after.

Apparently, 'looked after' meant turning him into an unpaid janitor. Percy wondered how Hades, a guy who seemed to be getting better over the years, could be so cold. Percy had never felt sorry for a Titan before, but brainwashing an immortal and giving him a broom didn’t seem right.

"So you clean for Hades?" Percy started awkwardly, unsure on how to approach the subject.

"Yes, I clean and clean, sweep sweep, every day!"

"And do you like it?"

"I like sweeping it's fun!" He said enthusiastically, waving his broom wildly in the air. "But the skeletons can sometimes be mean; Queen sorts them out fast though!"

Well that was slightly better, it appeared that Bob had chosen to do this instead of being forced. Percy felt the relief for his fr-guide.

He’s not your friend, he reminded himself.

He was terrified that Bob would suddenly remember himself. Tartarus was where monsters came to regenerate. What if it healed his memory? If he became Iapetus again … well, the current kind Bob would be lost. Destroyed in the evils of Tartarus. In the end allowing Bob to remain in Tartarus was a crazy risk. Unfortunately, Percy was a selfish person who couldn't do things on his own apparently.

They continued picking their way across the wasteland, while red lightning flashed overhead in the poisonous clouds. Just another delightful day in the dungeon of creation. Percy could barely see through the haze, but the longer they walked, the more certain he was that the ground sloped downward. He’d heard so many conflicting descriptions of Tartarus—it was a bottomless pit, a fortress surrounded by brass walls, or just an endless void.

Annabeth once told him a story about how Tartarus was like the inverse of the sky—a huge, hollow, upside-down dome.

None of those descriptions felt right. To Percy, the ground looked like skin, the rocks like bones. It was as if they were walking on something alive.

They passed a blister in the ground—a translucent bubble the size of a minivan. Inside, the half-formed body of a drakon writhed. Bob didn’t hesitate. He stabbed the blister with his spear, and it burst in a geyser of steaming yellow slime. The drakon dissolved into nothing.

Without saying a word, Bob kept walking.

Monsters were like zits on the skin of Tartarus, Percy thought with a shudder.

Monsters kill monsters...

Sometimes, he wished his imagination wasn’t so vivid. Now, he was absolutely convinced they were walking across something alive. More convinced than before, actually. This whole twisted landscape—whether it was a dome, a pit, or whatever people called it—was the body of the god Tartarus. Literal T.A.R.T.A.R.U.S.

And if that god noticed them crawling across his skin like fleas on a dog? Yeah, game over.

Most people liked to joke that Percy didn’t take anything seriously—not names, not warnings, not even life. But even Percy could figure out the consequences of Tartarus realizing they were there. Or worse, doing something about it. And Percy had a weird feeling that they’d already been noticed.

“Here,” Bob said.

They stopped at the top of a ridge. Below them, nestled in a crater-like depression, stood a circle of crumbling black marble columns surrounding a stone altar.

“Hermes’s shrine,” Bob explained.

Percy frowned. “A Hermes shrine... in Tartarus?”

Bob chuckled. “Yes! It fell from somewhere long ago. Maybe mortal world. Maybe Olympus. Anyway, monsters steer clear. Mostly.”

“Mostly?” Percy didn’t like the sound of that. “How did you know it was here?”

Bob’s smile faded, and his eyes turned distant. “Can’t remember.”

“That’s okay,” Percy said quickly, trying to smooth over the awkward moment.

Percy felt like kicking himself, or jumping off the ridge. Before Bob was Bob, he had been Iapetus the Titan. Like the rest of his kind, he’d been trapped in Tartarus for eons. Of course he knew his way around. If he remembered this shrine, who knew what else he might start recalling about his old prison—or worse, his old life. That would be bad. Very bad. For Bob and Percy.

They climbed down into the crater and entered the circle of columns. Percy stood scanning the area nervously. The storm of darkness was now less than a hundred feet away, swirling like a wall of ink, hiding whatever lay ahead of them. The rim of the crater blocked their view of the wasteland behind. They were well hidden, but if monsters found them here, they’d have no warning.

“You said someone was chasing us,” Percy asked. “Who?”

Bob swept his broom around the base of the altar, occasionally crouching to inspect the ground like he was searching for something. “Yes, they are following. They know you are here. Giants and Titans. The defeated ones. They know.”

The defeated ones...

Percy’s chest tightened with fear. How many Titans and giants had he faced over the years? Every single one of them had felt like an impossible fight. If they were all down here in Tartarus—and hunting him...

“Then why are we stopping?” Percy’s voice came out higher than he intended. “We should keep moving.”

“Soon,” Bob said calmly. “But mortals need rest. This is a good place. Best place for... oh, a long, long way. I will guard you.”

“Don’t you need to sleep, Bob?” Percy asked, worried about his companion pushing himself too hard just to keep watch over him.

“No. Only mortals need sleep.” Bob’s eyes softened. “Sleep, friend. I will be here when you wake, with food.”

At the mention of food, Percy’s stomach let out a growl. He wasn’t sure how Bob planned to summon food in the middle of Tartarus, but then again, Bob was full of surprises. Maybe he moonlighted as a caterer on top of being a janitor.

“Sleep, friend,” Bob urged again.

“Sleep, Percy...”

But Percy didn’t want to sleep. Every blink became a battle as his mind started to panic. His eyelids grew heavier, each one taking longer to lift after closing. His brain screamed at him to stay awake, to force his eyes open again.

Still, it would be so easy to just keep them shut. To slip into the darkness, to rest where he couldn’t hurt anyone, to just...

He snapped his eyes open hastily, scanning his surroundings as he realised Bob was not around.

Instead, the weather (did Tartarus have weather?) had rolled in, enveloping the kid in a swirling mist, the thick, smoky air of Tartarus pressing in on him from all sides. He blinked, struggling to shake off the remnants of dreariness glad that he hadn't fallen asleep, he wouldn't want to be unconscious for whatever eerie thing that happened next. He was alone, and the comforting presence of Bob was nowhere to be found. Just him, the mist, and the oppressive silence of the abyss.

He sat up, the ground beneath him feeling oddly smooth and warm. He pushed the mist away from his face, his heart racing. It didn’t take a genius to know this was not a great place to be, but it still somehow felt different from what it had been moments ago. Not just the usual ominous vibe of Tartarus—this was more intimate, more personal, like the darkness itself was pulling him deeper into some forgotten memory.

“Okay, focus,” Percy muttered to himself.

He was on his own again, Bob had left for some reason, maybe Percy wasn't good enough, maybe he got scared... There were endless points that he couldn't focus on right now. Instead he fumbled in his pocket looking for the familiar feeling of riptide only to come across a cold, smooth thing imbedded in the depths of his pockets' corner.

As he pulled out a drachma, the familiar coin feeling reassuring against his palm, a thought suddenly struck Percy. One of his better one's if he may say so himself. The mist had caused his hair to become damp with the moisture it carried, and even in the lack of light a subtle rainbow had formed.

Maybe he could call for help. Any god who heard him would pick up right? They would fly down here and drag him along to the door before claiming that Percy now owed them 748 quests, but they'd help right?

Now that was an actual issue as he wasn't so sure that every single one of them would aid him. He could certainly name some who wouldn't: Zeus, Hera, Ares, Athena...

Okay so maybe it did matter which god he asked for help from.

He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the unease creeping into his stomach. “Oh, please Lady Iris, if you can somehow hear me, coud pretty please carry this message through to Apollo?” He tossed the drachma into the mist, watching it sink into the swirling shadows.

“God of the sun and poetry,” he said, hoping it had worked, “I summon you! Apollo, if you can hear me—”

The air shimmered, and suddenly, a golden light broke through the mist, illuminating a scene that made Percy’s heart skip. Apollo stood in a city, but not just any city—it was a beautiful, bustling place, filled with mortals going about their lives, blissfully unaware of the divine drama unfolding around them. Percy could feel the warmth of Apollo’s aura, the glow of sunlight radiating off him like a beacon.

But something was wrong. Apollo’s usual confidence was gone, replaced by a weariness that weighed heavy on his shoulders. He stood shakingly on the cracking ground, head bowed, and Percy could see the strain etched across his face. It was like he had just emerged from a battle—one that had drained every ounce of energy from him.

“Percy…” Apollo’s voice was strained, filled with a mix of desperation and longing. Percy's heart jumped at hearing his name, wondering if Apollo had seen him through the image made by the call. However it was quickly stomped back into submission upon the gods next words. "Percy, please don't be... P-Please don't be d... d-dead."

Suddenly the God crumpled to his knees, crashing against the concrete hard.

The sight of his usually vibrant friend so broken made Percy's heart clench. He wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but the mist was like a wall, keeping him from crossing the divide. As he strained to get closer, he noticed Hermes hovering nearby, unsure of what to do. He appeared to be trying to help Apollo off the ground, gently coaxing him as if he was a wounded animal.

“Come on, Apollo,” Hermes said, his voice encouraging. “He's fine, he'll be fine. He's strong you know that.”

All of a sudden, the air shimmered around the two and out stepped Artemis and Mr D. They both immediately fixed their eyes on the god currently being held up as his limp body could not hope to hold him up. Their eyes flicked between Apollo's distraught face to Hermes' pained one before a look of understanding passed over the lot.

"Come on Apollo, we need to leave." Mr D started, startling Percy with how soft his tone was when he walked. "Why don't we go back to Camp Half-Blood? Cabin 7 could use a visitor?"

Whilst that had all been happening Artemis had been ushuring away wandering eyes of mortals. They all seemed to stare at the lot until a particularly harsh glare was sent their way by the goddess of hunt and they all scattered like dust.

Percy felt a swell of hope, his heart warming at the sight of Apollo surrounded by his friends, his family. But as he watched, the mist around him began to pulse and swirl faster, as if it could sense the emotions in the air.

Suddenly, the tranquility shattered. A deep growl echoed from behind him, causing Percy to spin around. Emerging from the mist was a hulking figure, a monstrous shape with jagged teeth and burning eyes. It was a terrifying beast, and Percy’s instincts kicked in, adrenaline surging through his veins.

“Not now!” he yelled, fumbling for Riptide as the scene behind him started to flicker like a dying flame.

Riptide wasn't in his pocket.

The monster lunged at him, its maw open wide, teeth glistening. Percy backed away, his heart pounding as he prepared for impact that was sure to come. It closed in, and just as its jaws were about to snap around him, his eyes slammed open.

Percy jolted awake, gasping for breath. He was still in the same spot as before but no mist or monsters to be seen, He was still in Tartarus, the cold stone beneath him a stark reminder of where he was.

He sat up, heart racing, looking around frantically. “Just a dream,” he murmured, trying to calm himself. “Just a dream…”

He could feel it though—the unmistakable grip of panic creeping in at the edges of his mind. His breath quickened, the rhythm erratic and jagged.

“Okay, focus, Seashell. Just breathe.”

But with each shallow inhale, it felt as though the very air was being sucked out of his lungs. He couldn’t tell if it was the acrid smoke of the underworld burning in his chest or if he simply wasn’t getting enough oxygen. How could he get more oxygen?

“Not now. Not here.” he muttered.

Thoughts spiraled through his mind like leaves caught in a storm. Where was he? The mist swallowed everything. His heart raced, pounding against his ribcage like a trapped animal. 'I need Apollo. I just need him.' The thought flitted through his mind, slipping away like sand through his fingers. The familiar warmth of his friend felt impossibly distant, overshadowed by the suffocating darkness around him.

Percy’s hands trembled, the very act of trying to steady himself only making things worse. The world around him twisted and warped, shapes in the mist blending into monstrous forms that clawed at the edges of his vision. Was that a telkhine? Or just his imagination running wild?

“I can’t breathe,” he gasped, voice barely a whisper. His fingers pressed against his chest, trying to force his lungs to expand, but it felt like trying to inflate a balloon with a hole in it. The warmth in his chest now felt like a firestorm, each breath igniting flames, burning him from the inside out.

Burning, why was it burning? Had he fallen into the river? Or was it the air? Tartarus had a way of turning everything familiar into something sinister. The very ground felt alive beneath him, pulsating like a heartbeat, mocking his fear. “You’re not going to die here,” but the words rang hollow, drowned out by the chaotic symphony of his racing heart and the roar of the River Phlegethon nearby.

Percy squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the encroaching darkness. The fear was an entity, clawing at him, suffocating him. “Apollo, I need you,” he gasped again, desperation creeping into his voice. He could almost hear the comforting echo of the sun god’s laughter, but it felt so far away, fading with each breath he struggled to take.

“Please, don’t leave me here.”

In that moment, he felt utterly alone. His lungs screamed for air, each breath a desperate struggle against the pull of panic. He pressed his palms against his temples, hoping to squeeze the chaos out of his head, but it only swirled faster, louder. "Come on Percy I know you can do this sweetheart. You're so strong and brave."

But it didn’t feel that way. The heat of Tartarus pressed in around him, the stench of sulfur filling his nostrils. The very ground felt hostile beneath him, a living entity eager to swallow him whole. 'I just need to find the Doors of Death.' But what if the doors weren’t there? What if he was lost forever?

The thoughts crashed over him like waves—dark, chaotic, and suffocating. He could feel the warmth in his chest flaring again, like he had taken another gulp of firewater-air? He didn't even know at this point. He needed to slow his breathing down but the more he tried, the worse it became. He gasped, feeling the world spin, caught in the undertow of his own mind.

Finally, he collapsed to his knees, the rocky ground digging into his skin. He clutched at his chest, gasping for breath, desperately trying to pull himself back from the edge of the panic that threatened to consume him. “You can do this, Percy. You’re not alone.”

But the truth was, in that moment, he felt completely isolated, trapped in a nightmare of his own making. The panic tightened its grip, and all he could do was sit there, caught in the chaotic storm of Tartarus, desperately hoping for a spark of light to break through the darkness.

He wanted needed Apollo.

He needed him right now.

Notes:

So this one is only 3476 but I really like this chapter!!!!

I hoped you all enjoyed this chapter!!!! Favourite line??????

Poor Percy, he's really struggling the baby :( Well I can't say if it will get better...

What would you like to see in the next couple of chapters??? Anything in particular that you really think should happen???? As always I'm open to as many ideas as possible!!!

Hope your enjoying the story!!!!!!!!

Chapter 17: Deadly cows nearly kill everyone

Notes:

Hi guys!!!!

A lot of you guys want to see how the seven are doing along with Apollo! So this chapter is going to be lining up with the venice trip that happened in canon!!!

Buckle up guys!!!!!

Apollo was certain that the world had turned dreary and grey ever since Percy fell into the depths of hell.

He couldn't explain, yet the sun he still rose every morning didn't shine anywhere near as brightly as it had done a couple of weeks ago. He was sure that his power, the true thing that made the light and heat mortals enjoyed, hadn't dimmed at all. However he knew that his moods had always affected his realms, and he hadn't been in any good mood recently. In fact, a new version of flu had started an epidemic in many cities due to his recent mood; swine flu had already caused 10,000 deaths and there was no cure. Not until Apollo got Percy back at least.

It wasn't like he tried to kill these people, that was a version of himself that he had mostly left in the ancient times, however at the end of the day he was a god. Apollo didn't always have the best control over his powers, he wished he was better. If not for him then for Percy, the poor soul was too good for this life.

Either way, Venice didn't hold the same beauty it use to.

It was still beautiful, don't get him wrong, the city still held some of the same things that had caused him too bless this country years ago. The Argo II was docked at a busy wharf. On one side stretched a shipping channel about half a kilometre wide. It was on the other side that you could see spread the city of Venice – red-tiled roofs, metal church domes, steepled towers and sun-bleached buildings in all the colours of Valentine candy hearts – red, white, ochre, pink and orange.

Everywhere there were statues of lions – on top of pedestals, over doorways, on the porticoes of the largest buildings. If Apollo remembered correctly, they were the cities mascot. Important, proud and ferocious, everything Apollo didn't feel at the moment. What use was being a god if he couldn't even save the guy he had been crushing on for the last couple of years.

There he said (thought?) it.

Apollo had been obsessed by the sea prince for years now, ever since the guy saved his sister the god of the sun had been following Percy Jackson's life closely. Of course other gods had been interested by the obnoxious, self-sacrificing demigod, yet none of them found themselves admiring the boys transition into a man, watching as the guy grew more handsome each second.

It wasn't surprising to the others that Apollo had grown his relationship with the boy, nor was it surprising that the guy ended up developing a crush on Percy. He was known to be one of the more flirtatious gods however, his feelings for the boy quickly grew passed a simple phase. Before the fall, it had been approaching the levels that had only been reached with Hyacinthus; what they would be when if Percy came back to him?

Apollo forced his gaze back to the city. Where streets should have been, green canals etched their way through the neighbourhoods, each one jammed with motorboats. Along the docks, the sidewalks were mobbed with tourists shopping at the T-shirt kiosks, overflowing from stores, and lounging across acres of outdoor café tables, like pods of sea lions. The amount of tourists in this place was insane.

However the demigods weren't focused on that.

"What are they?" Hazel asked.

They had gathered at the starboard rail to stare at the dozens of weird shaggy monsters milling through the crowds. Katoblepones, deadly cows who's breath was poisonous to any mortals; Apollo forgot that they had arrived in Venice a couple of years ago.

Each monster was about the size of a cow, with a bowed back like a broken down horse, matted grey fur, skinny legs and black cloven hooves. The creatures’ heads seemed much too heavy for their necks. Their long anteater-like snouts drooped to the ground. Their overgrown grey manes completely covered their eyes.

Apollo watched as one of the creatures lumbered across the promenade, snuffling and licking the pavement with its long tongue. The tourists parted around it, unconcerned. A few even petted it. The god had forgotten had dim-witted mortals could be; they were so calm in the face of deadly monsters. Ah the ignorant bliss of a short existence. Then the monster’s appearance flickered. For a moment it turned into an old, fat beagle.

Zeus's kid grunted. "The mortals think they’re stray dogs."

"Or pets roaming around," Piper said. "My dad shot a film in Venice once. I remember him telling me there were dogs everywhere. Venetians love dogs."

"But what are they?" Percy's friend asked (Frank, Apollo thought his name was), repeating Hazel’s question. "They look like … starving, shaggy cows with sheepdog hair." He waited for someone to enlighten him. Nobody volunteered any information, and Apollo couldn't find it in himself to talk. He hadn't said a word since the meeting, he just couldn't force the words out.

"Maybe they’re harmless," Leo suggested. "They’re ignoring the mortals."

"Harmless!" Gleeson Hedge laughed. The satyr wore his usual gym shorts, sports shirt and coach’s whistle. His expression was as gruff as ever, but he still had one pink rubber band stuck in his hair from the prankster dwarfs in Bologna. That had been an eventful detour. The others seemed to scared to mention it to him. "Valdez, how many harmless monsters have we met? We should just aim the ballistae and see what happens!"

"Uh, no," Leo said.

Apollo nodded in agreement with Leo, though he doubted anyone noticed him. There were too many monsters. It would be impossible to target one without causing collateral damage to the crowds of tourists. Besides, if those creatures panicked and stampeded …

"We’ll have to walk through them and hope they’re peaceful," Frank said, seeming to hate the idea already. "It’s the only way we’re going to track down the owner of that book."

Leo pulled the leather-bound manual from underneath his arm. He’d slapped a sticky note on the cover with the address the dwarfs in Bologna had given him. "La Casa Nera," he read. "Calle Frezzeria."

"The Black House," Nico di Angelo translated. "Calle Frezzeria is the street."

Apollo noticed Frank flinch when he realized Nico was at his shoulder. The guy was quiet and brooding he almost seemed to dematerialize when he wasn’t speaking; a boy that Apollo felt hid too much, just like Percy.

"You speak Italian?" Frank asked.

Nico shot him a warning look, like: Watch the questions.

That was interesting, or as interesting as things could get for Apollo right now. It was common knowledge that demigods could inherit their parents blessed language: Aphrodite with her French, Jupiter kids could understand Latin better and Athena's kids Greek. Even most of his kids could speak fluid Italian, however Uncle H? Hades may be able to speak any language he chooses like the rest of the gods, however his kids definitely didn't gain the ability to speak it. This must be from his mother's side.

Nico spoke calmly, though. "Frank is right. We have to find that address. The only way to do it is to walk the city. Venice is a maze. We’ll have to risk the crowds and those … whatever they are."

Thunder rumbled in the clear summer sky. They’d passed through some storms the night before. The air felt as thick and warm as sauna steam, it wouldn't be from Zeus, the guy had kept his promise to try and aid the trip.

Jason frowned at the horizon. "Maybe I should stay on board. Lots of venti in that storm last night. If they decide to attack the ship again …" He didn’t need to finish. They’d all had experiences with angry wind spirits. Jason was the one who had the most luck fighting them.

Coach Hedge grunted. "Well, I’m out, too. If you soft hearted cupcakes are going to stroll through Venice without even whacking those furry animals on the head, forget it. I don’t like boring expeditions."

"It’s okay, Coach." Leo grinned. "We still have to repair the foremast. Then I need your help in the engine room. I’ve got an idea for a new installation." Apollo glanced at the gleam in Leo’s eye.

"Well …" Piper shifted her feet. "Whoever goes should be good with animals. I, uh … I’ll admit I’m not great with cows."

There was for sure a story behind that comment, but he decided not to ask, it wasn't like he could currently talk anyway.

"I’ll go," Frank said. It made sense, if the people had to be good with animals then the guy who could literally turn into one was the best bet.

Leo patted Frank on shoulder and handed him the leather-bound book. "Awesome. If you pass a hardware store, could you get me some two-by-fours and a gallon of tar?"

"Leo," Hazel chided, "it’s not a shopping trip."

"I’ll go with Frank," Nico offered.

Frank’s eye started twitching, there was a tension between Nico and everyone else.

Apollo personally didn't mind the kid, actually found solace with the guy over the last few days. He had walked into an abandoned room only to see the tear tracks left on the boys face who was sitting in the corner glancing at a figurine. They had stared at each other for a bit before a silent agreement passed between them and Apollo sat in the other corner, allowing his brain to concentrate on trying to reach Percy. It hadn't worked. But Nico hadn't said anything either when the tears started to spill down his face, simply offering his a pack of tissues by chucking it across the room.

"Uh … you’re good with animals?" Frank asked.

Nico smiled without humour. "Actually, most animals hate me. They can sense death. But there’s something about this city …" His expression turned grim. "Lots of death. Restless spirits. If I go, I may be able to keep them at bay. Besides, as you noticed, I speak Italian."

Leo scratched his head. "Lots of death, huh? Personally, I’m trying to avoid lots of death, but you guys have fun!"

"I’ll go, too." Hazel slipped her arm through Frank’s. "Three is the best number for a demigod quest, right?"

Frank seemed to be praising Hazel through his eyes as Niico caught Apollo's eye.

"You coming?" Nico asked, signalling to the bustling town.

Apollo nodded.

Nico stared at the canals, as if wondering what new and interesting forms of evil spirits might be lurking there. "All right, then. Let’s go find the owner of that book."

Venice was a menace in summertime and tourist season, and that was without taking into account the fact that the city wasn overrun with large hairy creatures. Between the rows of old houses and the canals, the stone pavements were already too narrow for the crowds jostling one another and stopping to take pictures. The monsters made things worse. They shuffled around with their heads down, bumping into mortals and sniffing the ground.

One seemed to find something it liked at the edge of a canal. It nibbled and licked at a crack between the stones until it dislodged some sort of greenish root. The monster sucked it up happily and shambled along.

"Well, they’re plant-eaters," Frank said. "That’s good news."

Hazel slipped her hand into the boys. "Unless they supplement their diet with demigods. Let’s hope not."

Nico stopped. "There."

They’d turned onto a smaller street, leaving the canal behind. Ahead of them was a small plaza lined with five-storey buildings. The area was strangely deserted – as if the mortals could sense it wasn’t safe. In the middle of the cobblestone courtyard, a dozen katoblepones were sniffing around the mossy base of an old stone well.

"A lot of cows in one place," Frank said.

"Yeah, but look," Nico said. "Past that archway."

At the far end of the plaza, a stone archway carved with lions led into a narrow street. Just past the arch, one of the town houses was painted black – the only black building Frank had seen so far in Venice. On it it sent 'La Casa Nera'

"La Casa Nera," Frank asked, squinting at the place.

Hazel’s grip tightened. "I don’t like that plaza. It feels … cold."

Apollo personally could barely feel it, but that was probably to do with his skin being warm at all times. Either way, Nico nodded. He studied the town-house windows, most of which were covered with wooden shutters. "You’re right, Hazel. This neighbourhood is filled with lemures."

"Lemurs?" Frank asked nervously. "I’m guessing you don’t mean the furry little guys from Madagascar?"

"Angry ghosts," Nico said. "Lemures go back to Roman times. They hang around a lot of Italian cities, but I’ve never felt so many in one place. My mom told me …" He hesitated. "She used to tell me stories about the ghosts of Venice."

"Nico, your mom was Italian?" Frank guessed. "She was from Venice?"

Nico nodded reluctantly. "She met Hades here, back in the 1930s. As World War Two got closer, she fled to the U.S. with my sister and me. I mean … Bianca, my other sister. I don’t remember much about Italy, but I can still speak the language."

Ah, that explained it. Now that Nico had explained, Apollo could vaguely remember the mother, Maria, and the fiasco that happened when his father had found out about it.

"Must’ve been hard on your mom," Frank said. "I guess we’ll do anything for someone we love."

Hazel squeezed his hand appreciatively. Nico stared at the cobblestones.

"Yeah," he said bitterly. "I guess we will."

"So, the lemures …" Frank swallowed looking uneasy. "How do we avoid them?"

"I’m already on it" Nico said. "I’m sending out the message that they should stay away and ignore us. Hopefully that’s enough. Otherwise … things could get messy."

Hazel pursed her lips. "Let’s get going," she suggested.

However, Apollo was inclined to follow them. For some reason he as being drawn back to the streets, an unknown entity pulling him back to the life of Venice. He took a couple steps backwards before catching eyes again with Nico. A silent exchange happened between them (again) before he nodded and continued with the other two into the plaza.

Apollo turned and started to walk back towards the streets filled with tourists ogling at the houses. In the middle of the cobblestoned road stood a fountain fittingly carved with Greek gods and goddesses, an attraction to the many crowds and apparently the god of the sun.

Walking towards it, he allowed his power to flare out slightly, forcing an interesting katoblep to recoil along with opening a space among the throng of people. He could feel their eyes staring at him, unsure as to why they felt such a powerful need to kneel currently but admiring his beauty none-the-less. He looked at his own carved face before staring down into the rippling water.

The water came alive at that point, opening up to an image that caused Apollo to stumble backwards, clutching at his head. He was in so much pain he didn't even notice a concerned Hermes appealing behind him sensing his obvious distress. He couldn't see, couldn't feel because the vision that had just appeared...

The image that had just appeared...

"Percy…" Apollo’s voice was strained, filled with a mix of desperation and longing. He hadn't spoken in days and his voice reflected that; his entire body was trembling with the pain that image caused him. "Percy, please don't be... P-Please don't be d... d-dead."

The image of Percy crumpled up, spilling his blood over the rocks of Tartarus plagued his mind. The worst monsters in Apollo's opinion stood over him, laughing. The Arai.

Suddenly the god crumpled to his knees, crashing against the concrete hard.

His thoughts flooded forwards, the dam broken, and he could only vaguely feel someone trying to coax him back onto his feet. All Apollo could do was continue to mutter "No" over and over again.

“Come on, Apollo,” Hermes said, his voice encouraging. “He's fine, he'll be fine. He's strong you know that.”

All of sudden, he could sense to more immortal beings appear into the general area, along with the distance sound of a stampede running. Both immortals immediately fixed their eyes him as he was currently being held up by Hermes.

"Come on Apollo, we need to leave." Dionysus' voice came from somewhere behind him but was getting louder as footsteps approached him. "Why don't we go back to Camp Half-Blood? Cabin 7 could use a visitor?"

Apollo couldn't stomach seeing his kids at this moment, not whilst knowing that his love could be bleeding out or worse. He shook his head desperately, slowly regaining use of his limbs as he stood on his own. He shot a grateful glance at his twin who was glowering at any mortal getting too close before turning back to his two siblings/best friends.

"I-I'm fine. I just g-got a bad moment there." Apollo said, urging his family to let it go when a sound from across the city caught his ears.

"Come on!" the voice yelled. "You want to know what Frank Zhang is worth? Come on!"

Apollo quickly pinpointed where Frank's voice came from and found himself willing his body to arrive there. And as simple as that, his body shimmered into existence on a rickety bridge next Frank Zhang and over three hundred katoblepones.

Why couldn't it be that easy to get to Percy? If only the stupid fates hadn't literally blocked any gof from appearing in Tartarus due to their worries of it upsetting the balance too much. Otherwise Percy would be in Apollo's arms this second and not d... bleeding out.

Anyway the guy was doing a good job, rage having obviously filled him as he cut down monster after monster, however, it would take too long for him to slaughter each and every one. So Apollo offered his assistance by obliterating every single monster.

He hadn't meant to do that much to be fair.

It was just his rage was already so strong and his emotions so unstable that he couldn't control his powers. He probably would have destroyed the entire city if it wasn't for Artemis's cool hand resting upon his shoulder, calming the ever-present rage. It was at times when he got like this that only her presence could control the swarm of emotions that bubbled up into his powers.

"Calm it Polly," Her voice broke through the storm of thoughts beating around inside his head. "I would rather you didn't kill my lieutenant."

Thalia's presence that had some how appeared without summon, along with his sister's calming hand calmed the massacre he was about to cause; he slumped slightly before listening to the Mars' kid's slightly odd request that he yelled at the sky. Why in Hades would he need a snake?

However, despite the absurdity of the situation, a mottled brown Burmese python appeared coiled at the boy's feet.

"Well done," said a familiar voice.

Standing a few feet away was Mars? No he was wearing a red beret and olive fatigues with the insignia of the Italian Special Forces, an assault rifle slung over his shoulder. His face was hard and angular, his eyes covered with dark sunglasses. That wasn't Mars, but it wasn't Ares either. It made him wonder how Dionysus been faring earlier; Artemis, Hermes and him didn't get bad schisms but Dio did.

"Father," Frank managed, seeming seconds away from either fainting from shock or sobbing his eyes out.

"It’s natural to feel fear." The war god’s voice was surprisingly warm, full of pride; it wasn't common for Ares or Mars to show this affection to their kids. "All great warriors are afraid. Only the stupid and the delusional are not. But you faced your fear, my son. You did what you had to do, like Horatius. This was your bridge, and you defended it."

"I –" Frank wasn’t sure what to say. "I … I just needed a snake."

Apollo still wasn't sure why a snake was needed but he saw the tiny smile tugging at Mars’s mouth. "Yes. And now you have one. Your bravery has united my forms, Greek and Roman, if only for a moment." So that was why he was different, Apollo wondered if that could happen to the other gods still suffering. "Go. Save your friends. But hear me, Frank. Your greatest test is yet to come. When you face the armies of Gaia at Epirus, your leadership –"

Suddenly the god doubled over, clutching his head. His form flickered. His fatigues turned into a toga, then a biker’s jacket and jeans. His rifle changed into a sword and then a rocket launcher. "Agony!" Mars bellowed. "Go! Hurry!"

Frank didn't appear to ask questions, just turning into an eagle, grabbing the snake and flying off.

"What was that about?" Thalia asked, still standing straight next to his sister.

"I have no idea, however I must make my way back now. Will you stay and aid this lot?" Artemis said, turning and preparing to go.

"Of course my lady, but for how long?"

"Until I return for you Thalia." Artemis replied before looking directly into Apollo's eyes, everyone seemed to be doing that today. "I'll check in with you in a bit okay Polly? Please don't go and think or do anything stupid." There was concern under her question and Apollo found himself nodding.

With that his sister disappeared.

"Well then, lead me to where that boy just disappeared off to." Thalia demanded, and Apollo had no incline to argue with her over the tone she had just used. Instead, he walked down the bridge in a slightly hasty pace before arriving at the house they had been at earlier. When he opened the door, a strong smell of barley and grass filled his nose as he looked around the place.

Frank Zhang's voice came from just off the entrance, and they followed it only to be shown the irl, Hazel, lying on a bed looking pale and corpse-like; certainly not how Apollo had left earlier. There was no sign of Nico anywhere but there was a person that Apollo didn't particularly enjoy seeing.

"You see?" Frank said. "Now, heal my friends!"

Triptolemus tapped his chin. "Well, thank you for the snake, but I’m not sure I like your tone, demigod. Perhaps I’ll turn you into –"

"Trip."

Apollo's voice was harsh, glaring diseases at the minor god that his aunt seemed so fond of.

"Who dare calls me su-" Triptolemus cut himself off as he turned around and became face to face with the sun god. "A-Apollo! What a lovely time to drop in, were you in need of anything?"

"Yes, for you to do whatever you promised Frank here." Apollo could feel Thalia shiver slightly next to him, not used to the stone-cold tone he was currently using. "Otherwise I believe that you and me may be having a problem. As it stands, there has been a message sent out to all deities from Lord Zeus himself. Have you failed to get it?"

"I-I..."

"You must have. As I believe it mentioned how any deity, god or sentient creature this group of demigods came across in their journey must aid them or ignore them. Either way they were to do nothing to delay their quest. So what was it that Frank wanted you to do?"

Triptolemus gulped. "You know … I think I’ll heal your friends."

"Swear it on the River Styx."

"I swear it on the River Styx."

He gave both Frank (who was glaring at him with loathing, also was he taller?) and Apollo a nervous smile, edged around them and scurried off to the front room. "Just – just gathering herbs!"

They watched as the god picked leaves and roots and crushed them in a mortar. He rolled a pill-sized ball of green goop and jogged to Hazel’s side. He placed the gunk ball under Hazel’s tongue. Instantly, she shuddered and sat up, coughing. Her eyes flew open. The greenish tint in her skin disappeared.

She looked around, bewildered, until she saw Frank. "What –?"

Frank tackled her in a hug. "You’re going to be fine," he said fiercely. "Everything is fine."

"But..." Hazel gripped his shoulders and stared at him in amazement. "Frank, what happened to you?"

"To me?" He stood, apparently having just noticed that something about himself was different. 2Uh... I don’t... Maybe I can fix it."

Hazel laughed with delight. "Why? You look amazing!"

‘I – I do?’

"I mean, you were handsome before! But you look older, and taller, and so distinguished –"

Triptolemus heaved a dramatic sigh. "Yes, obviously some sort of blessing from Mars. Congratulations, blah, blah, blah. Now, if we’re done here...?"

Frank glared at him. "We’re not done. Heal Nico."

"Where's Nico?" Thalia suddenly butted in, glaring at everyone.

The farm god rolled his eyes. He pointed at the corn plant, and BAM! Nico di Angelo appeared in an explosion of corn silk.

Nico looked around in a panic. "I – I had the weirdest nightmare about popcorn." Thalia suddenly broke down in laughter wheezing out something that sounded vaguely like "You were-were just a corn!" but it was hard to make out through her fits of laughter. Nico looked at her in shock, obviously not understanding why she was here before frowning at Frank. "Why are you taller?"

"Everything’s fine," Frank promised. "Triptolemus was about to tell us how to survive the House of Hades. Weren’t you, Trip?"

The farm god raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Fine," Trip said. "When you arrive at Epirus, you will be offered a chalice to drink from."

"Offered by whom?" Nico asked.

"Doesn’t matter," Trip snapped. "Just know that it is filled with deadly poison."

Hazel shuddered. "So you’re saying that we shouldn’t drink it."

"No!" Trip said. "You must drink it, or you’ll never be able to make it through the temple. The poison connects you to the world of the dead, lets you pass into the lower levels. The secret to surviving is –" his eyes twinkled – "barley."

Everyone stared at him. "Barley." Frank asked.

"In the front room, take some of my special barley. Make it into little cakes. Eat these before you step into the House of Hades. The barley will absorb the worst of the poison, so it will affect you, but not kill you."

"That’s it?" Nico demanded. "Hecate sent us halfway across Italy so you could tell us to eat barley?"

"Good luck!" Triptolemus sprinted across the room and hopped in his chariot. "And, Frank Zhang, I forgive you! You’ve got spunk. If you ever change your mind, my offer is open. I’d love to see you get a degree in farming!"

"Yeah," Frank muttered. "Thanks."

The god pulled a lever on his chariot. The snake-wheels turned. The wings flapped. At the back of the room, the garage doors rolled open.

"Oh, to be mobile again!" Trip cried. "So many ignorant lands in need of my knowledge. I will teach them the glories of tilling, irrigation, fertilizing!" The chariot lifted off and zipped out of the house, Triptolemus shouting to the sky, 2Away, my serpents! Away!"

"That," Hazel said, "was very strange."

"The glories of fertilizing." Nico brushed some corn silk off his shoulder. "Can we get out of here now? Also what the hell are you doing here Thalia?"

"Long story."

"And why are you paler than me Apollo?"

"An even longer story."

Hazel put her hand on Frank’s shoulder. "Are you okay, really? You bartered for our lives. What did Triptolemus make you do?"

"Those cow monsters … the katoblepones that poisoned you … I had to destroy them." He muttered, looking even closer t crying then he had looked earlier.

"That was brave," Nico said. "There must have been, what, six or seven left in that herd."

"No." Frank cleared his throat. "I had to kill all of them... I don't think I would have made it without Apollo's help."

"Nonsense, you had already killed over one hundred by the time I got there. You would have killed all of them but I wasn't willing to wait." Apollo insisted, glad that he was able to talk now even if the circumstances that caused him to talk would continue to haunt him.

Hazel kissed Frank's cheek. She had to stand on her tiptoes to do it now, which Frank looked sheepish about.

"Well one Thalia you're staying now. And two," Nico said, breaking the tension, "Does anyone know what barley looks like?"

Notes:

So this chapter is 4807 words!!!!!

I hoped you all enjoyed this chapter!!!! Favourite line??????

Poor Apollo and the other's. They're all struggling quite a bit!!!!!!

Next chapter will probs be Tartarus again so sorry if you don't like that!!!!!! Anway make sure you stay happy, healthy and somewhat hydrated in the meantime.

I hope you're enjoying the story!!!!!!!

Chapter 18: I send a napkin to camp

Notes:

Hi guys!!!!

Back to Tartarus and back to Percy! This is a direct continuation of chapter 16 so you may want to read the last line of that chapter!!!!!!!

I hope that everyone's currently well and enjoying this story. If it's elections for you then good luck! If it's school or exams also good luck! Either way buckle up for this chapter!!!!!!!!

It didn't matter what Percy wanted though. It didn't matter if he wanted Apollo right this second, because what Percy didn't matter. It had never mattered. Not when he was a eleven and begging not to be kicked out again or when he was seven and telling Smelly Gabe that he didn't want his mother being hit anymore. No one listened; even if they did nothing ever happened through shere wanting. At the end of the day he was still in Tartarus. Still watching a Titan eating a pepperoni pizza?

"Percy!" Bob called happily, walking round the boulder Percy had been using to cover himself from wandering monsters slightly. Bob looked content with his food, that seemed to have somehow appeared from the shrine they had found yesterday - was it really only yesterday?

"Hi. Is that pizza?" Percy asked, rather rudely but the smell of food was to strong to focus to much on his manners.

Bob didn't seem to mind as he sat cross-legged by the altar, happily munching the piece of pizza. "Burnt offerings," Bob said. "Sacrifices to Hermes from the mortal world. They appeared in a poof. They have M&M's for Bob! That okay?"

Percy didn’t protest. He quickly grabbed a bit of roast meat and wolfed it down like a starving man. He guessed he technically was one. The brisket was still hot, with exactly the same spicy sweet glaze as the barbecue at Camp Half-Blood. Mouth successfully watering, Percy grabbed a piece of pizza that had grapes on it. That made him pause, the only place in the entire world that would ever create that monstrous combination was Mr D's mind and was therefore almost always burnt by campers.

The idea that the food he was guzzling down was from home, made Percy homesick - more than he usually was that is. At every meal, the campers would burn a portion of their food to honour their godly parents or other gods they felt needed to hear from them. The smoke supposedly pleased the gods, but Percy had never thought about where the food went when it was burned. Maybe the offerings reappeared on the gods’ altars in Olympus … or even here in the middle of Tartarus.

"Peanut M&M’s," Percy said. "Connor Stoll always burned a pack for his dad at dinner. The pizza was always done by one of the Apollo kids, to make up for the disgrace to Italy."

"Percy sad?" Bob asked from his position, looking at Percy with too much sympathy. He didn't deserve that, not now not ever. Bob should give his sympathy to someone else, maybe one of the poor rocks they pass later.

"No I'm fine. It's just... nice. To have something from home."

He nodded. They finished eating in silence.

Bob chomped down the last of his M&M’s. "Should go now. They will be here in a few minutes."

"A few minutes?" Percy reached for riptide, but found it still by his rock. It was covered in monster dust, like he had sliced up one of the monsters recently; he didn't remember doing that though.

"Yes … well, I think minutes …" Bob scratched his silvery hair. "Time is hard in Tartarus. Not the same."

Percy crept to the edge of the crater. He peered back the way they’d come. "I don’t see anything, but that doesn’t mean much. Bob, which giants are we talking about? Which Titans?"

Bob grunted. "Not sure of names. Six, maybe seven. I can sense them."

"Six or seven?" Percy wasn't sure he would be able to keep the little food he had consumed down. He could barely fight one Titan or giant, let alone six of them! "And can they sense you?"

"Don’t know." Bob smiled. "Bob is different! But they can smell demigods, yes. You smell very strong. Good strong. Like … hmm. Like melty cookies!"

"Melty cookies," Percy said before climbing back to the alter. "Well, that’s great. Is it possible to kill a giant in Tartarus? I mean, since we don’t have a god to help us?"
He looked to Bob hoping for an answer. He wasn't sure if it was possible, Bob could technically count as a god right? I mean the TItan's were the generation before gods weren't they. Either way Percy was anxious to test his theory, happy to leave it at just that - a theory.

He was sure Bob could recognise the worry in his eyes. For years, he’d depended on others to help with the knowledge part of quests. Now, when he needed to know something the most, he was clueless. He hated being so clueless, but nothing he’d ever learned at camp had prepared him for Tartarus. There was only one thing he was sure of: they had to keep moving. They couldn’t be caught by six or seven hostile immortals. That would not go well.

He stood and watched as Bob started cleaning up, collecting their trash in a little pile, using his squirt bottle to wipe off the altar.

"Where to now?" Percy asked.

Bob pointed at the stormy wall of darkness. "Into the Dark Lands. The Doors of Death … hmm, walking straight to them would be bad. Too many monsters gathered there. Even Bob could not sweep that many. They would kill Percy in about two seconds." The Titan frowned. "I think seconds. Time is hard in Tartarus."

"Yeah it is bud," Percy mumbled. "So is there another way?"

"Hiding," said Bob. "The Death Mist could hide you."

"Oh … Uh, what is Death Mist?"

"It is dangerous," Bob said. "But if the lady will give you Death Mist it might hide you. If we can avoid Night. The lady is very close to Night. That is bad."

"The lady," Percy repeated.

"Yes." Bob pointed ahead of them into the inky blackness. "We should go."

Percy glanced at the dust still covering his sword. He couldn't shake his dream. Apollo collapsing to the ground assuming he's dead, what if the others gave up on their way because of that. Not to mention the food had reminded him, it was horrid that he even had to be reminded, that Camp Half-Blood was about to be stormed by Romans. What if they didn't even know of their impending doom?

"Okay, then," Percy said. "I guess we’ll see a lady about some Death Mist. But first, give me a minute."

His mind was buzzing as he stared back at the the black alter. His dream had not only shown Apollo but Hermes as well, Hermes – god of travellers, guide to the spirits of the dead, god of communication.

He walked to the pile of trash and picked out a reasonably clean paper napkin.

"Bob," he said, "offerings burned in the mortal world appear on this altar, right?"

Bob frowned uncomfortably, like he wasn’t ready for a pop quiz. "Yes?"

"So what happens if I burn something on the altar here?"

"Uh …"

"Sorry, it's never been done before. I don't know why I asked you that." There was a chance though, just the slimmest chance that an offering burned on this altar might appear at Camp Half-Blood. Doubtful, but if it did work …

He brought out Riptide and wondered if he could write with it. He had never tried before, there was never time on a quest to stop and write down some notes so it was never needed. Percy uncapped the pen. As usual, it sprang into a full-sized sword. Normally when he fought, Percy simply discarded the cap. It always appeared in his pocket later, as needed. When he touched the cap to the point of the sword, it would turn back into a ballpoint pen.

"What if you touch the cap to the other end of the sword?" That stupid voice was back. Every time it appeared Percy wondered if Tartarus had already ot to his mind, turning him crazy and schizophrenic. However, as grudgingly as he would ever admit to, he did enjoy the comfort it brought. Somehow every time he heard that voice: his body warmed slightly, his injuries hurt a bit less and his heart felt a tiny bit less broken.

Yet Percy still looked doubtful, but he touched the cap to the hilt of the sword. Riptide shrank back into a ballpoint pen, but now the writing point was exposed. Wasting no time, he flattened the napkin against the altar and began to write. Riptide’s ink glowed Celestial bronze. What a coincidence.

"What are you doing?" Bob asked.

"Sending a message," Percy said. "I just hope that Ap- Someone like Chiron gets it."

Percy finished his note and folded the napkin. On the outside, he struggled on who he should address it to but the M&M packet still sitting in the pile caught his eye. He wrote:
Connor,
Give this to Chiron. Not a prank, I'm alive. Please prepare.
Percy.

He took a deep breath. He was asking a lot of Chiron to believe him, the message wasn't exactly a simple 'overdue library book slip' not that Percy had ever had an overdue library book; he'd never had a library book.

"Now I just need to burn it," he said. "Have you got a match?" The point of Bob’s spear shot from his broom handle. It sparked against the altar and erupted in silvery fire. "Uh, thanks.’ Percy lit the napkin and set it on the altar. He watched it crumble to ash and wondered if he was crazy. Could the smoke really make it out of Tartarus?

"We should go now," Bob advised. "Really, really go. Before we are killed."

Percy stared at the wall of blackness in front of them. Somewhere in there was a lady who dispensed a Death Mist that might hide him from monsters – a plan recommended by a Titan, one of their bitterest enemies. Another dose of weirdness to explode his brain.

"Right," he said. "I’m ready."

--------------------

So much for that thought. Percy was definitely not ready when he literally stumbled over the second Titan.

After entering the storm front, they plodded on for what seemed like hours, relying on the light of Percy’s Celestial bronze blade, and on Bob, who glowed faintly in the dark like some sort of crazy janitor angel. Percy could only see about five feet in front of him. In a strange way, the Dark Lands reminded him of San Francisco, where Annabeth's dad lived. Or of Montauk on those summer afternoons when the fog bank rolled in like cold, wet packing material and swallowed the entire beach.

Except here in Tartarus, the fog was made of ink.

Rocks loomed out of nowhere. Pits appeared at their feet, and Percy barely avoided falling in. Monstrous roars echoed in the gloom, but Percy couldn’t tell where they came from. All he could be certain of was that the terrain was still sloping down. How that helped him he had no idea. Down seemed to be the only direction allowed in Tartarus. If Percy backtracked even a step, he felt tired and heavy, as if gravity were increasing to discourage him. Assuming that the entire pit was the body of Tartarus, Percy had a nasty feeling they were marching straight down his throat.

He missed the end of the stupid pipe though. Instead going straight off the ledge.

Fortunately, it was only a shallow drop. Most of it was filled with a monster blister. Sure he had a soft landing on a warm bouncy surface and was probably lucky for that but when he opened his eyes and found himself staring through a glowing gold membrane at another, much larger face, he no longer felt any luck. Instead he toppled sideways off the mound as he jerked sharply, his heart doing a couple of jumping jacks, before hastily pushing up to his feet.

He hadn't thought many things could be worse than the old mummy that had resided in the attic of the Big House, that repulsive statue that enjoyed predicting his impending death or betrayal.

But gods of Olympus … Curled in the membrane bubble in front of him was a fully formed Titan in golden armour, his skin the colour of polished pennies. His eyes were closed, but he scowled so deeply he appeared to be on the verge of a bloodcurdling war cry. Even through the blister,Percy could feel the heat radiating from his body.

"Hyperion," Percy said. "I hate that guy." During the Battle of Manhattan, Percy had fought this Titan at the Reservoir – water against fire. It had been the first time Percy had summoned a hurricane – which wasn’t something Percy thought he'd be able to do. "I thought Grover turned this guy into a maple tree, did the tree die? I thought they were supposed to last a long time!"

He remembered how Hyperion had summoned fiery explosions and how many satyrs and nymphs he’d destroyed before Percy and Grover stopped him. There was no remorse when he was about to suggest that they burst Hyperion’s bubble before he woke up. He looked ready to pop out at any moment and start charbroiling everything in his path, something Percy definitely did not want to see. But then he glanced at Bob. The silvery Titan was studying Hyperion with a frown of concentration – maybe recognition. Their faces looked so much alike …

Percy bit back a curse. Of course they looked alike. Hyperion was his brother. Hyperion was the Titan lord of the east. Iapetus, Bob, was the lord of the west. Take away Bob’s broom and his janitor’s clothes, put him in armour and cut his hair, change his colour scheme from silver to gold, and Iapetus would have been almost indistinguishable from Hyperion.

"Bob," he said, "we should go."

"Gold, not silver," Bob murmured. "But he looks like me."

"Bob," Percy said. "Hey, buddy, over here." The Titan reluctantly turned. "Am I your friend?" Percy asked.

"Yes." Bob sounded dangerously uncertain, Percy couldn't afford Bob turning on him right now. "We are friends."

"You know that some monsters are good," Percy said. "And some are bad."

It wasn't a question. However Percy wasn't sure he actually believed what he was currently spouting, not when he knew a true monster so closely. He wasn't saying that Bob was bad, he just wasn't sure that Bob was a monster anymore; couldn't he just be a Titan, not a monster? Either way though, as long a Bob believed him, it would be fine. It helped that the Titan was naive.

"Hmm," Bob said. "Like … the pretty ghost ladies who serve Persephone are good. Exploding zombies are bad."

"Right," Percy said. "And some mortals are good, and some are bad. Well, the same thing is true for Titans."

"Titans …" Bob loomed over him, glowering. He was pretty sure he had just made a big mistake but he kept going.

"That’s what you are," Percy said calmly, Bob had to believe him. He would make Bob believe him. "Bob the Titan. You’re good. You’re awesome, in fact. But some Titans are not. This guy here, Hyperion, is full-on bad. He tried to kill me … tried to kill a lot of people."

Bob blinked his silver eyes. "But he looks … his face is so –"

"He looks like you," Percy agreed. He looked a lot like the other demigods, the monster was still apparent. "He’s a Titan, like you. But he’s not good like you are."

"Bob is good." His fingers tightened on his broom handle. "Yes. There is always at least one good one – monsters, Titans, giants."

"Uh …" Percy grimaced. "Well, I’m not sure about the giants."

"Oh, yes." Bob nodded earnestly.

Percy suddenly sensed they’d already been in this place too long. Their pursuers would be closing in and he couldn't afford to get captured or killed, not when the others needed him to close the door. His grip on Riptide tightened as he looked at Bob. "Bob," Percy said, "it’s your call. Hyperion is your kind. We could leave him alone, but if he wakes up –"

Percy was prepared to wait for Bob to walk off a bit and kill Hyperion without his brothers knowledge. He couldn't risk it.

“Look at the monster, prepared to kill someone's family,” a familiar voice crooned. Lamia. Her sickly voice twisting each word in the same sick sing-song voice from what felt like decades ago. Yet Percy could almost see her yellow eyes boring into him, the same eyes that still haunted his nightmares.

But it didn't come down to anything like that, Bob’s broom-spear swept into motion. If he’d been aiming at Percy, he would’ve been cut in half. Instead, Bob slashed through the monstrous blister, which burst in a geyser of hot golden mud.

Percy wiped the Titan sludge out of his eyes. Where Hyperion had been, there was nothing but a smoking crater.

"Hyperion is a bad Titan," Bob announced, his expression grim. "Now he can’t hurt my friend. He will have to re-form somewhere else in Tartarus. Hopefully it will take a long time." The Titan’s eyes seemed brighter than usual, as if he were about to cry quicksilver.

"Thank you, Bob," Percy said.

As soon as the words left his mouth—“Thank you, Bob”—Percy swallowed the knot of guilt forming in his throat. The Titan’s silver eyes shimmered with an almost heartbreaking innocence, and for a brief second, Percy felt something twist painfully inside him. But he forced that feeling away. Tartarus wasn’t a place that let you indulge in guilt or second thoughts. It devoured the weak, punished hesitation, and Percy couldn’t afford to be anything less than focused. Not when the stakes were so impossibly high.

Hyperion was gone, reduced to golden mist, and that was what mattered. Every victory, no matter how small, brought him one step closer to closing the Doors of Death. One step closer to giving his friends, the people he loved, a fighting chance. If he had to bend the truth, if he had to use every bit of his cunning, then so be it. They were worth it. They deserved a world that wasn’t constantly on the brink of destruction, and Percy would do anything to give them that, even if it meant dirtying his hands in the process.

He glanced at Bob, who continued to sweep away the remnants of Hyperion, and a flicker of discomfort lingered in Percy’s chest. The Titan had chosen to help him, to protect him, and Percy had repaid that trust with manipulation. A tiny part of him whispered that he should feel worse about it, that he was toeing a dangerous line. But desperation was a ruthless teacher, and Tartarus had stripped away the luxury of remorse. Not yet, Percy told himself. I can’t afford to break down. Not here. Not now.

Percy thought back to his childhood, to the days when survival meant thinking fast and twisting the truth. Gabe’s house had been a war zone of its own kind, where he’d learned to lie, charm, and manipulate to keep himself and his mom safe. Those skills had kept him alive before, and now, in this pit of endless darkness, he needed them more than ever. This time, it wasn’t about protecting himself. It was about getting out, about making sure the world up there—the world where his friends still fought—didn’t shatter under the weight of monsters pouring through the Doors.

He clenched his fists, jaw set. Tartarus wanted to break him, to erode every piece of his humanity, did he even have any humanity left in him when he came down? It didn't matter. It didn't matter that maybe it was succeeding, bit by bit. As long as Percy had something to fight for, something greater than himself, he wouldn’t stop. He’d do whatever it took. His friends needed him to survive, and that was a purpose he could cling to, even in the darkest, most hopeless corners of this place.

"We’d better keep going," he said.

Percy followed Bob, the golden mud flecks from Hyperion’s burst bubble glowing on his janitor’s uniform.

And it wasn't till after a while that Percy started to feel the first signs of weariness press against him. He was attempting to stay alert but it was hard. His thoughts, usually darker then his mom would have liked, were getting worse. He could practically feel his eyes get clouded over with the film of numbness. He started to wonder why he was ever down here, but the darkness was just getting darker and darker.

The worry lines deepened around Percy’s sea-green eyes. "Hey, Bob, where exactly are we heading?"

"The lady," Bob said. ‘Death Mist."

Percy fought down his irritation, it wasn't Bob's fault. Bob was just trying to help his useless ass. "But what does that mean? Who is this lady?"

"Naming her?" Bob glanced back. "Not a good idea."

Percy sighed at the reminder he always needed. Names had power, and speaking them here in Tartarus was probably very dangerous.

"Can you at least tell me how far?" he asked.

"I do not know," Bob admitted. "I can only feel it. We wait for the darkness to get darker. Then we go sideways."

"Sideways," Percy muttered. "Naturally."

His body was practically screaming at him to take a break, each muscle slowly peeling back and forth with each step as his bones creaked. But he didn't want to stop. Not here in this cold, dark place. The black fog seeped into her body, turning his bones into moist Styrofoam.

Suddenly Bob stopped. He raised his hand "Wait."

"What?" Percy whispered.

"Shh," Bob warned. "Ahead. Something moves."

Percy strained his ears. From somewhere in the fog came a deep thrumming noise, like the idling engine of a large construction vehicle. He could feel the vibrations through his sh- feet? When had he lost his shoes? He didn't remember losing them but the ground underneath him was definitely being felt on raw skin not through a sole.

"We will surround it," Bob whispered. "Go that way, take a flank." Percy went right, his sword ready.

Bob took the middle, his spearhead glowing in the fog.

The humming got louder, shaking the gravel at their feet. The noise seemed to be coming from immediately in front of them.

"Ready?" Bob murmured.

Percy crouched, preparing to spring. "On three?" He whispered. "One. Two –"

A figure appeared in the fog. Bob raised his spear.

"Wait!" Percy yelled.

Bob froze just in time, the point of his spear hovering an inch above the head of a tiny calico kitten.

"Mrrow?"said the kitten, clearly unimpressed by their attack plan. It butted its head against Bob’s foot and purred loudly.

It seemed impossible, but the deep rumbling sound was coming from the kitten. As it purred, the ground vibrated and pebbles danced. The kitten fixed its yellow, lamp-like eyes on one particular rock, right between Percy’s feet, and pounced. The cat could’ve been a demon or a horrible Underworld monster in disguise. But Percy couldn't help it, he picked it up and cuddled it. The little thing was bony under its fur, but otherwise it seemed perfectly normal.

"How did …?" He couldn’t even form the question. "What is a kitten doing …?" The cat grew impatient and squirmed out of her arms. It landed with a thump, padded over to Bob and started purring again as it rubbed against his boots. Percy laughed. "Somebody likes you, Bob."

"It must be a good monster." Bob looked up nervously. "Isn’t it?"

Percy felt a lump in his throat. Seeing the huge Titan and this tiny kitten together, he suddenly felt insignificant compared to the vastness of Tartarus. This place had no respect for anything – good or bad, small or large, wise or unwise. Tartarus swallowed Titans and demigods and kittens indiscriminately.

Bob knelt down and scooped up the cat. It fitted perfectly in Bob’s palm, but it decided to explore. It climbed the Titan’s arm, made itself at home on his shoulder and closed its eyes, purring like an earthmover. Suddenly its fur shimmered. In a flash, the kitten became a ghostly skeleton, as if it had stepped behind an X-ray machine. Then it was a regular kitten again.

Percy knitted his eyebrows. "Oh, man … I know that kitten. It’s one of the ones from the Smithsonian."

He recalled several years ago, when the Titan Atlas had captured Annabeth. Percy and Thalia had led a quest to rescue her. Along the way, Percy watched Atlas raise some skeleton warriors from dragon teeth in the Smithsonian Museum. It was funny thinking back to how the Titan’s first attempt went wrong. He’d planted sabretoothed tiger teeth by mistake and raised a batch of skeleton kittens from the soil.

This was one of them.

"How did it get here?" Bob asked, cuddling closer to the cat.

Percy spread his hands helplessly. "Atlas told his servants to take the kittens away. Maybe they destroyed the cats and they were reborn in Tartarus? I don’t know."

"It’s cute," Bob said, as the kitten sniffed his ear. The Titan scratched the kitten’s chin. Percy didn’t know if it was a good idea, carrying around a cat grown from a prehistoric tooth, but obviously it didn’t matter now. The Titan and the cat had bonded, and if Bob wanted the cat then Bob could have the cat.

"I will call him Small Bob," said Bob. "He is a good monster."

End of discussion. The Titan hefted his spear and they continued marching into the gloom.

Percy walked in a daze, trying not to think about anything. To keep himself distracted, he watched Small Bob the kitten pacing across Bob’s shoulders and purring, occasionally turning into a glowing kitty skeleton and then back to a calico fuzz-ball.

"Here," Bob announced.

He stopped so suddenly, Percy almost ran into him. Bob stared off to their left, as if deep in thought.

"Is this the place?" Percy asked. "Where we go sideways?"

"Yes," Bob agreed. "Darker, then sideways."

Percy couldn’t tell if it was actually darker, but the air did seem colder and thicker, as if they’d stepped into a different microclimate. He was reminded of his short stay in San Francisco, where he could walk from one neighbourhood to the next and the temperature might drop ten degrees. Percy wondered if the Titans had built their palace on Mount Tamalpais because the Bay Area reminded them of Tartarus, a bit like Hades building a mini Olympus in the underworld. What a depressing thought. Only Titans would see such a beautiful place as a potential outpost of the abyss – a hellish home away from home.

Bob struck off to the left. He followed. The air definitely got colder. Percy wrapped his arms around himself, trying to soothe his anxiety that started to creep back up on him. They’d entered some sort of forest. Towering black trees soared into the gloom, perfectly round and bare of branches, like monstrous hair follicles. The ground was smooth and pale.

He wouldn't be surprised if they had just marched into the armpit of Tartarus, not with his luck at least.

Suddenly his senses were on high alert, as if somebody had snapped a rubber band against the base of his neck. "What was that?" Percy raised his sword, halting where he was.

Bob turned and looked back, confused. "We are stopping?"

Percy held up his hand for silence. He wasn’t sure what had set him off. Nothing looked different. Then he realized the tree trunk was quivering. He wondered momentarily if it was the kitten’s purr, but Small Bob had fallen asleep on Large Bob’s shoulder. A few yards away, another tree shuddered.

"Something’s moving above us," Percy whispered. "Gather up."

Bob closed in with him, standing back to back. Percy strained his eyes, trying to see above them in the dark, but nothing moved. He had almost decided he was being paranoid when the first monster dropped to the ground only five feet away.

Percy’s first thought? Evil maths teachers.

The creature looked almost exactly like Mrs Dodds: a wrinkled hag with bat-like wings, brass talons and glowing red eyes. She wore a tattered dress of black silk, and her face was twisted and ravenous, like a demonic grandmother in the mood to kill.

Bob grunted as another one dropped in front of him, and then another in front of Percy. Soon there were half a dozen surrounding them. More hissed in the trees above. They couldn’t be Furies, then. There were only three of those, and these winged hags didn’t carry whips. That didn’t comfort Percy. The monsters’ talons looked plenty dangerous enough as it was.

"What are you?" he demanded.

"The arai," hissed a voice. "The curses!"

Percy tried to locate the speaker, but none of the demons had moved their mouths. Their eyes looked dead; their expressions were frozen, like a puppet’s. The voice simply floated overhead like a movie narrator’s, as if a single mind controlled all the creatures.

"What – what do you want?" Percy asked, trying to maintain a sense of confidence that was on the other side of the world right this second.

The voice cackled maliciously. "To curse you, of course! To destroy you a thousand times in the name of Mother Night!"

"Only a thousand times?" Percy murmured. "Oh, good … I thought we were in trouble."

The circle of demon ladies closed in.

Notes:

4936 words have graced this chapter!!!!!!!!

As always I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!! Please share what you're favourite line of this chapter is!!!

I'm going to spend the next few days responding to all new comments I receive along with the one's from last chapter!! Next chapter could either be tartarus, camp half bloods reactions to the note or something else, what do you want to see?

I hope you are enjoying the story!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Chapter 19: Wait, he's where?!

Notes:

Hi guys, if I'm lucky these will be posted within days of each other!!!!!!!! A lot of people have been requesting a camp chapter however wanting to get back to tartarus is also a major one, so I'm going to try and do both tonight and tomorrow!!!!!

Whether or not this will work is a separate issue!!!!!!

Anyway, buckle up!!!!

Camp Half-Blood was unusually quiet. With most of the senior campers off on that big quest and only a few remaining to patrol the boundaries, the usual chaos of camp had settled into a rare calm. A calm that, of course, Connor Stoll couldn’t stand. It was a perfect day for chaos, that was at least until Percy's handwriting had ruined it...

Travis had wandered off to "strategize" (which, knowing him, probably meant falling asleep in a sunbeam somewhere), leaving Connor to run wild with his latest idea. It was a good one. No, it was a great one. It involved a catapult, three cans of whipped cream, and a large inflatable goose. The Ares Cabin was always asking for it—so serious, so angry, so utterly lacking in a sense of humor. It was time to show them what true camp pranking looked like.

Connor grinned as he surveyed his weapons.

Peaceful. Calm... Just the atmosphere he loved destroying with the help of a new cabin member.

It was simple to quickly think up the multiple phases, or at least simple for a Hermes kid. Phase 1: The Great Creaming; Phase 2: The Goose Awakening; Phase 3: Release the Chaos.

Phase 1: The Great Creaming

Connor was already scouting out Ares's Cabin to check for campers, hiding in one of the stragerling bushes. Benji was off grabbing the catapult from the Hephaestus cabin (old sure but reliable), and he would wait for Connor's signal before positioning it behind the large tree just out of his current sight. Riley, a Hephaestus camper with a fondness for making things go boom, had helped him rig the catapult so it could launch... unconventional projectiles. Luckily, the Ares Cabin was empty at the moment, its occupants off training in the arena.

Just perfect.

Releasing his signal, he watched as Benji rolled the catapult forward slightly, checking each wheel to make sure it was secure before waving Connor over. Connor bound over to him quickly so as not to be seen by any prying eyes and grabbed the already prepared cans of whipped cream.

Positioning each one carefully in the sling, Connor glanced at Benji with a crooked grin. “Time to teach them a lesson in lightheartedness,” he said as he aimed at the Ares Cabin roof.

The first can shot through the air, landing with a SPLAT against the cabin’s shingles. Connor chuckled and reloaded. The second can hit the door, oozing creamy white foam down the front step.

The third? That one landed directly in the window, sending whipped cream flooding out the sides. Perfect. A little mess never hurt anyone.

However, it wouldn't be Connor Stoll if he had used regular whipped cream. No, this cream was much better. For, on impact, the explosion caused the foam to start expanding outwards, covering more and more of the cabin. It seeped through the cracks in the windows and door, filling up the inside as well before stopping just shy of the roof.

"Woah." Benji muttered, staring in aw at the scene.

Connor glanced at his youngest recruit, Benji, a scrawny Hermes kid with a wicked grin and a knack for mischief. “You ready for the next part?”

Phase Two: The Goose Awakening

The large inflatable goose was, of course, Connor’s crowning achievement. It had been a gift from a nymph who had inexplicably adopted the thing after finding it washed up on the shore during a summer camp cleanup. At first glance, it was just a ridiculous inflatable: comically large, brightly colored, and topped with neon LED lights. But to Connor, it was a golden opportunity.

With a little tweaking from Riley (who had a knack for making things move when they shouldn’t), Connor had rigged the goose to shoot things at unsuspecting campers—nothing dangerous, of course. Just harmless little pranks: rubber chickens, whoopee cushions, and even inflatable balls. The best part? It would trigger if anyone got too close.

Connor lugged the inflated goose next to the cabin with Benji's help before tying the rope around the nearest tree. He had found the perfect way to create a pulley system out of anything over the years of pranking so he used that to heave the goose onto the roof, positioned just slightly to the side so it looked like a ridiculous guardian of the roof. He set the motion sensor Riley had attached earlier. The moment someone wandered into range, the goose would spring to life.

“Time to get this party started,” Connor said, dragging the boy and him behind the tree to watch.

Phase Three: Release the Chaos

It didn’t take long for the Ares campers to return from their training. Clarisse was leading the group, as usual, barking orders. The moment they spotted the cabin, they froze.

“What the Hades is this?” Clarisse muttered, surveying the scene. The cabin was covered in whipped cream. A large inflatable goose glowed ominously from the roof, looking like something out of a fever dream.

Before anyone could react, the goose honked—loudly. A mechanical honk that was so absurd, it almost made it sound… angry.

“What the—?!” shouted one of the younger Ares kids.

Clarisse gritted her teeth and stormed toward the door, but as soon as she got within a few feet of the cabin, the goose came to life.

BZZZZT!

With a dramatic POP, an inflatable rubber chicken shot out of the goose’s beak, soaring through the air and smacking the nearest Ares camper square in the face. The camper yelped and stumbled backward, covered in foam and feathers.

Clarisse glared at the goose, her eyes narrowing dangerously. “Okay, that’s it.”

She marched up to the roof to take down the inflatable menace, but as she got close, the goose triggered again.

BZZZZT!

This time, an oversized whoopee cushion launched from the goose, landing with a PFFFFT against the side of Clarisse’s face. The sound was so loud that the rest of the Ares campers paused, looking more confused than angry.

Clarisse, now bright red with both fury and humiliation, stood frozen for a moment, still holding the whoopee cushion.

“You think this is funny?” she growled at the goose, her fists clenched.

As if in response, another projectile shot out of the inflatable’s mouth. This time, it was an inflatable beach ball, bouncing toward one of the Ares kids, who had been watching from the doorway. The ball hit him in the chest with a harmless THWACK, sending him flailing backward into a puddle of whipped cream.

The chaos was reaching its peak. The Ares campers were slipping in whipped cream, dodging rubber chickens, and staring at the inflatable goose as if it were a creature of pure evil.

Meanwhile, from behind the trees, Connor was doubled over in laughter grasping onto Benji for support, trying to keep quiet. He could hear Clarisse yelling at the goose like it was personally responsible for all her problems.

By the time he reached the dining pavilion, he’d wiped the grin off his face. Looking too smug during dinner was a rookie mistake. Connor grabbed his plate and made his way to the Hermes table, which was already buzzing with chatter and the usual complaints about how unfair life was when you didn’t have a godly parent who sent you cool weapons or divine snacks.

Plopping down beside Travis, who was halfway through stuffing his plate full of the best bits of food (perks of being co-leaders), Connor watched his older brother look up from his plate and gain that knowing look.

"What did you do?" Travis asked, smirking a bit.

Before he could answer, the Ares campers stormed into the pavilion, still covered in whipped cream and looking like they’d just been through a warzone.

“You did this, didn’t you?” he asked.

“Perfection,” Connor said, loading up his plate. “Textbook prank.”

Travis grinned. “Nice. Have they sworn vengeance yet?”

“Vengeance?” Benji asked, confused.

"It's a classic line they always say after we prank them." he answered, smirking over at his brother knowing for certain both of them had heard it so many times.

Travis chuckled, then nodded toward Benji. “What’s with the newbie?”

Benji puffed out his chest. “I helped.”

“Future prank legend,” Connor said, ruffling the kid’s hair. “He’s got potential.”

Clarisse then charged in like an enraged minotaur, dripping with foam, and spotted Connor immediately.

“STOLL!” she bellowed, making a beeline for him. Her fists were clenched, and her face was a perfect shade of red.

Connor looked up innocently, not even trying to hide his grin. “Clarisse! You look—uh—refreshed?”

“You think this is funny?” she growled, clearly holding back an all-out battle charge.

Connor shrugged. “It’s the goose’s fault, really. I was just a spectator.”

Clarisse’s eyes narrowed, but before she could lunge at him, Chiron entered the pavillion. Clarisse had no choice but to return to her table with the look she was receiving from the centaur, now only allowed to make threatening eyes at him.

After a few minutes, the pavilion settled into its usual hum of chatter and clinking silverware. Camp felt... normal, for once. But even with the temporary peace, you could feel the edge in the air. They were a camp recovering from a war.

When it was time for offerings, he stood, grabbed his favourite bag of peanut M&M's, and muttered, “To Hermes,for speed, cunning, and a little bit of chaos.” The flames leapt higher, a flicker of gold sparking in the fire. He frowned but shrugged it off. Just the gods being flashy, probably. He returned to his seat and was halfway through a second helping when the real fireworks began.

It started as a faint hum—a low, electric buzz that seemed to come from the shrine at the center of the pavilion. It turned to a spark in the air, just above the shrine, then the spark grew into a swirling, golden light. Campers started whispering, heads turning toward the shrine exchanging confused glances as the hum grew louder, accompanied by flashes of golden light. Then, with a pop, a napkin appeared out of thin air and dropped onto the table in front of a wide-eyed Benji.

The kid picked it up, his hands shaking. “Uh... Connor? This has your name on it.”

“What’s going on?” Travis asked, mouth still open in shock.

“No idea,” he said, leaning over to snatch the napkin, but his pulse quickened. The handwriting on the outside was unmistakable Percy’s, the same guy they hadn't heard from in months. The one Annabeth and the other's had gone off to get.

Connor,
Give this to Chiron. Not a prank, I'm alive. Please prepare.
Percy.

Connor’s heart raced. Alive? Why was he telling them that and not about the others? His hands shook as he uncrumpled the napkin, he knew it was meant for Chiron but upon receiving that message who could blame him for looking. The message inside was short but Connor had to read it multiple times:

Chiron,
It’s Percy. I’m alive, but barely. I fell into Tartarus, like literal Tartarus. There’s no time to explain everything, but the Romans are marching on Camp Half-Blood. They’ll be there soon. Prepare defenses, don't let the kids get hurt again.
Percy.

Connor’s mind reeled. Percy had fallen where? But before he could process the message, Benji swiped the note from his hands reading it quickly. He did not end up with the same hesitation as Connor and jumped onto the table with surprising speed.

“THE ROMANS ARE ATTACKING!” he yelled at the top of his lungs as if that was the most important thing of the message sent. Benji had only just joined camp, and hadn't actually ever met Percy nor learnt about places like Tartarus. Of course they told stories of the guy but the boy must not have made the connection with the note and the guy.

The entire pavilion froze for half a second before exploding into chaos. Campers screamed, some grabbing weapons, others ducking under tables. A kid from Cabin 6 started crying. It was pandemonium.

“What?!”

“They’re what?”

“ROMANS?!”

Campers scrambled in every direction. Weapons clattered as some grabbed swords and others screamed incoherently. One Demeter camper burst into tears, clutching a loaf of bread like a lifeline; that made two kids crying. With half a thought, Connor noticed with sadness that the senior campers had all reverted back to their stiff stances but with that haunted look that they all now held. How many more of their siblings would they lose this time?

“Benji, you little—” Connor shouted, lunging for the kid, but he was too quick, waving the napkin like a death sentence.

But Benji was on a roll. “Connor got a note from this guy named Percy! He’s alive apparently, but the Romans are coming to kill us all!”

“Silence!” Chiron’s voice boomed as he entered the pavilion, his hoofbeats loud against the stone floor. The campers froze, all eyes on the centaur. Chiron’s gaze fell on the napkin in Benji’s hands. The boy quickly handed it over. Chiron unrolled it, his expression darkening as he read. “This... this is Percy’s handwriting. He says he f-fell into Tartarus” He looked up, his brow furrowed at the gasps coming from the older campers. Even Clarisse's face was pale as she muttered something under her breath. Connor just strained his ears enough to catch it.

"How the hell is he still alive, or was this stupid note sent a while ago?"

Before anyone could respond, the sky outside darkened, and a blinding golden light filled the pavilion. Campers shielded their eyes as the temperature spiked. When the light faded, two figures stood at the entrance: Apollo appeared, escorted by none other than Mr. D. They had all been told that the gods would be no help right now due to the pain of being split but it seemed as if those two were suffering from a much deeper pain. Mr. D was actually showing emotion whilst supporting up Apollo...

Apollo, his golden aura flickering like a dying star, and that was coming from Connor who had only ever seen the guy twice.

"Wow, that guy looks bad." A camper muttered.

"Shhh! He's still a god!" HIs friend shushed him.

"Woah, that's a god!" Benji muttered having never seen one before.

"Dad, you good?" Will asked, looking with concern at his dad.

"Dad!" Pollux called out to Dionysus.

"Do they have news on Percy?"

"Are they Roman?"

Apollo stepped forward, his expression grim. He looked... different. The usual smirk was gone, replaced by a cold, sharp anger. His eyes swept the room, landing on Chiron. “Who dared to speak Percy Jackson’s name?”

The campers shrank back at the god’s booming voice. Even Chiron seemed momentarily taken aback, the air grew heavy. “Lord Apollo, we received a message—”

Before he could finish, Apollo extended his hand, and the napkin flew into his grasp. His eyes scanned the message quickly, and his face tightened with every word.

“He’s alive,” Apollo whispered. His voice cracked, and for a moment, his golden aura dimmed further. He looked moments away from falling apart, whether from relief or sadness Connor didn't know. “He’s alive.”

Chiron tilted his head, hesitating. “My lord, I didn’t realize you and Percy were... close.”

Apollo’s eyes snapped up, blazing with divine anger. “Percy Jackson’s significance is beyond your comprehension.” His voice dripped with old divine authority, the kind that sent chills down your spine.

Everyone froze. The room fell deathly silent.

Even Mr D looked angry at Chiron's words. “Careful there Kheiron, we have orders from Zeus and Jupiter to aid the demigods. This connection- I would wager it to be deeper than Hyacinthus.”

Apollo’s anger faltered, and he looked back at the note, his shoulders sagging. “Tartarus... he shouldn't have to endure that. He's suffered too much.” His voice softened, full of sorrow. “He’s alive, but for how long? And he's still thinking about the kids here; my kids.”

Chiron’s tone grew solemn. “We’ll prepare the camp.”

Apollo’s eyes hardened. “Do more than that. Percy Jackson’s light will not fade, nor his legacy's, hopes and dreams . Not while I still draw breath or exist in this realm.” With a final burst of golden light, he vanished.

For a moment, no one moved. The only sound was the crackle of the fire.

Connor broke the silence. “Just another day at Camp Half-Blood.”

Travis sighed. “Yeah. We’re doomed.”

Notes:

Only 2749 words but I'm gonna update tomorrow so hopefully that makes up for it!!!!!!!!!

Favourite line?????

I hope you all enjoyed this little chapter!!! Any requests please say!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I hope you are enjoying the story!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Chapter 20: I get a million curses

Notes:

So it may have not been the next day but it was pretty similar!!!!!

This is the heavily requested Tartarus chapter that everyone wanted.

Anyway buckle up!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Percy was rather relieved when the demon grandmothers closed in for the kill.

Sure, he was terrified. He didn’t like the odds of two against several dozen. But at least he understood fighting. Wandering through the darkness, waiting to be attacked – that had been driving him crazy. And curses? Well he had experienced his fair share of those, he should be fine with a couple more. Either way he had fought enough times that, especially with Bob on his side, Percy could possibly beat them.

"Back off." Percy jabbed Riptide at the nearest shrivelled hag, but she only sneered.

"We are the arai," said that weird voice-over, like the entire forest was speaking. "You cannot destroy us."

"This lot cannot be touched. They are curses, Bob doesn't like curses," Bob decided. The skeleton kitten Small Bob disappeared inside his coveralls. Smart cat. The Titan swept his broom in a wide arc, forcing the spirits back, but they came in again like the tide.

"We serve the bitter and the defeated, said the arai. We serve the slain who prayed for vengeance with their final breath. We have many curses to share with you.

The firewater in Percy’s stomach started crawling up his throat. He wished Tartarus had better beverage options, or maybe a tree that dispensed antacid fruit. Anything to stop himself from throwing up fire and burning his tongue. Didn't Tartarus know how long the taste buds took to regrow?

"I appreciate the offer," he said. "But my mom told me not to accept curses from strangers."

The nearest demon lunged. Her claws extended like bony switchblades. Percy cut her in two, but as soon as she vaporized the sides of his chest flared with pain. He stumbled back, clamping his hand to his rib cage. His fingers came away wet and red.

He was bleeding... On both sides of his shirt it seemed; he quickly glanced at his back. Yep, it was true. The left and right hems of his tattered shirt were sticky with blood, as if a javelin had run him through. Or an arrow …

Queasiness almost knocked him over. Vengeance. A curse from the slain. He flashed back to an encounter in Texas two years ago – a fight with a monstrous rancher who could only be killed if each of his three bodies was cut through simultaneously. A monster who had been slaughtering Apollo's cows for burgers; suddenly Percy didn't feel so bad.

"Geryon," Percy said. "This is how I killed him …"

The spirits bared their fangs. More arai leaped from the black trees, flapping their leathery wings. "Yes, they agreed. Feel the pain you inflicted upon Geryon. So many curses have been levelled at you, Percy Jackson. Which will you die from? Choose, or we will rip you apart!"

Somehow he stayed on his feet. The blood stopped spreading, but he still felt like he had a hot metal curtain rod sticking through his ribs. His sword arm was heavy and weak. "I don’t understand," he muttered.

And he didn't. He didn't understand how he had suddenly gained an arrow through his torso by killing one of them. How Geryon was still affecting him even years on from their encounter. Percy didn't understand and it hurt. He was so used to everyone looking to him for the answers when it came to battles or angry vengeant spirits that Percy was feeling really disoriented being unaware. With blood gushing out of two holes from a wound he didn't even know he got, Percy was feeling helpless. And he hated it.

Bob’s voice seemed to echo from the end of a long tunnel: "If you kill one, it gives you a curse."

"But if we don’t kill them, they'll kill us anyway," Percy guessed.

"Choose!" the arai cried. "Will you be crushed like Kampê? Or disintegrated like the young telkhines you slaughtered under Mount St Helens? You have spread so much death and suffering, Percy Jackson. Let us repay you!"

The winged hags pressed in, their breath sour, their eyes burning with hatred. They looked like Furies, but Percy decided these things were even worse. At least the three Furies were under the control of Hades. These things were wild, and they just kept multiplying. And if they really embodied the dying curses of every enemy Percy had ever destroyed … then Percy was in serious trouble. He’d faced a lot of enemies. One of the demons lunged at Bob. Instinctively, Percy leapt in front of him and cut the demons ugly head off.

He suddenly collapsed at the pain as his skin began to peel off the edges, flaking at leaving red raw blisters. It was as though it’s being eroded by the poisonous atmosphere. The air itself felt like acid on his body, and each breath was laced with the metallic taste of decay.

Percy clambered to his feet as the arai cackled.

"The curse of Kronos, to experience the pain he felt in Tartarus. As your mortal body flakes away just like his did."

A dozen demons leaped from every direction, but Bob yelled, ‘SWEEP!’ His broom whooshed over Percy’s head. The entire arai offensive line toppled backwards like bowling pins. More surged forward. Bob whacked one over the head and speared another, blasting them to dust. The others backed away.

Percy held his breath, waiting for his Titan friend to be laid low with some terrible curse, but Bob seemed fine – a massive silvery bodyguard keeping death at bay with the world’s most terrifying cleaning implement.

"Bob, you okay?" Percy asked. "No curses?"

"No curses for Bob!" Bob agreed.

The arai snarled and circled, eying the broom. "The Titan is already cursed. Why should we torture him further? You, Percy Jackson, have already destroyed his memory."

Bob’s spearhead dipped.

Time slowed. Percy wondered if the spirit of Kronos was somewhere nearby, swirling in the darkness, enjoying this moment so much that he wanted it to last forever. He had already cursed him after all. Percy felt exactly like he had at twelve years old, battling Ares on that beach in Los Angeles, when the shadow of the Titan lord had first passed over him.

Bob turned. His wild white hair looked like an exploded halo. "My memory … It was you?"

"Curse him, Titan!" the arai urged, their red eyes gleaming. "Add to our numbers!"

Percy’s heart pressed against his spine. "Bob, it’s a long story. I didn’t want you to be my enemy. I tried to make you a friend."

"By stealing your life," the arai said. "Leaving you in the palace of Hades to scrub floors!"

He would understand if Bob couldn't forgive him, but Percy could not afford to die here. Not whilst the doors were still open at least. If Bob wouldn’t protect him, his only chance was to run – but that wasn’t any chance at all.

"Bob, listen," he tried again, "the arai want you to get angry. They spawn from bitter thoughts. Don’t give them what they want. We are your friends."

Even as he said it, Percy felt like a liar. He’d left Bob in the Underworld and hadn’t given him a thought since. What made them friends? The fact that Percy needed him now? Percy always hated it when the gods used him for their errands. Now Percy was treating Bob the same way. He was a monster. One that was currently bleeding out on either side as his skin peeled away. All his fault.

"You see his face?" the arai growled. "The boy cannot even convince himself. Did he visit you, after he stole your memory?"

"No," Bob murmured. His lower lip quivered. "The other one did."

Percy’s thoughts moved sluggishly. "The other one?"

"Nico." Bob scowled at him, his eyes full of hurt. "Nico visited. Told me about Percy. Said Percy was good. Said he was a friend. That is why Bob helped."

"Bob... I'm trying..." Percy’s voice disintegrated like someone had hit it with a Celestial bronze blade. He’d never felt so low and dishonourable, so unworthy of having a friend.

The arai attacked, and this time Bob did not stop them.

Percy dragged himself through the crowd as he went left, slicing through the arai to clear a path. He probably brought down a dozen curses on himself, but he didn’t feel them right away, so he kept running.

The pain in his chest flared with every step. He weaved between the trees, forcing himself into a full sprint despite his ailments.

Percy realised that he would probably die down here if he didn't do something, eventually one of the curses would be to outright murder him and then he would stand no chance. Falling like every other tragic demi-god, Percy would settle down into the fields. It was his cursed fate. Yet the others were counting on him to close those stupid doors and if he couldn't even do that then someone else would have to pay for his shortcomings.

Leathery wings beat the air above him. Angry hissing and the scuttling of clawed feet told him the demons were at his back.

As he ran past one of the black trees, he slashed his sword across the trunk. He heard it topple, followed by the satisfying crunch of several dozen arai as they were smashed flat.

If a tree falls in the forest and crushes a demon, does the tree get cursed? Percy slashed down another trunk, then another. It bought them a few seconds, but not enough. Suddenly the darkness in front of them became thicker. Percy realized what it meant just in time. He skidded to a stop just before he charged off the side of the cliff.

"Cliff," he gasped. "Big cliff." He tried to force his thoughts in order, to get some sense of what was going on. Percy couldn’t see how far the cliff dropped. It could be ten feet or a thousand. There was no telling what was at the bottom. He could jump and hope for the best, but he doubted ‘the best’ ever happened in Tartarus.

So, two options: right or left, following the edge.

He was about to choose randomly when a winged demon descended in front of him, hovering over the void on her bat wings, just out of sword reach. "Did you have a nice walk?" asked the collective voice, echoing all around them.

Percy turned. The arai poured out of the woods, making a crescent around them. One grabbed his arm. Percy yelled in rage, judo-flipping the monster and dropping on its neck, putting his whole body weight into an elbow strike that would’ve made any pro wrestler proud. The demon dissolved, but when he got to his feet, and icy feeling covered him.

"What did you do to me?" he cried out, a hollow feeling consuming him.

"We did nothing," the demons said. "Your beloved has unleashed a special curse – a bitter thought from someone you abandoned. You punished an innocent soul by leaving her in her solitude. Now her most hateful wish has come to pass: you will feel the same pain. You too, will perish alone and abandoned."

"Who did I abandon?" Percy demanded. "I never –"

Suddenly his stomach felt like it had dropped off the cliff.

The words rang in his head: An innocent soul. Alone and abandoned. He remembered an island, a cave lit with soft glowing crystals, a dinner table on the beach tended by invisible air spirits.

"She wouldn’t," he mumbled. "She’d never curse me."

The eyes of the demons blurred together like their voices. Percy’s sides throbbed. The pain in his chest was worse, as if someone were slowly twisting a dagger. Percy clenched his jaw. He didn’t care how many curses he suffered. He wanted these leathery old hags to suffer in just as much misery as he had.

He yelled in fury and attacked them all.

And for one exciting minute, Percy felt like he was winning. Riptide cut through the arai as though they were made of powdered sugar. One panicked and ran face-first into a tree. Another screeched and tried to fly away, but Percy sliced off her wings and sent her spiralling into the chasm. Each time a demon disintegrated, Percy felt a heavier sense of dread as another curse settled on him. Some were harsh and painful: a stabbing in the gut, a burning sensation like he was being blasted by a blowtorch. Some were subtle: a chill in the blood, an uncontrollable tic in his right eye.

Seriously though, who curses you with their dying breath and says: I hope your eye twitches!

Percy knew that he’d killed a lot of monsters, but he’d never really thought about it from the monsters’ point of view. Now all their pain and anger and bitterness poured over him, sapping his strength.

The arai just kept coming. For every one he cut down, six more seemed to appear. His sword arm grew tired. His body ached, and his vision blurred. As Percy staggered around, a demon pounced and sank its teeth into his thigh. Percy roared. He sliced the demon to dust, but immediately recognised who had cursed him this time. His body stiffened as pain exploded across his torso—a phantom strike from a long-forgotten beer bottle. The ghost of knuckles scraped against his jaw, the sharp crack of a slap reverberating in his ears. Percy gasped, staggering backward as the memories surged forward, clawing their way out of the dark corners of his mind.

--------------------

The apartment was a dingy little place, all cracked plaster and peeling wallpaper, but it was home—or at least it had been before he moved in. Percy sat cross-legged on the thin, threadbare carpet of his room, fiddling with a broken action figure, his ears straining for the sound of the front door slamming. Mom was working late again. That meant it was just him and Gabe.

The familiar click of the door unlocking sent a jolt of fear through Percy’s chest. He froze, every muscle tensing as Gabe’s heavy footsteps thudded into the apartment. The man was muttering something under his breath, and Percy could already smell the stink of alcohol wafting down the hall.

“Where’s that damn kid?” Gabe’s voice was a low growl, dangerous in the way a rumbling storm is before the lightning strikes.

Percy shrank further into himself. He knew better than to make a sound, but it didn’t matter. Gabe always found a reason. Today, it was the can. A stupid aluminum beer can Percy hadn’t even noticed until he tripped over it. He had picked it up, thinking nothing of it, but apparently, that was enough to ruin Gabe’s night.

“You think you can just touch my stuff?” Gabe bellowed, his shadow darkening the doorway before he barged in.

“I—I didn’t mean to,” Percy stammered, scrambling back as Gabe advanced on him.

“You didn’t mean to?” Gabe mocked, his face twisted in a cruel sneer. “You’re always screwing things up, kid.”

Before Percy could defend himself, Gabe’s hand shot out, grabbing him by the collar and hauling him to his feet. The man’s fingers dug painfully into his neck, and Percy could feel the fabric of his shirt cutting into his skin.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” Gabe slurred, though his actions said otherwise. Without warning, he shoved Percy hard against the wall. The impact rattled the old plaster, and Percy’s head snapped back, stars bursting in his vision.

“Stop! Please—” Percy’s voice cracked as he raised his arms to shield himself, but Gabe wasn’t listening.

A heavy fist collided with Percy’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He doubled over, gasping, only for Gabe to yank him upright again. Another slap sent him sprawling to the floor, his cheek burning where Gabe’s hand had landed. Tears blurred his vision, but he blinked them away furiously. He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t give Gabe the satisfaction.

“You’re a useless little brat,” Gabe spat, looming over him. “Your mom should’ve dumped you on the street.”

The words cut deeper than any blow. Percy crawled backward, pressing himself into the corner of the room, his small frame trembling. Gabe took a swig from his bottle, sneering down at him. “Stay in here and don’t make a sound. If I hear one peep, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

Percy nodded quickly, his throat too tight to speak. Satisfied, Gabe turned and stumbled out, slamming the door behind him. The sound echoed in Percy’s ears, and he flinched, drawing his knees up to his chest.

He stayed like that for hours, long after Gabe had passed out in the living room. His body ached from the blows, but it was the words that hurt the most. They played over and over in his mind, a poisonous mantra that he couldn’t shake.

Useless. Brat. Should’ve dumped you on the street.

Even at seven, Percy knew better than to tell his mom. She worked so hard, and he couldn’t bear the thought of adding to her worries. So he swallowed his pain, burying it deep where it wouldn’t show. He learned to smile through the bruises, to hide his fear behind a mask of defiance.

But every night, when he was alone in the dark, the mask slipped, and the weight of Gabe’s words settled on his chest like a stone.

--------------------

The memory dissolved, but the pain lingered. Percy clutched his side as phantom blows rained down on him. His ribs throbbed, his jaw ached, and every breath felt like a battle against invisible hands squeezing his lungs. He wanted to scream, to collapse, but he couldn’t. Not here. Not now.

Get up, he told himself. You’ve survived this before. You can do it again.

But this was different. This wasn’t the occasional slap or shove. The curse forced him to feel everything—every bruise, every insult, every choking grip around his neck that Gabe had ever inflicted on him. It was overwhelming, the weight of all those years pressing down on him like a tidal wave. Percy’s knees buckled, and he fell hard, his sword clattering uselessly beside him.

“Do you feel it, little hero?” the arai whispered, circling him like a vulture. “All the pain, all the helplessness. The man who shaped you. You can never escape it.”

Percy’s breath hitched, tears stinging his eyes. For a moment, he felt like the scared, powerless kid he’d once been, trapped in a nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. But then that other voice echoed in his mind—a quieter, steadier one.

"Come on, you need to be strong seashell, if only for a bit longer. Your friends are counting on you."

With a shaky hand, he reached for Riptide. His vision blurred, but he forced himself to focus on the blade’s familiar weight. Slowly, painfully, he pushed himself to his feet.

“Yeah,” Percy croaked, his voice hoarse but defiant. “I felt it. And you know what? I’m still here.”

The arai hissed in frustration, their forms flickering like smoke in the wind. Percy raised Riptide and lunged, slicing through one with a single, desperate strike. She dissipated into shadow. Percy stood there, swaying on his feet, the echoes of the pain still fresh in his mind. His body trembled, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.

This time he collapsed to his knees as his mouth burned worse than when he had swallowed the firewater of the Phlegethon. He doubled over, shuddering and retching, as a dozen fiery snakes seemed to work their way down his oesophagus.

"You have chosen, said the voice of the arai, the curse of Phineas … an excellent painful death."

Percy tried to speak. His tongue felt like it was being microwaved. He remembered the old blind king who had chased harpies through Portland with a weed whacker. Percy had challenged him to a contest, and the loser had drunk a deadly vial of gorgon’s blood. Percy didn’t remember the old blind man muttering a final curse, but as Phineas had dissolved and returned to the Underworld he probably hadn’t wished Percy a long and happy life.

After Percy’s victory then, Gaia had warned him: Do not press your luck. When your death comes, I promise it will be much more painful than gorgon’s blood.

Now he was in Tartarus, dying from gorgon’s blood plus a dozen other agonizing curses, while he watched his skin peeled off his arms. He clutched his sword. His knuckles started to steam. White smoke curled off his forearms.

I won’t die like this, he thought.

Not only because it was painful and insultingly lame, but because the others needed him. Once he was dead, the door would remain open and would cause the death of everyone he knew.

The arai clustered around him, snickering and hissing.

"His head will erupt first," the voice speculated.

"No," the voice answered itself from another direction. "He will combust all at once."

They were placing bets on how he would die … what sort of scorch mark he would leave on the ground.

The pain peaked, and for a moment, Percy couldn’t breathe. Then, with a guttural yell, he wrenched his hands away from his torso. Thick, dark liquid sprayed from his palms, blacker than the shadows of Tartarus. It hissed as it hit the ground, steam rising in thin tendrils, and Percy fell to his knees, gasping for air.

The weight in his chest lessened, but the cracking sensation remained, as if something inside him had fractured—again. He didn't have time to dwell on it. The arai were closing in, their skeletal faces twisted in malevolent glee.

One of them lunged. Percy barely registered the motion as he thrust his arm out, still dripping with the dark poison. Without thinking, he slashed his hand through the air, sending droplets flying toward the creature. The moment they touched its translucent skin, the ara shrieked, its body contorting violently as the poison ate through it. The curse it carried faltered, its grip loosening on Percy’s mind.

The sight didn’t fully register, not yet. Percy was already moving, his instincts screaming at him to survive. Another ara lunged. He whipped his hand again, and the same thing happened—the curse dissolved in the poison’s wake, and the creature disintegrated into smoke.

Somewhere in the haze of battle, Percy’s mind flickered with a question: What am I doing?

But he shoved it aside. It didn’t matter how or why it worked. All that mattered was getting out, staying alive. For them.

With each arai that lunged, Percy’s movements grew more desperate, more reckless. His strikes were wild, fueled by pain and adrenaline. More black poison sprayed from his fingertips, and more arai fell, their curses shattering into nothingness as they dissolved.

The field grew quiet.

Percy stood alone, chest heaving, his arms dripping with the last traces of poison. His hands shook, but whether it was from exhaustion or something deeper, he couldn’t tell. He looked down at himself. His tattered shirt clung to his sweat-soaked skin, streaked with black and red. His knees buckled, and he collapsed to the ground, the ash cushioning his fall.

It was then, in the eerie silence, that the weight of what just happened began to sink in. The cracking sensation still lingered, deeper than his bones. He flexed his fingers, staring at the dark stains that wouldn’t wipe away.

His body wasn’t supposed to do that.

A flash of that voice echoed in his mind, soft and warm, "You’re a good kid, Percy. You’ve always been a good kid. You're still so good."

But here, in the heart of Tartarus, surrounded by the remains of monsters and curses he had destroyed with his own poisoned blood, Percy wasn’t sure what “good” even meant anymore.

He didn’t feel like a hero. He felt like a survivor. And sometimes, that was worse.

"Bob," he half-heartedly cried, wanting the comfort of another even if they hated him right now.

A hopeless plea. He could barely hear himself. Why should Bob answer his call twice? The Titan knew the truth now. Percy was no friend. He raised his eyes one last time. His surroundings seemed to flicker. The sky boiled and the ground blistered.

Percy realized that what he saw of Tartarus was only a watered-down version of its true horror – only what his demigod brain could handle. The worst of it was veiled, the same way the Mist veiled monsters from mortal sight. Now as Percy died he began to see the truth. The air was the breath of Tartarus. All these monsters were just blood cells circulating through his body. Everything Percy saw was a dream in the mind of the dark god of the pit.

This must have been the way Nico had seen Tartarus, and it had almost destroyed his sanity. Nico … one of the many people Percy hadn’t treated well enough. He and had only made it this far through Tartarus because Nico di Angelo had behaved like Bob’s true friend.

"I’m sorry," Percy murmured. "I’m sorry, Bob. I should’ve been honest with you. Please … forgive me. Protect Nico if he's sent down here?"

He didn’t expect Bob to hear him or care, but it felt right to clear his conscience. He couldn’t blame anyone else for his troubles. Not the gods. Not Bob. He couldn’t even blame Calypso, the girl he’d left alone on that island.

Maybe she’d turned bitter and cursed Percy out of despair.

Still … Percy should have followed up with Calypso, made sure the gods sprang her from her exile on Ogygia like they’d promised. He hadn’t treated her any better than he’d treated Bob. He hadn’t even thought much about her, though her moonlace plant still bloomed in his mom’s window box.

It took all his remaining effort, but he got to his feet. Steam rose from his whole body. His legs shook. His insides churned like a volcano.

He would go out on his feet, even if the poison that hadn't left his body, boiled him alive.

But Bon appeared before Percy collapsed, Small Bob standing on the Titan's shoulders.

Percy wanted to thank the Titan for returning, but his voice wouldn’t work. His legs buckled. His ears rang. "Uh!" Percy grunted.

"Percy-" Bob started.

Percy wanted to tell him it was okay and he was sorry, but of course it wasn’t. He couldn’t even feel his body any more. His consciousness was like a small helium balloon, loosely tied to the top of his head. It had no weight, no strength. It just kept expanding, getting lighter and lighter. He knew that soon it would either burst or the string would break, and his life would float away.

Bob loomed over them, his broom planted like a flag. His face was unreadable, luminously white in the dark. "Lots of curses," Bob said. "Percy has done bad things to monsters." Bob frowned. He picked at the name tag on his uniform like it was a scab.

Percy tried again. "Bob-"

"Iapetus," Bob said, his voice a low rumble. "Before Bob. It was Iapetus."

The air was absolutely still. Percy felt helpless, barely connected to the world. He crouched next to him and studied Percy. Bob’s face looked haggard and careworn, as if he suddenly felt the weight of all his centuries.

"I promised," he murmured. "Nico asked me to help. I do not think Iapetus or Bob likes breaking promises." He touched Percy’s forehead. "Owie," the Titan murmured. "Very big owie."

Percy sank back into his body. The ringing in his ears faded. His vision cleared. He still felt like he had swallowed a deep fryer. His insides bubbled. He could sense that the poison had only been slowed, not removed.

But he was alive.

He tried to meet Bob’s eyes, to express his gratitude. His head lolled against his chest.

"Bob cannot cure this," Bob said. "Too much poison. Too many curses piled on top[ of each other-" Bob placed his hand on Percy’s chest. A cold tingle like eucalyptus oil spread across his sternum, but as soon as Bob lifted his hand the relief stopped. Percy’s lungs felt as hot as lava again. "Tartarus kills demigods," Bob said. "It heals monsters, but you do not belong. Tartarus will not heal Percy. The pit hates your kind."

In the distance, a deep voice bellowed – a voice that Percy recognized, unfortunately.

"I SMELL HIM!" roared the giant. "BEWARE, SON OF POSEIDON! I COME FOR YOU!"

"Polybotes," Bob said. "He hates Poseidon and his children. He is very close now."

Percy struggled top get to his feet even with the titans help, he felt like a sack of billiard balls. Even with Bob supporting almost all his weight, he could barely stand.

"W-we need somewhere." Percy groaned.

The kitten Small Bob mewed and began to purr, rubbing against Bob’s chin. Bob looked at Percy, and Percy wished he could read the Titan’s expression. Was he angry or just thoughtful? Was he planning revenge, or was he just feeling hurt because Percy had lied about being his friend?

"There is one place," Bob said at last. "There is a giant who might know what to do."

Percy almost collapsed again. "A giant. Uh, Bob, giants are bad."

"One is good," Bob insisted. "Trust me, and I will take you … unless Polybotes and the others catch us first."

Notes:

So this one's 4929 words!!!!!! Which I think's pretty good for this chapter right??????????????????????

Favourite line????

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!!!!! Any request please say!!!!!!!

I hope you are enjoying the story!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Chapter 21: What did I just do?

Notes:

Hi guys!!!!!!!!!! Thank you soooooo much for all the comments and likes and hits. I swear this has kicked off over like a week and I'm shocked. I even returned to a Pinterest prompt which started this to see someone recommending this book which literally made me squeal!!!!!!

Anyway this is the chapter for this week, don't know if I'll manage more then one yet or not but if I do it will be a surprise for the both of us!!!!!!!

Also the first half of this chapter came from an idea I was given way back in Chapter 8 from lovely commenter going by the name 'girlgamer', I would just like to apologise for how long it has taken me to get to your idea of wanting Neptune/Poseidon interacting with percy but I wanted it to work and then I skipped straight into Tartarus

Either way buckle up!!!!!!!!!!

Percy sat on the deck of the Argo II, his head in his hands, gripping his knees like they were the only things keeping him anchored to the ship. His pulse still thundered from the fight at the aquarium. He could still hear Phorcys’s laughter, echoing like a warped sonar ping through his brain. But that wasn’t what was clawing at his insides.

The water hadn’t listened to him.

His domain. His power. And it had betrayed him.

The ship rocked gently beneath him, a soothing rhythm for anyone else, but for Percy, it was a cruel reminder of how little control he’d had in that battle. The one constant in his life, the thing he could always rely on, had turned on him when he needed it most. The ocean—the part of him that was supposed to be as natural as breathing—had become a stranger.

“Get it together,” he muttered. His voice sounded hollow, even to himself.

The memory of the sea creatures in their tanks, their wide, panicked eyes staring at him, wouldn’t leave him alone. They had been just as trapped as he felt now. Percy clenched his fists, trying to shove the image away, but his mind refused to let it go.

He pulled a drachma from his pocket, the cool metal pressing into his palm. He stared at it for a long moment, then knelt on the deck, the wood creaking under him.

“Dad,” he whispered, his voice raw. “I—I need your help. Please. The animals… they’re still trapped. I couldn’t…” His throat tightened. “I couldn’t help them.”

He closed his eyes, gripping the coin tighter. He didn’t know what he expected. Poseidon had a habit of showing up when Percy least wanted him to and being absent when he needed him most. But right now, Percy was desperate.

The air grew colder. Percy opened his eyes, and the ocean seemed darker, deeper. A low rumble echoed across the waves, and then, standing before him, was a figure that made Percy’s breath catch.

A figure emerged from the mist, towering and otherworldly. One moment, he was the Hawaiian-shirt-wearing Poseidon Percy remembered, with his rugged features and salt-and-pepper beard. The next, he was Neptune, armored and stern, a Roman god of the sea. His form flickered, unable to settle on one identity, like the ocean caught between two tides.

“Percy,” Poseidon said, his voice like the undertow pulling at the shore. Then, with a shift in tone, Neptune added, “My son.”

Percy blinked. “You… you came.”

Poseidon’s eyes—stormy and sea-green—softened. “Of course I came. You called.”

Percy swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the drachma. “I couldn’t control it,” he admitted. “The water. It wouldn’t listen to me.” He gestured weakly at the ocean. “I thought—” His voice cracked. “I thought it was supposed to be something I could control. I thought it was part of me.”

Poseidon’s gaze darkened for a moment, the lines around his eyes deepening. Then he sighed and knelt beside Percy, placing a steady hand on his shoulder.

“Percy,” he said gently, “the ocean will always be a part of you. But even the sea has its own will. You were in Phorcys’s domain. The deep waters of terror and illusion. There, the sea does not answer to you. It answers to him.”

Percy frowned, his brow furrowing. “So… it was like I was fighting the tide?”

Poseidon nodded. “Exactly. You were battling not just Phorcys, but the ocean under his control. His home court, as you might say.” He gave Percy a small, wry smile. “You fought well, considering the odds. Few could have held their ground as you did.”

Percy looked away, the knot in his chest loosening just a fraction. “I still feel like I failed.”

Poseidon’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “You did not fail, Percy. You called for help, and I will see to it that those creatures are freed.”

Percy’s head snapped up. “You will?”

Poseidon smiled. “Yes, my son. They will know the freedom of the sea once more.”

Relief washed over Percy, but the weight on his heart didn’t completely lift. He bit his lip, hesitating before speaking again. “I don’t feel strong, Dad. I feel like… like I’m just waiting to mess everything up again.”

Poseidon’s expression softened further. “Percy, you are stronger than you know. And if you doubt that…” His eyes twinkled with a hint of mischief. “Let me tell you a story about your brother Triton.”

Percy blinked. “Triton? You mean the guy who always looks like he’s posing for the cover of Underwater Fitness Monthly? T-The one that hates me”

Poseidon chuckled. “Yes, that’s him. He doesn't hate you, he never had. He hates what you stand for, that I cheated on his mother but not you. In fact, he seems to be rather fond of you, along with Amphitrite as well. Somehow you managed to win them round. But Triton wasn’t always so… regal. When Triton was young, he had a bit of a complex. He was convinced he needed to prove himself the greatest swimmer in all the seas.”

Percy raised an eyebrow. “And?”

Poseidon smirked. “One day, he challenged a group of dolphins to a race. Confident as ever, he declared that if he lost, he’d let them crown him with seaweed and call him ‘Fish Breath’ for a year.”

Percy snorted. “Please tell me he lost.”

“Oh, he lost,” Poseidon said, grinning. “Spectacularly. Turns out, dolphins are very fast when they’re motivated. By the time Triton finished, they’d already woven the seaweed crown. For the next year, every dolphin in the Mediterranean greeted him with a bow and a chorus of ‘Hail, Fish Breath!’”

Percy couldn’t help but laugh, the sound easing some of the tension in his chest. “Bet he loved that.”

Poseidon chuckled. “He was mortified. But it taught him humility and perseverance. He learned that even gods aren’t perfect. And now, he’s one of the most respected heralds of the sea.”

Percy shook his head, still smiling. “So you’re saying I need to lose a bet with some dolphins?”

Poseidon laughed, the sound deep and warm. “I’m saying that even when you feel like you’ve failed, you’re still learning, still growing. And that’s what makes you strong.”

Percy’s smile faded as he looked down at the deck. “I don’t feel strong,” he admitted quietly. “I feel… broken.”

Poseidon’s expression grew serious. “You are not broken, Percy. You are burdened. You carry the weight of the world, and you do so with courage. That is why you are my favourite.”

Percy’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “Your favourite?”

Poseidon nodded. “Yes. If you are the last demigod I ever father, then so be it. You are more than enough.”

Percy’s throat tightened, and before he knew it, tears were streaming down his face. He tried to hold them back, but the dam had broken. He leaned forward, burying his face against his father’s chest, his body shaking with sobs.

Poseidon wrapped his arms around him, his embrace as steady and unyielding as the tides. He rocked Percy gently, murmuring soft words of comfort.

The ship swayed in rhythm with them, the ocean seeming to cradle its son in a lullaby of waves.

Percy clung to his father, letting the grief and exhaustion pour out of him. Slowly, his sobs quieted, his breathing evening out as sleep claimed him.

Poseidon held him for a long moment, his expression a mix of pride and sorrow. As Percy’s breathing steadied and his tears soaked into Poseidon’s tunic, the god of the sea stared out over the dark waves. The familiar rhythm of the ocean offered little comfort now, a hollow echo of the peace it once brought him. In the stillness, the weight of unspoken regrets bore down on him, as relentless as the tides.

He should have been there.

Poseidon tightened his grip on his son, his calloused hand gently brushing against Percy’s hair. How many moments had he missed? How many birthdays, scraped knees, and nightmares had Percy faced alone? The thought was a jagged stone in his heart, one he’d carried for years but never fully confronted.

When Percy was small, Poseidon had watched from afar. Hidden in the depths of the sea, he had seen his son take his first wobbly steps, his tiny hands reaching out for balance. He had heard Percy’s laughter ring out across the beach as Sally chased him through the surf, their joy so radiant it almost made him believe he could be part of it. But he had stayed in the shadows, bound by the ancient laws that kept gods and mortals apart.

And then there were the darker moments. The times when Sally’s laughter was replaced by silence, when her eyes were shadowed with worry as she held Percy close. Poseidon had wanted to storm into their tiny apartment, to sweep them both away to the safety of the sea. But he hadn’t. He couldn’t.

The Fates had made it clear: Percy’s life would never be simple, never be safe. Being the son of Poseidon came with a price, and the only way to protect him was to leave him behind.

Poseidon swallowed hard, the memory of Percy’s childhood pain like salt in an open wound. He had seen his son cry himself to sleep after a particularly bad day at school, the other kids calling him weird or broken. He had seen Percy flinch under Gabe Ugliano’s drunken rants, his small frame trembling but never breaking.

“I should have been there,” Poseidon murmured, his voice barely audible over the lapping waves.

He thought of the nights Percy had spent staring at the stars, whispering to the sea, hoping for some kind of sign that his father was out there, that he cared. Poseidon had heard every word. He had wanted so badly to answer, to tell Percy that he was proud of him, that he loved him. But all he could do was send the faintest ripple of reassurance, a whisper lost in the vastness of the ocean.

And now, looking at the boy who had grown into a hero, who had faced gods and monsters with a courage that humbled even the Olympians, Poseidon’s heart ached with the knowledge of what could never be undone.

“I’m sorry, Percy,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “For all the times I wasn’t there. For everything I couldn’t be.”

He kissed the top of Percy’s head, his tears falling silently into his son’s dark hair.

“You deserved more.”

A soft glow appeared on the deck, and Poseidon looked up to see Apollo stepping out of the light. The sun god’s usual brightness was dimmed, his golden aura subdued.

Apollo’s eyes softened as he approached. “He finally let it out,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on Percy.

Poseidon nodded, carefully laying Percy down. “He has carried too much for too long.”

Apollo knelt beside Percy, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “He’s been incredible,” he said quietly. “But he needs someone to remind him he doesn’t have to do it alone.”

Poseidon’s eyes met Apollo’s, a knowing glint in his gaze. “That someone could be you,” he said, his voice low but meaningful. “Take care of him, Apollo. I could not bear to lose him… in any way.”

Apollo nodded, his expression solemn. “You have my word.”

Poseidon gave Percy one last, gentle touch before he dissolved into mist, leaving the ship silent once more.

Apollo sat beside Percy, his hand resting lightly on the boy’s shoulder. “You’re not alone, Percy,” he whispered. “Not now. Not ever.”

-------------------

He stirred slightly at the feeling of something pressing against his lips. It took a couple of encouraging words however Percy soon found himself sipping from what felt like a cup. With each sip, Percy could feel his strength returning. He drained the cup, and his eyes fluttered open. He looked around with a dazed expression, spotting Bob next to a... Giant?

"A few hours of sleep," the giant pronounced. "He’ll be good as new."

"Huh?"

"I cured you son of Poseidon, from the poison and all other curses."

"Oh," Percy fumbled with what to say next. "Uh, thank you."

The giant stared at him mournfully. "Oh, don’t thank me. You’re still doomed. And I require payment for my services."

Percy's mouth went dry. "Uh … what sort of payment?"

"A story." The giant’s eyes glittered. "It gets boring in Tartarus. You can tell me your story while we eat, eh?"

"Um, sure but c-could I get your name first? Kinda rude to keep calling you 'giant'" Percy asked, hoping he wasn't appearing rude but he was still waking up. His dream had been so nice after all.

"Damasen." Damasen said, face blank as he waited for Percy to start his story.

Percy felt kind of wary sharing the story of Tartarus so far, but he’d saved Percy. His drakon-meat stew was excellent (especially compared to firewater), the guy had just shved the bowl in front of him with a spoon. His hut was warm and comfortable, and for the first time since plunging into Tartarus Percy felt like he could relax. Which was ironic, since he was having dinner with a Titan and a giant. He told Damasen about parts of his life and adventures. Percy explained about how he had met Bob, wiped his memory in the River Lethe and left him in the care of Hades.

"I was trying to do something good," he promised Bob. "I didn't know Hades would hold a grudge."

Even to him, it didn’t sound convincing. Hades was always holding some kind of grudge.

He thought about what the arai had said – how Nico di Angelo had been the only person to visit Bob in the palace of the Underworld. Nico was one of the least outgoing, least friendly demigods Percy knew. Nico literally only ever spent time with Thalia, Percy, Hazel and Reyna. Yet he’d been kind to Bob. By convincing Bob that Percy was a friend, Nico had inadvertently saved his life.

Bob washed his bowl with his squirt bottle and rag.

Damasen made a rolling gesture with his spoon. "Continue your story, Perseus Jackson."

He explained about his quest in the Argo II. When he got to the part about stopping Gaia from waking, he faltered. "She’s, um … she’s your mom, right? I think the myths said she was your mom anyway?"

Damasen scraped his bowl. His face was covered with old poison burns, gouges and scar tissue, so it looked like the surface of an asteroid. "Yes," he said. "And Tartarus is my father." He gestured around the hut. "As you can see, I was a disappointment to my parents. They expected … more from me."

Percy couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the fact that he was sharing soup with a twenty-foot-tall lizard-legged man whose parents were Earth and the Pit of Darkness. Olympian gods were hard enough to imagine as parents, but at least they resembled humans. The old primordial gods like Gaia and Tartarus … How could you leave home and ever be independent of your parents, when they literally encompassed the entire world?

"So …" he said. "You don’t mind us fighting your mom?"

Damasen snorted like a bull. "Best of luck. At present, it’s my father you should worry about. With him opposing you, you have no chance to survive."

Suddenly Percy didn’t feel so hungry. He put his bowl on the floor. Small Bob came over the check it out. "Opposing me how?" he asked.

"All of this." Damasen cracked a drakon bone and used a splinter as a toothpick. "All that you see is the body of Tartarus, or at least one manifestation of it. He knows you are here. He tries to thwart your progress at every step. My brethren hunt you. It is remarkable you have lived this long, even with the help of Iapetus."

Bob scowled when he heard his name. "The defeated ones hunt us, yes. They will be close behind now."

Damasen spat out his toothpick. "I can obscure your path for a while, long enough for you to rest. I have power in this swamp. But eventually they will catch you."

"My friend must reach the Doors of Death," Bob said. "That is the way out."

"Impossible," Damasen muttered. "The Doors are too well guarded."

Percy sat forward. "But you know where they are?"

"Of course. All of Tartarus flows down to one place: his heart. The Doors of Death are there. But you cannot make it there alive with only Iapetus."

"Then come with us," Percy said. "Help us."

"HA!" Percy jumped. "Ha, ha, ha. Child of Poseidon," the giant said, "I am not your friend. I helped mortals once, and you see where it got me."

"You helped mortals?" Percy didn't know a lot about Greek legends especially if they hadn't attacked him first, but he drew a total blank on the name Damasen. "I – I don’t understand."

"Bad story," Bob explained. "Good giants have bad stories. Damasen was created to oppose Ares."

"Yes," the giant agreed. "Like all my brethren, I was born to answer a certain god. My foe was Ares. But Ares was the god of war. And so when I was born –"

"You were his opposite," Percy guessed. "You were peaceful."

"Peaceful for a giant, at least." Damasen sighed. "I wandered the fields of Maeonia, in the land you now call Turkey. I tended my sheep and collected my herbs. It was a good life. But I would not fight the gods. My mother and father cursed me for that. The final insult: one day the Maeonian drakon killed a human shepherd, a friend of mine, so I hunted the creature down and slew it, thrusting a tree straight through its mouth. I used the power of the earth to regrow the tree’s roots, planting the drakon firmly in the ground. I made sure it would terrorize mortals no more. That was a deed Gaia could not forgive."

"Because you helped someone?"

"Yes." Damasen looked ashamed. "Gaia opened the earth, and I was consumed, exiled here in the belly of my father Tartarus, where all the useless flotsam collects – all the bits of creation he does not care for." The giant plucked a flower out of his hair and regarded it absently. "They let me live, tending my sheep, collecting my herbs, so I might know the uselessness of the life I chose. Every day – or what passes for day in this lightless place – the Maeonian drakon reforms and attacks me. Killing it is my endless task."

Percy gazed around the hut, trying to imagine how many aeons Damasen had been exiled here – slaying the drakon, collecting its bones and hide and meat, knowing it would attack again the next day. He could barely imagine surviving the week in Tartarus. Exiling your own son here for centuries – that was beyond cruel. And he thought Zeus was bad.

"Break the curse," he blurted out. "Come with us."

Damasen chuckled sourly. "As simple as that. Don’t you think I have tried to leave this place? It is impossible. No matter which direction I travel, I end up here again. The swamp is the only thing I know – the only destination I can imagine. No, little demigod. My curse has overtaken me. I have no hope left."

"No hope," Bob echoed.

"There must be a way." Percy couldn’t stand the expression on the giant’s face. It reminded him too much of his mother every time Gabe insulted her. She was resound to that life so long as it protected Percy from whatever monsters she thought were worse then the two in her house. "Bob has a plan to reach the Doors of Death," he insisted. "He said I could hide in some sort of Death Mist."

"Death Mist?" Damasen scowled at Bob. "You would take him to Akhlys?"

"It is the only way," Bob said.

"You will die," Damasen said. "Painfully. In darkness. Akhlys trusts no one and helps no one." Bob looked like he wanted to argue, but he pressed his lips together and remained silent.

"Is there another way?" Percy asked, death didn't sound all that appealing until he had closed those bloody doors.

"No," Damasen said. "The Death Mist … that is the best plan. Unfortunately, it is a terrible plan."

"But isn’t it worth trying?" he asked. "You could return to the mortal world. You could see the sun again."

Damasen’s eyes were like the sockets of the drakon’s skull – dark and hollow, devoid of hope. He flicked a broken bone into the fire and rose to his full height – a massive red warrior in sheepskin and drakon leather, with dried flowers and herbs in his hair. Percy could see how he was the anti-Ares. Ares was one of the worse gods, blustery and violent. Damasen was the best giant, kind and helpful … and for that he’d been cursed to eternal torment.

"Get some sleep," the giant said. "I will prepare supplies for your journey. I am sorry, but I cannot do more."

Percy wanted to argue, but, as soon as he said sleep, his body betrayed him, despite his resolution never to sleep in Tartarus again. His belly was full. The fire made a pleasant crackling sound. The herbs in the air reminded him of the hills around Camp Half-Blood in the summer, when the satyrs and naiads gathered wild plants in the lazy afternoons.

"Maybe a little sleep," he agreed.

Bob scooped him up like a rag doll. He didn’t protest, just let himself be placed on the giant's bed and closed his eyes.

Percy woke staring at the shadows dancing across the hut’s ceiling. He hadn’t had a single dream. That was so unusual, he wasn’t sure if he’d actually woken up. As he lay there, Small Bob purring on his belly, he heard Bob and Damasen deep in conversation.

"You haven’t told him," Damasen said.

"No," Bob admitted. "He is already scared."

The giant grumbled. "He should be. And if you cannot guide him past Night?" Damasen said Night like it was a proper name – an evil name.

"I have to," Bob said.

"Why?" Damasen wondered. "What has that demigod given you? He erased your old self, everything you were. Titans and giants … we are meant to be the foes of the gods and their children. Are we not?"

"Then why did you heal him?"

Damasen exhaled. ‘"I have been wondering that myself. Perhaps because you goaded me to, perhaps it was the mysterious supplies I got sent so I didn't waste my own, or perhaps … I find this demigod intriguing. He must not only be resilient to have made it this far but powerful as well. That is admirable. I could sense what he's doing to himself to make it, what he's speeding up. Still, how can we help hi, any further? It is not our fate."

"Perhaps," Bob said uncomfortably. "But … do you like our fate?"

"What a question. Does anyone like their fate?"

"I liked being Bob," Bob murmured. "Before I started to remember …"

"Huh." There was a shuffling sound, as if Damasen was stuffing a leather bag.

"Damasen," the Titan asked, "do you remember the sun?"

The shuffling stopped. Percy heard the giant exhale through his nostrils. "Yes. It was yellow. When it touched the horizon, it turned the sky beautiful colours."

"I miss the sun," Bob said. "The stars, too. I would like to say hello to the stars again."

"Stars …" Damasen said the word as if he’d forgotten its meaning. "Yes. They made silver patterns in the night sky." He threw something to the floor with a thump. "Bah. This is useless talk. We cannot –" In the distance, the Maeonian drakon roared.

Percy shot up from his half slumbering, half eavesdropping state, looking wildly around for the drakon. "Wh-"

"Feeling better?" Damasen asked, looking over to him.

"Y-Yeah thanks."

Damasen walked over to him, looming over the bed. "There is no time, little mortal. The drakon is returning. I fear its roar will draw the others – my brethren, hunting you. They will be here within minutes."

Percy’s pulse quickened. "What will you tell them when they get here?"

Damasen’s mouth twitched. "What is there to tell? Nothing of significance, as long as you are gone."

He tossed Percy a drakon-leather satchel. "Clothes, food, drink."

Bob was wearing a similar but larger pack. He leaned on his broom, gazing at Percy as if still pondering Damasen’s words: What has this stupid demigod given you? We are meant to be the foes of the gods and their children.

Suddenly Percy was struck by a thought so sharp and clear, it was like Athena had finally decided to stop hating on Percy. Like was the key word their though.

"The Prophecy of Seven," he said.

"What about it?" Damasen asked.

Percy grabbed Damasen’s hand, startling the giant. His brow furrowed. His skin was as rough as sandstone. ‘"You have to come with us," he pleaded. "The prophecy says foes bear arms to the Doors of Death. I thought it meant Romans and Greeks, but that’s not it. The line means us – demigods, Titans, giants. The others need you to close the Doors!" The drakon roared outside, closer this time. Damasen gently pulled his hand away.

"No, child," he murmured. "My curse is here. I cannot escape it."

"Yes, you can," Percy said. "Don’t fight the drakon. Figure out a way to break the cycle! Find another fate."

Damasen shook his head. "Even if I could, I cannot leave this swamp. It is the only destination I can picture."

Percy’s mind raced. "There is another destination. Look at me! I'm not asking for me, I couldn't care less about that. I'm asking for every single child who has died to early from the monsters this place, good or bad. When you’re ready, come find me. I’ll take you to the mortal world with me. You can see the sunlight and stars."

The ground shook. The drakon was close now, stomping through the marsh, blasting trees and moss with its poison spray. Further away, Percy's heard the voice of the giant Polybotes, urging his followers forward. "THE SEA GOD’S SON! HE IS CLOSE!"

Bob looked very ready to leave, hopping from one foot to another like a kid playing a deadly game of hopscotch - or one that needed to pee.

"I do wish you would see child..." Damasen said, his face dropping into something that resembled sympathy. "Now, go! Before it is too late."

Percy wanted to sob. He knew the giant was meant to fight at their side. That was the answer – but Damasen turned away.

"We must leave," Bob urged as his kitten climbed onto his shoulder.

"Yeah," Percy said.

They ran for the entrance. Percy didn’t look back as he followed Bob into the swamp, but he heard Damasen behind them, shouting his battle cry at the advancing drakon, his voice cracking with despair as he faced his old enemy yet again.

--------------------

Percy already felt homesick for the swamp. He never thought he’d miss sleeping in a giant’s leather bed in a drakon-bone hut in a festering cesspool, but right now that sounded like Elysium.

He and Bob stumbled along in the darkness, the air thick and cold, the ground alternating patches of pointy rocks and pools of muck. The terrain seemed to be designed so that Percy could never let his guard down. Even walking ten feet was exhausting.

Percy had started out from the giant’s hut feeling strong again, his head clear, his belly full of drakon jerky from their packs of provisions. Now his legs were sore. Every muscle ached. He pulled a makeshift tunic of drakon leather over his shredded T-shirt, but it did nothing to keep out the chill.

His focus narrowed to the ground in front of him. Nothing existed except for that. Oh and he couldn't forget that stupid voice.

Whenever he felt like giving up, plopping himself down, and dying (which was, like, every ten minutes), the voice sprouted out some encouraging message, a funny story or even a reminder about his friends. As if it was trying to get him to remember that there was still warmth in the world.

Part of Percy was relieved that Damasen hadn't come with them. He was concerned enough about Bob staying on his side once they reached the Doors of Death. He wasn’t sure he wanted a giant as his wingman, even if that giant could cook a mean bowl of stew. He wondered what had happened after they left Damasen’s hut. He hadn’t heard their pursuers in hours, but he could sense their hatred … especially Polybotes’s. That giant was back there somewhere, following, pushing them deeper into Tartarus.

Percy tried to think of good things to keep his spirits up – the lake at Camp Half-Blood, the late night convo's with Apollo, the carpark takeovers with his cousins. He tried to imagine New Rome and Camp Half-Blood getting on with one another. But Camp Jupiter and Camp Half-Blood both seemed like dreams. He felt as if only Tartarus existed. This was the real world – death, darkness, cold, pain. He’d been imagining all the rest.

He shivered. No. That was the pit speaking to him, sapping his resolve. He wondered how Nico had survived down here alone without going insane; sure he had only spent like a minute down here but still. That kid had more strength than Percy had given him credit for. The deeper they travelled, the harder it became to stay focused.

"This place is worse than the River Cocytus," he muttered.

"Yes," Bob called back happily. How could he be happy even now? "Much worse! It means we are close."

Close to what? Percy wondered. But he didn’t have the strength to ask. He noticed Small Bob the cat had hidden himself in Bob’s coveralls again, which reinforced Percy’s opinion that the kitten was the smartest one in their group.

Then the darkness dispersed with a massive sigh, like the last breath of a dying god. In front of them was a clearing – a barren field of dust and stones. In the centre, about twenty yards away, knelt the gruesome figure of a woman, her clothes tattered, her limbs emaciated, her skin leathery green. Her head was bent as she sobbed quietly, and the sound shattered all Percy’s hopes.

He realized that life was pointless. His struggles were for nothing. This woman cried as if mourning the death of the entire world.

"We’re here," Bob announced. "Akhlys can help."

If the sobbing was Bob's idea of help, Percy was pretty sure he didn’t want it. Nevertheless, Bob trudged forward. Percy felt obliged to follow. If nothing else, this area was less dark – not exactly light, but with more of a soupy white fog.

"Akhlys!" Bob called.

The creature raised her head, and Percy’s stomach screamed, Help me! Her body was bad enough. She looked like the victim of a famine – limbs like sticks, swollen knees and knobby elbows, rags for clothes, broken fingernails and toenails. Dust was caked on her skin and piled on her shoulders as if she’d taken a shower at the bottom of an hourglass.

Her face was utter desolation. Her eyes were sunken and rheumy, pouring out tears. Her nose dripped like a waterfall. Her stringy grey hair was matted to her skull in greasy tufts, and her cheeks were raked and bleeding as if she’d been clawing herself.

Percy couldn’t stand to meet her eyes, so he lowered his gaze. Across her knees lay an ancient shield – a battered circle of wood and bronze, painted with the likeness of Akhlys herself holding a shield, so the image seemed to go on forever, smaller and smaller.

"That shield," Percy murmured. "That’s his. I thought it was just a story."

"Oh, no," the old hag wailed. "The shield of Hercules. He painted me on its surface, so his enemies would see me in their final moments – the goddess of misery." She coughed so hard it made Percy’s chest hurt. "As if Hercules knew true misery. It’s not even a good likeness!"

Percy gulped. When he and his friends had encountered Hercules at the Straits of Gibraltar, it hadn’t gone well. The exchange had involved a lot of yelling, death threats and high-velocity pineapples. "What’s his shield doing here?" Percy asked.

The goddess stared at him with her wet milky eyes. Her cheeks dripped blood, making red polka dots on her tattered dress. "He doesn’t need it any more, does he? It came here when his mortal body was burned. A reminder, I suppose, that no shield is sufficient. In the end, misery overtakes all of you. Even Hercules."

Percy inched closer to Bob. He tried to remember why he was here, but the sense of despair made it difficult to think. Hearing Akhlys speak, he no longer found it strange that she had clawed her own cheeks. The goddess radiated pure pain.

"Bob," Percy said, "we shouldn’t have come here."

From somewhere inside Bob’s uniform, the skeleton kitten mewled in agreement. The Titan shifted and winced as if Small Bob was clawing his armpit. "Akhlys controls the Death Mist," he insisted. "She can hide you."

"Hide him?" Akhlys made a gurgling sound. She was either laughing or choking to death. Right now Percy preferred the second option. "Why would I do that?"

"He must reach the Doors of Death," Bob said. "To return to the mortal world."

"Impossible!" Akhlys said. "The armies of Tartarus will find you. They will kill you."

Percy suddenly found himself blurting out "So I guess your Death Mist is pretty useless, then,". He didn't know why he said it, just that he was tired of being told by everyone that he'd fail his friends.

The goddess bared her broken yellow teeth. "Useless? Who are you?"

"A son of Poseidon." Percy’s voice sounded brave – though how he did it, Percy didn’t know. "I didn’t walk halfway across Tartarus to be told what’s impossible by some minor goddess."

The dust quivered at his feet, urging him to shut up; Percy was never good at that.. Fog swirled around them with a sound like agonized wailing.

"Minor goddess?" Akhlys’s gnarled fingernails dug into Hercules’s shield, gouging the metal. "I was old before the Titans were born, you ignorant boy. I was old when Gaia first woke. Misery is eternal. Existence is misery. I was born of the eldest ones – of Chaos and Night. I was –"

"Yes, yes," Percy said. "Sadness and misery, blah blah blah. But you still don’t have enough power to hide one singular demigod with your Death Mist. Like I said: useless." Percy cleared his throat, still wondering what was possessing him to keep saying these words. He just hoped that this goddess was as prideful as other gods he knew. "Bob brought me all this way because he thought you could help. But I guess you’re too busy staring at that shield and crying. I can’t blame you. It looks just like you."

Akhlys wailed and glared at the Titan. "Why did you inflict this annoying child on me?"

Bob made a sound somewhere between a rumble and a whimper. "I thought – I thought –"

"The Death Mist is not for helping!" Akhlys shrieked. "It shrouds mortals in misery as their souls pass into the Underworld. It is the very breath of Tartarus, of death, of despair!"

"Awesome," Percy said. "Can I get one order of that to go?"

Akhlys hissed. "Ask me for a more sensible gift. I am also the goddess of poisons. I could give you death – thousands of ways to die less painful than the one you have chosen by marching into the heart of the pit." Around the goddess, flowers bloomed in the dust – dark purple, orange and red blossoms that smelled sickly sweet. Percy’s head swam. "Nightshade," Akhlys offered. "Hemlock. Belladonna, henbane or strychnine. I can dissolve your innards, boil your blood."

"That’s very nice of you," Percy said. "But I’ve had enough poison for one trip. Now, can you hide me in your Death Mist, or not? It'll be fun!"

The goddess’s eyes narrowed. "Fun?"

"Sure," Percy promised. "If I fail, think how great it will be for you, gloating over my spirit when I die in agony. You’ll get to say I told you so for eternity. Or, if I succeed," Percy added, "think of all the suffering you’ll bring to the monsters down here. I intend to seal the Doors of Death. That’s going to cause a lot of wailing and moaning."

Akhlys considered. "I enjoy suffering. Wailing is also good."

"Then it’s settled," Percy said. "Make me invisible."

Akhlys struggled to her feet. The shield of Hercules rolled away and wobbled to a stop in a patch of poison flowers. "It is not so simple," the goddess said. "The Death Mist comes at the moment you are closest to your end. Your eyes will be clouded only then. The world will fade."

Percy’s mouth felt dry. "Okay. But … I’ll be shrouded from the monsters?"

"Oh, yes," Akhlys said. "If you survive the process, you will be able to pass unnoticed among the armies of Tartarus. It is hopeless, of course, but if you are determined, then come. I will show you the way."

"The way to where, exactly?" Percy asked. The goddess was already shuffling into the gloom. Percy turned to look at Bob, but the Titan was gone. How does a ten-foot-tall silver dude with a very loud kitten disappear? "Hey!" Percy yelled to Akhlys. "Where’s my friend?"

"He cannot take this path," the goddess called back. "He is not mortal. Come, little fool. Come, experience the Death Mist."

Despite how stupidly dangerous this was he followed the goddess’s dusty footprints through the poison flowers, deeper into the fog.

Yet as they walked, Percy realised he missed Bob. He’d got used to having the Titan on his side, lighting their way with his silver hair and his fearsome war broom. Now his only guide was an emaciated corpse lady with serious self-esteem issues.

As he struggled across the dusty plain, the fog became so thick that Percy had to resist the urge to swat it away with his hands. The only reason he was able to follow Akhlys’s path was because poisonous plants sprang up wherever she walked.

If he was still on the body of Tartarus, Percy figured he must be on the bottom of his foot – a rough, calloused expanse where only the most disgusting plant life grew.

Finally they arrived at the end of the big toe. At least that’s what it looked like to Percy. The fog dissipated, and they found themselves on a peninsula that jutted out over a pitch-black void.

"Here we are." Akhlys turned and leered at him. Blood from her cheeks dripped on her dress. Her sickly eyes looked moist and swollen but somehow excited. Can Misery look excited?

"Uh … great," Percy asked. "Where is here?"

"The verge of final death," Akhlys said. "Where Night meets the void below Tartarus."

Percy inched forward and peered over the cliff. "I thought there was nothing below Tartarus."

"Oh, certainly there is …" Akhlys coughed. "Even Tartarus had to rise from somewhere. This is the edge of the earliest darkness, which was my mother. Below lies the realm of Chaos, my father. Here, you are closer to nothingness than any mortal has ever been. Can you not feel it?"

Percy knew what she meant. The void seemed to be pulling at him, leaching the breath from his lungs and the oxygen from his blood. "I can’t stay here," he said.

"No, indeed!" Akhlys said. "Don’t you feel the Death Mist? Even now, you pass between. Look!"

White smoke gathered around Percy’s feet. As it coiled up his legs, he realized the smoke wasn’t surrounding him. It was coming from him. His whole body was dissolving. He held up his hands and found they were fuzzy and indistinct. He couldn’t even tell how many fingers he had. Hopefully still ten. Percy’s blood moved like sap in his veins.

Percy studied his arms. All he saw were blobs of white mist, but he guessed that he looked like a corpse. He took a few steps, though it was difficult. His body felt insubstantial, like he was made of helium and cotton candy.

"I’ve looked better," he decided. "I can’t move very well. But I’m all right thanks for asking!"

Akhlys clucked. "Oh, you’re definitely not all right."

Percy frowned. "But I’ll pass unseen now? I can get to the Doors of Death?"

"Well, perhaps you could," the goddess said, "if you lived that long, which you won’t." Akhlys spread her gnarled fingers. More plants bloomed along the edge of the pit – hemlock, nightshade and oleander spreading towards Percy’s feet like a deadly carpet. "The Death Mist is not simply a disguise, you see. It is a state of being. I could not bring you this gift unless death followed – true death."

"It’s a trap," Percy said.

The goddess cackled. "Didn’t you expect me to betray you?"

"Yes," Percy said, everyone betrayed him after all.

"Well, then, it was hardly a trap! More of an inevitability. Misery is inevitable. Pain is –"

"Yeah, yeah," Percy growled. "Let’s get to the fighting."

He drew Riptide, but the blade was made of smoke. When he slashed at Akhlys, the sword just floated across her like a gentle breeze.

The goddess’s ruined mouth split into a grin. "Did I forget to mention? You are only mist now – a shadow before death. Perhaps if you had time, you could learn to control your new form. But you do not have time. Since you cannot touch me, I fear any fight with Misery will be quite one-sided."

Her fingernails grew into talons. Her jaw unhinged, and her yellow teeth elongated into fangs. She lunged at Percy, and for a split second he thought: Well, hey, I’m just smoke. She can’t touch me, right?

He imagined the Fates up in Olympus, laughing at his wishful thinking: LOL, NOOB!

The goddess’s claws raked across his chest and stung like boiling water. Percy stumbled backwards, but he wasn’t used to being smoky. His legs moved too slowly. His arms felt like tissue paper. In desperation, he threw his backpack at her, thinking maybe it would turn solid when it left his hand, but no such luck. It fell with a soft thud.

Akhlys snarled, crouching to spring. She would have bitten Percy’s face off if Percy hadn't dodged just at the right moment.

She lashed out at him, but Percy was getting better at moving, still bad but he could walk a bit now. Right now was when Percy wished he had classes like 'How to Fight While Partially Made of Smoke'.

Percy was so stunned that he had moved that he lost a few precious seconds. He thought furiously, trying to come up with a way to defeat Misery. How could he fight when he couldn’t touch anything? Well, he was always fighting against the bloody odds, especially with those stupid gods up in Olympus. Just thinking abut Zeus made him angry!

Percy advanced, yelling and waving his sword. He still felt about as solid as a Kleenex, but his anger seemed to help him move faster.

"Hey, Happy!" he yelled.

Akhlys glared at him. "Happy?"she demanded.

"Yeah!" He ducked as she swiped at his head. "You’re downright cheerful!"

"Arggh!" She lunged again, but she was off-balance. Percy sidestepped and backed away.

"Pleasant!" he called. "Delightful!"

The goddess snarled and winced. She stumbled after Percy. Each compliment seemed to hit her like sand in the face. "I will kill you slowly!"she growled, her eyes and nose watering, blood dripping from her cheeks. "I will cut you into pieces as a sacrifice to Night!"

"Cuddly!" Percy yelled, confused on what the hades to do so he just kept coming up with nice words. "Fuzzy, warm and huggable!"

Akhlys made a growling, choking noise, like a cat having a seizure. "A slow death!" she screamed. "A death from a thousand poisons!" All around her, poisonous plants grew and burst like overfilled balloons. Green-and-white sap trickled out, collecting into pools, and began flowing across the ground towards Percy. The sweet-smelling fumes made his head feel wobbly.

The goddess of misery was fixated on Percy. He tried to retreat again. Unfortunately the poison ichor was flowing all around him now, making the ground steam and the air burn. Percy found himself stuck on an island of dust not much bigger than a shield. A few yards away, his backpack smoked and dissolved into a puddle of goo. Percy had nowhere to go.

He fell to one knee, he couldn’t speak. His throat was as dry as dead leaves. He wished there were water in Tartarus – some nice pool he could jump into to heal himself, or maybe a river he could control. He’d settle for a bottle of Evian or even the polluted river by the arch he exploded once.

"You will feed the eternal darkness," Akhlys said. "You will die in the arms of Night!"

The white-green poison kept pooling, little streams trickling from the plants as the venomous lake around him got wider and wider. Lake, he thought. Streams. Water. Probably it was just his brain getting fried from poison fumes, but he croaked out a laugh. Poison was liquid. If it moved like water, it must be partially water. His science definitely wasn't working but it didn't matter.

He remembered some science lecture about the human body being mostly water. He remembered extracting water from Jason’s lungs back in Rome … If he could control that, then why not other liquids? It was a crazy idea. Poseidon was the god of the sea, not of every liquid everywhere.

Then again, Tartarus had its own rules. Fire was drinkable. The ground was the body of a dark god. The air was acid, and demigods could be turned into smoky corpses. Had he already used poison earlier? Shouldn't he have died from the gorgon's blood a lot sooner? Did he- did he remove it from himself? Percy couldn't remember properly but if he had done it once he could do it again.

So why not try? He had nothing left to lose.

He glared at the poison flood encroaching from all sides. He concentrated so hard that the thing that kept cracking inside of him, the thing he felt break a tiny bit more each time he used his powers down here, shattered – as if a crystal ball had broke into a million pieces within in his stomach.

Warmth flowed through him. The poison tide stopped. The fumes blew away from him – back towards the goddess. The lake of poison rolled towards her in tiny waves and rivulets.

Akhlys shrieked. "What is this?"

"Poison," Percy said. "That’s your speciality, right?"

He stood, his anger growing hotter in his gut. As the flood of venom rolled towards the goddess, the fumes began to make her cough. Her eyes watered even more. Oh, good, Percy thought. More water. Percy imagined her nose and throat filling with her own tears.

Akhlys gagged. "I –" The tide of venom reached her feet, sizzling like droplets on a hot iron. She wailed and stumbled back.

He could imagine someone begging him to stop, to not do what he was doing. It felt like a different universe.

He didn’t want to stop. He wanted to choke this goddess. He wanted to watch her drown in her own poison. He wanted to see just how much misery Misery could take. So he did.

Percy stared into Akhlys’ gaunt, decaying face as she shrieked in rage. Her skeletal hands clawed at the air, pulling the oppressive mist of Tartarus tighter around them. The thick, oily despair she exuded soaked into Percy’s skin, weighing him down. Every inhale felt like dragging shards of glass through his lungs, and every beat of his heart echoed with the pain of a thousand losses.

And still, Percy stood.

“You think you can drown me in this?” His voice was hoarse, but steady, a defiance that cut through the suffocating gloom. He clenched Riptide in his hand, the blade shimmering faintly in the oppressive darkness. “I’ve lived in misery, Akhlys. You’re not showing me anything I haven’t already felt.”

The goddess hissed, her form shifting in the mist. Her eyes, black pits of sorrow, bore into Percy’s, searching for cracks, for weakness.

But Percy was done breaking.

She raised her hands, and a torrent of acid rain began to fall, each drop sizzling as it struck his skin. Percy bit down a cry of pain, the firewater in his veins flaring as it fought back the toxic onslaught. His heart raced, and for a fleeting moment, he wasn’t sure if the burning in his chest was from lack of air, the lingering effects of Akhlys’ poison, or his own power screaming for release.

He let the thought go. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

Akhlys reached out, her voice a low, mournful wail. “You belong to the darkness now, child. Your hope is ash. Your soul is mine.”

Percy staggered forward, each step heavier than the last. His mind was a fractured storm of memories and pain, but at the center was a single, burning truth: Akhlys didn’t get to win. Not here. Not now.

With a growl, he raised Riptide. But instead of slashing, he let the blade vanish, the pen collapsing back into his pocket. Akhlys hesitated, her gaunt face twisting in confusion.

“What are you—”

Percy lunged, his hands closing around her throat. His fingers sank into her papery skin, and for a moment, she felt weightless—more smoke than substance. But then Percy squeezed.

Akhlys’ eyes widened, her skeletal hands clawing at his arms. “You... can’t...”

“Watch me.” Percy’s voice was a low snarl. He tightened his grip, his thumbs pressing against her windpipe—or whatever passed for one in a goddess of misery.

Her essence writhed beneath his hands, shifting from smoke to flesh and back again, but Percy didn’t let go. His vision swam as her despair poured over him, the weight of a million sorrows pressing down on his chest. Every failure, every loss he’d ever felt screamed in his mind, but Percy pushed through it, his fury burning brighter than the darkness.

“You’ve made me live through my worst nightmares,” he growled, his voice cracking under the strain. “You’ve made me doubt myself, hate myself. But I’m still here.”

Akhlys’ form flickered, her strength waning. The mist around them grew thinner, the oppressive weight of her presence beginning to lift. She clawed at Percy’s face, but her movements were weak, desperate.

“You... cannot... destroy... misery...” she rasped, her voice barely a whisper.

Percy leaned in, his grip unrelenting. “Maybe not. But I can end Akhyls for now.”

He felt her essence flicker again, her form destabilizing. The mist coiled tighter around them, as if Tartarus itself was trying to pull her back, but Percy didn’t let go. He poured every ounce of strength into his hands, forcing her down, silencing her wails.

Akhlys’ eyes flickered one last time, a mix of rage and disbelief, before her form collapsed into black smoke. The mist exploded outward in a wave, and Percy was thrown back, landing hard on the cracked, blistered ground.

For a moment, all he could hear was his own ragged breathing. The oppressive weight of Akhlys’ presence was gone, but her poison still lingered in his veins, a reminder of how close he’d come to losing himself.

He forced himself to sit up, his body trembling with exhaustion. His hands were raw and blistered, his skin still sizzling from the acid rain. But he was alive.

He’d won.

Percy looked around, half expecting Akhlys to reform, but there was nothing—only the distant, echoing sounds of Tartarus and the oppressive stillness that followed.

He was alone.

Or so he thought. But he still felt as if he had to get away from this cliff right that second, Akhlys had brought him here to get sacrificed after all. Percy tried to think. He was getting used to moving with the Death Mist around him. He felt more solid, more like himself. But his mind still felt stuffed with cotton wool. "She said something about feeding me to night? What the hell was that about?" Percy muttered.

The temperature dropped. The abyss before them seemed to exhale.

Percy backed away from the edge as a presence emerged from the void – a form so vast and shadowy he felt like he understood the concept of dark for the first time.

"I imagine," said the darkness, in a feminine voice as soft as coffin lining, "that she meant Night, with a capital N. After all, I am the only one."

Crap.

Notes:

8893 words!!!!! That is literally the longest chapter I've ever done!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Favourite line????

Anyway I hope you enjoyed the twist that this took, it surprised me as well but I think someone said they wanted Percy to kill a god so here ya go. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!!!!!

If you have any request please say, even if I get to it in like a month I will try to get to it!!!!!!!

I hope you are enjoying the story!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Chapter 22: I literally meet the Night

Notes:

HI I'M SOOOOOOOO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING ON TUESDAY!!!!!!!!!!!

Things have been very busy this week and I've been falling behind on a couple things which I was doing on Tuesday and then it got too late to start writing. I will make it up at some point don't worry! Literally it's been hell so I've just postponed it till now and will hopefully make it up!!

Anyway, enjoy this new chapter!!!!

Percy had been scared of the dark for a while now. At a young age he had been locked in that horrid chokey by smelly Gabe where the only light he ever had was the crack where the nails had broken the wood. So he was already rather scared. But at least that dark wasn't forty feet tall. He was sure the regular dark didn't have black wings, a whip made out of stars and a shadowy chariot pulled by vampire horses.

Nyx was too much to take in. Looming over the chasm, she was a churning figure of ash and smoke, as big as the Athena Parthenos statue, but very much alive. Her dress was void black, mixed with the colours of a space nebula, as if galaxies were being born in her bodice. Her face was hard to see except for the pinpoints of her eyes, which shone like quasars. When her wings beat, waves of darkness rolled over the cliffs, making Percy feel heavy and sleepy, his eyesight dimming.

The goddess’s chariot was made of the same material as Nico di Angelo’s sword – Stygian iron – pulled by two massive horses, all black except for their pointed silver fangs. The beasts’ legs floated in the abyss, turning from solid to smoke as they moved. The horses snarled and bared their fangs at Percy. The goddess lashed her whip – a thin streak of stars like diamond barbs – and the horses reared back.

"Food. Rip! Tear! Eat! Give now!" the horses screamed and it was at time like these when Percy really wished he couldn't understand them.

"No, Shade," the goddess said. "Down, Shadow. This little prize is not for you."

Percy eyed the horses as they nickered.They were still begging to eat him and that wasn't something you often said to a person that you were extremely happy with. He still couldn't fight properly, his defeat of Akhyls could have just been a fluke, the death mist was weighing down on him too much. It also must not have been very good camouflage, since Nyx could obviously see him.

"Uh, so you won’t let them eat me?" he asked the goddess. "They really want to eat me."

Nyx’s quasar eyes burned. "Of course not. I would not let my horses eat you, any more than I would let Akhlys kill you. Such a fine prize, I will kill myself!"

Percy wasn't sure what to do. He never was the best at talking his way out of things, that was more Annabeth, but right now he was exhausted and really didn't want to fight this goddess. He wasn't sure what had happened with Akhyls, or how he had managed to strangle her, but he knew that the thing cracking had scared him. Even now h could feel it slowly spreading further and further apart, digging into his ribs. So Percy had to act fast, if he had a hope of making it out of Tartarus alive. "Oh, don’t kill yourself!" he cried. "I'm not that scary."

The goddess lowered her whip. "What? No, I didn’t mean –"

"Well, I’d hope not!" Percy glanced down at his pocket, fingers itching to grab riptide. Yet this was a primordial. "I've paid all this money to come see you and I certainly don't want to scare you into killing yourself!"

The vampire horses looked confused. They reared and snorted and knocked their dark heads together. Nyx pulled back on the reins. "Do you know who I am?" she demanded.

"Well you just said you were Night. I mean, I can tell because you’re dark and everything, though the brochure didn’t say much about you."

Nyx’s eyes winked out for a moment. "What brochure?"

Percy licked his lips. ‘Uh-huh.’ He was still watching the horses, his hand fiddling with riptide in his pocket. He was smart enough though to continue with this lie, hoping for the best and that Tartarus didn't have good tv service to stay up to date with everything happening. "I think I had one but I lost it when Akhyls attacked me; I'm going to make a complaint about her I tell you. I did not pay to be killed. I guess either way the brochure didn’t say much because you weren’t spotlighted on the tour. We got to see the River Phlegethon, the Cocytus, the arai, the poison glade of Akhlys, even some random Titans and giants, but Nyx … hmm, no, you weren’t really featured."

"Featured? Spotlighted?"

"Yeah," Percy said, warming up to the idea. It looked to be slightly working. "I came down here for the Tartarus tour – like, exotic destinations, you know? The Underworld is overdone. Mount Olympus is a tourist trap but I've done that one a couple of times. I was looking for something new and less known. So I booked the Tartarus excursion, but no one even mentioned I’d run into Nyx. Huh. Oh, well. Guess they didn’t think you were important."

"Not important!" Nyx cracked her whip. Her horses bucked and snapped their silvery fangs. Waves of darkness rolled out of the chasm, turning Percy's inside into a lava lamp that a child had just discovered. But he had practice not showing it.

Percy really wanted to get his sword out, to start swinging it around and possibly hitting this lady. But this was a goddess beyond anything he'd ever faced. Nyx was older than any Olympian or Titan or giant, older even than Gaia. She couldn’t be defeated byon demigod fighting her. He doubted a god could defeat her by force. Percy made himself look at the goddess’s massive dark face. "Well, how many other demigods have come to see you on the tour?" he asked innocently.

Nyx’s hand went slack on the reins. "None. Not one. This is unacceptable!"

Percy shrugged. "Maybe it’s because you haven’t really done anything to get in the news. I mean, I can understand Tartarus being important! This whole place is named after him. Or if I could meet Day, she would be impressive. I really want to meet her. Do you think she gives out autographs?"

"Day!" Nyx gripped the rail of her black chariot. The whole vehicle shuddered. "You mean Hemera? She is my daughter! Night is much more powerful than Day!"

"Eh," said Percy. "I liked the arai, or even Akhlys better."

"They are my children as well!"

Percy stifled a yawn. "Got a lot of children, huh?"

"I am the mother of all terrors!" Nyx cried. "The Fates themselves! Hecate! Old Age! Pain! Sleep! Death! And all of the curses! Behold how newsworthy I am" Nyx lashed her whip again. The darkness congealed around her. On either side, an army of shadows appeared – more dark-winged arai, which Percy was not thrilled to see; a withered man who must have been the god of old age; and a younger woman in a black toga, her eyes gleaming and her smile like a serial killer’s.

Percy didn't know the names of them so he would have to settle with wrinkle and kellogs.

More of them kept appearing: dozens of demons and minor gods, each one the spawn of Night.

Percy wanted to run. He was facing a brood of horrors that could snap anyone’s sanity. But if he ran he would die. Percy’s breathing turned shallow. Even through his misty ghoul disguise, anyone would be able to tell he was on the verge of panic. Yet he had to stand his ground. If he didn't then the other's would die, and everything he had already done would be for nothing. He would waste away within the confines of Tartarus's big toe and he would be forgotten within minutes.

Instead Percy used a tactic he hadn't used since he was young boy. He imagined that his entire life was put inside this mental frame (blue of course) and imagined a mental frame around what he was seeing. He told himself it was just a movie – a scary movie, sure, but it could not hurt him.

"Yeah, not bad," he admitted. "I guess I could get one picture for the scrapbook, but I don’t know. You guys are so … dark. Even if I used a flash, I’m not sure it would come out. No offense but you guys just aren’t photogenic."

"You – miserable – tourist!" Nyx hissed. "How dare you not tremble before me! How dare you not whimper and beg for my autograph and a picture for your scrapbook! You want newsworthy? My son Hypnos once put Zeus to sleep! When Zeus pursued him across the earth, bent on vengeance, Hypnos hid in my palace for safety, and Zeus did not follow. Even the king of Olympus fears me!"

"Uh-huh." Percy rolled his eyes and looked upwards. "Well, it’s getting late. I should probably get lunch at one of those restaurants the tour guide recommended. Then I can find the Doors of Death."

"Aha!" Nyx cried in triumph. Her brood of shadows stirred and echoed: "Aha! Aha! You wish to see the Doors of Death?" Nyx asked. "They lie at the very heart of Tartarus. Mortals such as you could never reach them, except through the halls of my palace – the Mansion of Night!" She gestured behind her. Floating in the abyss, maybe three hundred feet below, was a doorway of black marble, leading into some sort of large room.

Percy’s heart pounded so strongly he felt it in his toes. That was the way forward – but it was so far down, an impossible jump. If he missed, he would fall into Chaos and be scattered into nothingness – a final death with no do-over. Even if he could make the jump, the goddess of Night and her most fearsome children stood in his way.

With a jolt, Percy realized what needed to happen. Like everything he’d ever done, it was a long shot. In a way, that calmed him down. A crazy idea in the face of death? Okay, his body seemed to say, relaxing. This is familiar territory.

He managed a bored sigh. "I suppose we could do one picture, but a group shot won’t work. Nyx, how about one of you with your favourite child? Which one is that?"

The brood rustled. Dozens of horrible glowing eyes turned towards Nyx. The goddess shifted uncomfortably, as if her chariot were heating up under her feet. Her shadow horses huffed and pawed at the void.

"My favourite child?" she asked. "All my children are terrifying!"

"Don't tell me you don't have a favourite! Even my dad has a favourite and all his kids are-" Percy stumbled on the next word but hid it quickly. "Ferocious monsters."

Saying that felt so wrong. He was admitting to the fact that not only Tyson was a monster but that he was as well. But, Percy had done some terrible things, like worse then socks and sandals. He had just killed a fricking goddess for crying out loud. Was he anything but a monster?

"They are all equally terrifying!" Nyx insisted, looking on edge.

Percy snorted. "Seriously? I’ve met the Fates. I’ve met Thanatos. They weren’t so scary. You’ve got to have somebody in this crowd who’s worse than that. The darkest. The most like you."

"I am the darkest," hissed Kellogs. "Wars and strife! I have caused all manner of death!"

"I am darker still!" snarled Wrinkle. "I dim the eyes and addle the brain. Every mortal fears old age!"

‘Yeah, yeah," Percy said, trying to ignore his chattering teeth. "I’m not seeing enough dark. I mean, you’re the children of Night! Show me dark!" The horde of arai wailed, flapping their leathery wings and stirring up clouds of blackness. Wrinkle spread his withered hands and dimmed the entire abyss. Kellogs breathed a shadowy spray of buckshot across the void.

"I am the darkest!" hissed one of the demons.

"No, I!"

"No! Behold my darkness!"

If a thousand giant octopuses had squirted ink at the same time, at the bottom of the deepest, most sunless ocean trench, it could not have been blacker. Percy might as well have been blind for all the good his eyes did him. Everything was pitch black.

"Wait!" Nyx called, suddenly panicked. "I can’t see anything."

Percy wanted to yell 'Good!'. He wanted to know how helpless Nyx felt when her own domain was out of her reach, when she could no longer control what lived as the evry essence of herself. He wanted her to suffer and panic and feel the same uselessness that he had felt countless times already; that unnerving ache when the water would not listen to his commands. But he was not prideful enough to lose his chance of escape.

"Yes!" shouted one of her children proudly. "I did that!"

"No, I did!"

"Fool, it was me!"

Dozens of voices argued in the darkness.

The horses whinnied in alarm.

"Stop it!" Nyx yelled. "Whose foot is that?"

"Eris is hitting me!" cried someone. "Mother, tell her to stop hitting me!"

"I did not!" yelled Kellogs who must have been Eris. "Ouch!"

The sounds of scuffling got louder. If possible, the darkness became even deeper. Percy’s eyes dilated so much, they felt like they were being pulled out of their sockets. He braced himself, waiting.

"Somebody give me light!" Nyx screamed. "Gah! I can’t believe I just said that!"

"It’s a trick!" Eris yelled. "The demigod is escaping!"

"I’ve got him," screamed something.

"No, that’s my neck!" Wrinkle gagged.

Percy leaped into the darkness, aiming for the doorway far, far below. Hoping that he wouldn't end up splatted like squashed raspberries onto the floor. Now after his fall into tartarus, jumping three hundred feet to the Mansion of Night should have felt quick. Instead, Percy’s heart seemed to slow down. Between the beats he had ample time to write her own obituary.

Perseus Jackson died age 16.

BA-BOOM.

(Which, despite the first prophecy, was not at the time whn he made his stupid choice so cut it out saying you were right Zeus)

BA-BOOM.

Died of massive injuries while leaping like an idiot into the abyss of Chaos and splattering on the entry hall floor of Nyx’s mansion.

BA-BOOM.

Survived by his mother who will be safe now that he is gone.

BA-BOOM.

Instead of flowers, please send donations to Camp Half-Blood, assuming Gaia hasn’t already destroyed it. However he will take a third shroud made to burn despite having had two burnt.

His feet hit solid floor. A slight pain shot up his legs but he was mainly thrown off balance, but he stumbled forward and broke into a run. Above him in the dark, Nyx and her children scuffled and yelled, "I’ve got him! My foot! Stop it!"

Percy kept running. He couldn’t see anyway, so he closed his eyes. He used his other senses – listening for the echo of open spaces, feeling for cross breezes against his face, sniffing for any scent of danger – smoke or poison or the stench of demons.

It wasn’t the first time he’d plunged through darkness. He imagined it like the time in the Labyrinth when he would not have any light, or th times when the power had cut out at home. Ah, the good all days in retrospect. The squabbling sounds of Nyx’s children got further away. That was good. In the distance ahead of him, Percy began to hear a throbbing sound, like his own heartbeat echoing back, amplified so powerfully the floor vibrated underfoot. The sound filled him with dread, perfect. Anything that filled him with dread must be the right way to go. He ran towards it.

As the beat got louder, he smelled smoke and heard the flickering of torches on either side. He guessed there would be light, but a crawling sensation across his neck warned him it would be a mistake to open his eyes. Annabeth may tease him for being dumb but his instincts were usually right on target. Whatever horrors lay in the Mansion of Night, they weren’t meant for mortal eyes. Seeing them would be worse than staring at the face of Medusa. Better to run in darkness.

The throbbing got louder still, sending vibrations straight up Percy’s spine. It felt like someone was knocking on the bottom of the world, demanding to be let in. He sensed the walls opening up on either side of him. The air smelled fresher – or at least not quite as sulphurous. There was another sound, too, closer than the deep pulsing … the sound of flowing water.

Percy’s heart raced. He knew the exit was close. If he could make it out of the Mansion of Night, maybe he could leave the dark brood of demons behind.

Percy sped up, which would have been his death had the voice not popped up out of nowhere.

"Percy!" Percy stopped just as his foot hit the edge of a drop. Healmost pitched forward into who-knew-what, but after whirring his arms around like a helicopter for a couple of seconds, he tripped backwards. Landing on his butt a couple of meters away from the drop was the result, but better then the alternative.

He sunk his head into his hands and kept his eyes closed tight. He was trembling, but not just from fear. Percy was starting to feel feverish, and sick. As if he was burning up from the inside out, a feeling that felt unnatural and all-too powerful. It was as if he had developed some sort of divine sickness down here, which wasn't all that unlikely.

He forced his thoughts back onto what lay ahead of him.

It was water. He could tell that much just by sensing the familiar tug of his own; it wasn't safe enough to look. But he could sense a river or moat blocking his path. It flowed from the left to the right and it went through a channel cut in the rock. It was a twenty foot jump to the other side. Percy had heard it earlier but dismissed it, and act that had almost ended up with his death.

At this point it didn't matter though, he just needed to find a way to cross it. There was no bridge, and the water wasn't normal. He could hear within the roaring current thousands of voices crying out - shrieking in agony, pleading for mercy.

"Help!" they groaned. "It was an accident! The pain!" their voices wailed. "Make it stop!"

Percy didn’t need his eyes to imagine the river – a black briny current filled with tortured souls being swept deeper and deeper into Tartarus.

"The River Acheron," he guessed, muttering it out loud to try and understand it better.. "The fifth river of the Underworld."

Now Percy very much prefered the Phlegethon to this, at least that one only hurt his skin. This one was the River of Pain. It was the ultimate punishment for the souls of the damned - rapists and murderers in particular.

"Murderers!" the river wailed. "Yes, like you!"

"Join us," another voice whispered. "You are no better than we are."

Percy’s head was flooded with images of all the monsters he’d killed over the years. The river changed course through his mind – showing him Zoë Nightshade, who had been slain on Mount Tamalpais because Percy had been to useless to fight. He had instead stood and held a rock, but the decision came too late. It was his fault after all. He saw Nico’s sister, Bianca di Angelo, dying in the collapse of the metal giant Talos because of Percy's stupid plan.

Michael Yew and Silena Beauregard … who had died in the Battle of Manhattan.

"You could have prevented it," the river told Percy. "You should have seen a better way."

Luke Castellan. Percy remembered Luke’s blood on Annabeth's dagger after he’d sacrificed himself to stop Kronos from destroying Olympus.

"His blood is on your hands!" the river wailed. "There should have been another way!"

Percy had wrestled with the same thought many times. He’d tried to convince himself Luke’s death wasn’t his fault. Luke had chosen his fate. Still … he didn’t know if his soul had found peace in the Underworld, or if he’d been reborn, or if he’d been washed into Tartarus because of his crimes. He might be one of the tortured voices flowing past right now. All because of Percy. Percy not dying had caused so many deaths from others.

"You murdered them!" the river cried. "Jump in and share their punishment!"

"Don't listen seashell."

"But –"

"I know." Their voice sounded warm, like the sun. "I know what you're hearing but it is not true. This moat must be the border of Night’s territory. If you get across, you should be okay. You’ll have to jump."

It was a twenty foot jump. It was not something he should be able to do. Yet he trusted that voice possibly too much and he was running out of options.

"There!" cried a voice behind them. "Kill the ungrateful tourist!"

The children of Nyx had found him. Percy stood up and ran.

With his eyes closed, he could only guess how he managed it. Maybe he used the force of the river somehow. Maybe he was just scared out of his mind and charged with adrenalin. Percy leaped with more strength than he would have thought possible. He didn't know how he had actually managed it but he sailed through the air as the river churned and wailed below him, splashing Percy’s bare ankles with stinging brine.

Then – CLUMP. He was on solid ground again.

Percy blinked, opening his eyes.After the darkness of Nyx, even the dim red glow of Tartarus seemed blinding.

Before him stretched a valley big enough to hold the San Francisco Bay. The booming noise came from the entire landscape, as if thunder were echoing from beneath the ground. Under poisonous clouds, the rolling terrain glistened purple with dark red and blue scar lines.

It looked like a giant heart. The heart of Tartarus, both literally and metaphorically.

The centre of the valley was covered with a fine black fuzz of peppery dots. He was so far away, it took Percy a moment to realize he was looking at an army – thousands, maybe tens of thousands of monsters, gathered around a central pinpoint of darkness. It was too far to see any details, but Percy had no doubt what the pinpoint was. Even from the edge of the valley, Percy could feel its power tugging at his soul.

"The Doors of Death." Percy’s voice was hoarse as he muttered. A glance down showed he still had the pale, wasted complexion of a corpse … which meant he looked about as good as he felt.

Remembering Nyx he turned. Somehow the’d landed several hundred yards from the banks of Acheron, which flowed through a channel cut into black volcanic hills. Beyond that was nothing but darkness. No sign of anyone coming after him. Apparently even the minions of Night didn’t like to cross the Acheron.

Percy had no idea how he had managed to jump that far, especially when he was feeling feverish and running off a diet off fire. But he heard the skittering of a rockslide in the hills to his left. Percy raised Riptide.

A patch of glowing white hair appeared over the ridge, then a familiar grinning face with pure silver eyes.

"Bob?" Percy was so happy he actually jumped. "Oh my gods!"

"Friend!" The Titan lumbered towards him. The bristles of his broom had been burned off. His janitor’s uniform was slashed with new claw marks, but he looked delighted. On his shoulder, Small Bob the kitten purred almost as loudly as the pulsing heart of Tartarus.

"I found you!" Bob gathered him in a rib-crushing hug. "You look like a smoking dead person. That is good!"

"Urf," Percy said. "How did you get here? Through the Mansion of Night?"

"No, no." Bob shook his head adamantly. "That place is too scary. Another way – only good for Titans and such."

"Let me guess," he said. "You went sideways."

Bob scratched his chin, evidently at a loss for words. "Hmm. No. More … diagonal."

Percy laughed. Here he was at the heart of Tartarus, facing an impossible army – he would take any comfort he could get. He was ridiculously glad to have Bob the Titan with him again.

"We stay together now?" Bob asked.

"Yes," Percy agreed. "Time to see if this Death Mist works."

And if it didn't? Well there was no point in wondering about that. They were about to march into the middle of an enemy army. If they were spotted, they were dead.

Despite that, Percy managed a smile. His goal was in sight. He had a Titan with a broom and a very loud kitten on his side. That had to count for something.

He was going to get to those doors of death.

Notes:

4169 words!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I am again soooooo sorry for the late update and I will still be updating tomorrow despite the update today!!!

Favourite line???

Anyway, things are about to get heated, Percy's almost out but we all know who next makes an appearance. It's going to get interesting. Any requests for the next couple of chapters please say as they will be happening soon!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyway I hope you're enjoying the story!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Chapter 23: Well that's a lot of monsters

Notes:

Hi guys I am sooooooo sorry if this is bad. I was completely shattered whilst writing this so I haven't checked spelling much or anything like that. Anyway we literally have about 7 chapters (once combined 2) till Percy might leave Tartarus - not including this one! And I'm sooooo excited that there might be more updates soon.

Thanks as always for all the amazing comments - im going to respond to them over the next few days dont worry!!!!!

Anyway buckle up!!!!!!!!

Percy wasn't dead yet, but he was really, really tired of being a corpse. Stupid right but Percy was not looking forward to when he died. If he was sick after a couple of minutes - hours? Time was hard in Tartarus. Anyway if he was sick after a short amount of time then he had no idea how he was going to manage forever.

But as the band of misorted creatures trudged towards the heart of Tartarus, he kept glancing down at his body, wondering how it could belong to him. His arms looked like bleached leather pulled over sticks. His skeletal legs seemed to dissolve into smoke with every step. He’d learned to move normally within the Death Mist, more or less, but the magical shroud still made him feel like he was wrapped in a coat of helium.

He worried that the Death Mist might cling to him forever, even if he somehow managed to survive Tartarus. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life looking like an extra from The Walking Dead.

Percy tried to focus on something else, but there was no safe direction to look. Under his feet, the ground glistened a nauseating purple, pulsing with webs of veins. In the dim red light of the blood clouds Bob looked like the murderous Titan he used to be.

And ahead of him was the most depressing view of all.

Spread to the horizon was an army of monsters – flocks of winged arai, tribes of lumbering Cyclopes, clusters of floating evil spirits. Thousands of baddies, maybe tens of thousands, all milling restlessly, pressing against one another, growling and fighting for space – like the locker area of an overcrowded school between classes, if all the students were ’roid-raging mutants who smelled really bad. His brothers and sisters.

Bob led him towards the edge of the army. He made no effort to hide, not that it would have done any good. Being ten feet tall and glowing silver, Bob didn’t do stealth very well.

About thirty yards from the nearest monsters, Bob turned to face Percy. "Stay quiet and stay behind me," he advised. "They will not notice you."

"I really hope so too," Percy muttered.

On the Titan’s shoulder, Small Bob woke up from a nap. He purred seismically and arched his back, turning skeletal then back to calico. At least he didn’t seem nervous.

Percy reexamined his zombie hands with disdain. "Bob, if I'm invisible … how can you see me? I mean, you’re technically, you know …"

"Yes," Bob said. "But we are friends."

"Nyx and her children could see me," Percy said.

Bob shrugged. "That was in Nyx’s realm. That is different."

"Uh … right." Percy was sure he didn’t sound reassured, but there was no going back now. He had no choice but to try.That was easy to see as he stared at the swarm of vicious monsters. "Well, at least I won’t have to worry about bumping into any other friends in this crowd."

Bob grinned. "Yes, that is good news! Now, let’s go. Death is close."

"The Doors of Death are close," Percy corrected. "Let's make sure we watch our phasing."

They plunged into the crowd. Percy trembled so badly he was afraid the Death Mist would shake right off him. He’d seen large groups of monsters before. He’d fought an army of them during the Battle of Manhattan. But this was different.

Whenever he’d fought monsters in the mortal world, Percy at least knew he was defending his home. That gave him courage, no matter how bad the odds were. Here, Percy was the invader. Or was he. Before he might have said that he didn’t belong in this multitude of monsters any more than the Minotaur belonged in Penn Station at rush hour. But now? Well how many terrible things, monstrous things had he done in his short miserable life? Percy had literally just killed a goddess and he was trying to say he wasn't a monster, not very convincing now that he thought about it.

A few feet away, a group of empousai tore into the carcass of a gryphon while other gryphons flew around them, squawking in outrage. A six-armed Earthborn and a Laistrygonian giant pummelled each other with rocks, though Percy wasn’t sure if they were fighting or just messing around. A dark wisp of smoke – Percy guessed it must be an eidolon – seeped into a Cyclops, made the monster hit himself in the face, then drifted off to possess another victim.

Percy looked up, a stone’s throw away, a guy in a cowboy outfit was cracking a whip at some fire-breathing horses. The wrangler wore a Stetson hat on his greasy hair, an extra-large set of jeans and a pair of black leather boots. From the side, he might have passed for human – until he turned, and Percy saw that his upper body was split into three different chests, each one dressed in a different colour Western shirt.

It was definitely Geryon, who had tried to kill Percy two years ago in Texas.

The guy who turned Apollo murderous everytime their name was mentioned was not a person Percy particularly got on with. It was rather scary to see a usually joyful person turn into the vengeful God of the past - ready to murder whoever dared humiliate or disrespect him.

Apparently the evil rancher was anxious to break in a new herd. The idea of that guy riding out of the Doors of Death made Percy’s sides hurt all over again. His ribs throbbed where the arai had unleashed Geryon’s dying curse back in the forest. He wanted to march up to the three-bodied rancher, smack him in the face and yell, Thanks a lot, Tex!

Sadly, he couldn’t. But he could in his head which added enough humour to his situation that he actually grinned slightly.

How many other old enemies were in this crowd? Percy began to realize that every battle he’d ever won had only been a temporary victory. No matter how strong or lucky he was, no matter how many monsters he destroyed, Percy would eventually fail. He was only one mortal. He would get too old, too weak, or too slow. He would die. And these monsters … they lasted forever. They just kept coming back. Maybe it would take them months or years to re-form, maybe even centuries. But they would be reborn.

Seeing them assembled in Tartarus, Percy felt as hopeless as the spirits in the River Cocytus. So what if he was a hero? So what if he did something brave? Evil was always here, regenerating, bubbling under the surface. Percy was no more than a minor annoyance to these immortal beings. They just had to outwait him. Some day, Percy’s sons or daughters might have to face them all over again. Sons and daughters.

The thought jarred him. As quickly as hopelessness had overtaken Percy, it disappeared, replaced by something warmer, more bewildering. His head conjured up an image of a freckled, blond-haired god who shone like the sun. Well, technically, he was the sun, so he shone as himself? Anyway, the image, vivid and unbidden, half shocked him and half made him blush.

Sons and daughters? With a god? As if.

He groaned, swiping at the grime and sweat on his forehead as if it could chase away the strange, awkward thoughts. What was wrong with him? It wasn’t like he even had a chance with the literal personification of male beauty. Apollo was Apollo—always quick with a wink, always toeing the line between charming and insufferable. Flirting was his default mode, not something special.

Still, the thought lingered, stubborn as the soot in Tartarus that clung to Percy’s skin. He found himself remembering the way Apollo had smiled at him back on the Argo II. Not the smug, I-know-I’m-gorgeous grin that usually adorned the sun god’s face, but something softer, almost hesitant, like Apollo was testing unfamiliar ground.

Percy shook his head, trying to focus. He had bigger problems—like not dying in this hellscape. But his mind, traitorous as ever, wandered back to that moment.

--------------------

It had been just after the whole Phorcys and Keto debacle. After Poseidon had visited him and after he had broken down.

And then suddenly there was Apollo.

When Percy finally stirred, the first thing he noticed was the light. It was soft and golden, brushing against his eyelids like the gentlest sunrise. For a moment, he thought he was back home, waking up in his mom’s apartment with the warm glow of morning spilling through the window.

But then the scent of salt and wood reminded him where he was. His eyes fluttered open, and the sight of Apollo perched nearby brought him fully back to the present.

“Morning, Sleepyhead,” Apollo said with a grin that was somehow both too bright and entirely welcome. He sat cross-legged on the deck, his glowing presence muted but still unmistakable. The sun god balanced a small, glowing orb in his hand, rolling it lazily between his fingers.

Percy groaned, sitting up slowly. His muscles protested, stiff from exhaustion. “Morning? How long was I out?”

“Not long,” Apollo said lightly. “But you needed it. You looked like you’d been run over by a Cyclops... or six.”

Percy ran a hand through his hair, grimacing. “That’s not far off.”

Apollo gave him a once-over, his expression softening. “Rough night?”

“Rough life,” Percy muttered, but there wasn’t any real bite in his words. He rested his arms on his knees, staring out at the waves. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

Apollo shrugged. “I figured you could use some company. And hey, I like a good sunrise as much as the next god.”

Percy shot him a sideways look. “You are the sunrise.”

“Exactly,” Apollo said, flashing a grin. “That makes me an expert.”

Despite himself, Percy let out a short laugh. He hated how easily Apollo could do that—pull him out of his spirals with a dumb quip or a crooked smile. It was infuriating. It was also… nice.

For a while, they sat in silence, the gentle rhythm of the waves filling the space between them. Percy tried to gather his thoughts, but they felt like grains of sand slipping through his fingers. He didn’t even know where to start.

“I don’t get it,” he finally said. “How do you do it?”

Apollo tilted his head, looking at him curiously. “Do what?”

“Keep it together,” Percy said, his voice low. “You’re a god, and you’ve got all this stuff going on—your family’s a mess, half the time people don’t even believe in you anymore, and yet you’re still… you. Confident. Annoyingly perfect.”

Apollo laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. “Oh, Percy. You think I’ve got it all together?” He leaned back, his golden hair catching the light. “Darling, I’m a hot mess. I just make it look good.”

Percy snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious,” Apollo said, his tone softening. “You don’t think I have doubts? Regrets? I mess up all the time. I just hide it better than most.”

Percy frowned, trying to reconcile this version of Apollo with the self-assured, flirtatious god he’d come to know. “So, what—you fake it?”

“Something like that,” Apollo admitted. “But it’s not all fake. I’ve learned to focus on the moments that matter. Like this one.” He gestured vaguely at the ocean, the rising sun painting the water in hues of gold and pink. “Sometimes, you just have to let yourself feel small. It’s okay to not have all the answers.”

Percy was quiet for a moment, watching the waves. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” Apollo said, his voice unusually gentle. He turned to Percy, his blue eyes steady. “But you’ve already done harder things. Trust me, you’re stronger than you think.”

The sincerity in Apollo’s tone caught Percy off guard. He glanced at the god, searching for some hint of teasing or bravado, but found none. Just warmth.

“You’re not alone in this, Percy,” Apollo said. “You’ve got people who care about you. People who want to help. And for what it’s worth…” He hesitated, his lips quirking into a small smile. “I think you’re incredible.”

Percy’s breath caught. It wasn’t the words themselves, but the way Apollo said them—like they were a truth he couldn’t keep to himself any longer. Percy didn’t know how to respond. His chest felt tight, but not in the usual, overwhelming way. It was… something else.

“Thanks,” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Apollo’s smile widened, bright enough to chase away the lingering shadows in Percy’s mind. “Anytime, Seashell.”

Percy rolled his eyes, but the nickname— a nickname actually spoken without mockery for once—brought a faint smile to his lips. For the first time in what felt like forever, the knot in his chest loosened, just a little.

And for now, that was enough.

--------------------

Now, trudging through the suffocating gloom of Tartarus, that memory hit Percy like a wave. The way Apollo had looked at him—not just with admiration, but with something deeper, something that made Percy’s chest tighten—was seared into his mind.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered to himself, kicking at a loose rock. “He’s a god. He flirts with everyone. Probably just his way of keeping things light.”

But the thought didn’t sit right. Apollo’s eyes that day hadn’t been teasing or insincere. They’d been... earnest. Like he saw Percy, not just as a demigod or a pawn in the gods’ endless games, but as a person.

Percy’s cheeks burned, and he was glad no one was around to witness it. “Great,” he muttered. “Add ‘questioning my sanity and my love life’ to the list of Tartarus-induced crises.”

The air around him seemed to grow heavier, the mist coiling tighter. Percy forced himself to keep moving, one foot in front of the other. He had to focus, had to survive. But no matter how hard he tried, the image of Apollo’s smile stayed with him, a tiny flicker of light in the oppressive darkness.

Okay anyway, maybe monsters kept coming back forever. But so did demigods. Generation after generation, Camp Half-Blood had endured. And Camp Jupiter. Even separately, the two camps had survived. Now, if the Greeks and Romans could come together, they would be even stronger.

There was still hope. He had come this far. The Doors of Death were almost within reach.

Sons and daughters. A ridiculous thought. Right there in the middle of Tartarus...

Percy grinned.

With his zombie Death Mist disguise, Percy probably looked like he was grimacing in pain. Well it wasn't like anyone could properly se-

Somewhere in front of them, a deep voice bellowed: "IAPETUS!"

Notes:

Word count is 2474!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

But... WE'VE PAST 100,000 WORDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Oh my goodness I honestly did not expect for this to ever kick off or be written so thoroughly as my first fic so I am soooooo happy. Thank you to literally everyone who has commented on any of these fics as you push me to write each week, which is soooo great!!!!

Anyway, fav line?????????

Any requests for the next couple of chapters please say as they will be happening soon!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Anyway I hope you're enjoying the story!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Chapter 24: Those dam stars

Notes:

Hi guys I'm sooooooo sorry this is late, I didn't even realise I didn't post it yesterday, I thought I did but noticed just now how I left it as a preview. And there I was getting all sad that nobody commented...

Well one, thankyou for all these comments which I'm so far behind on, but I will get to it. Don't worry. It's just a testament to how many comments are being left which makes me soooo happy. Two, not only are we past 1000 comments but we are so close to getting out of tartarus and I'm on Christmas break so I have time!

Anyway buckle up for this one as in my notes as I literally put so many times 'I want this to be so dramatic that it makes them cry'.

A stupid titan strode up to him, casually kicking lesser monsters out of his way. It made Percy mad. He was so used to being treated like a piece of furniture, to be picked up, moved and used whenever the 'higher' person wanted All his life he'd been used like that by the gods and he could now see that it obviously ran in the family.

The titan was roughly the same height as Bob, with elaborate Stygian iron armour, a single diamond blazing in the centre of his breastplate. His eyes were blue-white, like core samples from a glacier, hair same colour and cut military style. Tucked under his arm was a battle helmet that was shaped like a bear's head. From his belt hung a sword the size of a surfboard.

Despite his battle scars, the Titan’s face was handsome and looked familiar. Percy was pretty sure he’d never seen the guy before, not that he could ever tell, but his eyes and his smile reminded Percy of someone...

The Titan stopped in front of Bob. He clapped him on the shoulder and the ground shook from the impact. "Iapetus! Don’t tell me you don’t recognize your own brother!"

"No!" Bob agreed nervously. "I won’t tell you that."

The other Titan threw back his head and laughed, he looked like a dying goat choking on it's own spit. "I heard you were thrown into the Lethe. Must’ve been terrible! We all knew you would heal eventually. It’s Koios you're favourite sibling!"

"Of course," Bob said. "Koios, Titan of …"

"The North!" Koios said.

"I know!" Bob shouted.

They laughed together and took turns hitting each other in the arm. It was so stupidly human that Percy cringed in all his dead mist glory. Apparently he wasn't the only one, miffed by all the jostling, Small Bob crawled onto Bob’s head and began making a nest in the Titan’s silver hair.

"Poor old Iapetus," said Koios. "They must have laid you low indeed. Look at you! A broom? A servant’s uniform? A cat in your hair? Truly, Hades must pay for these insults. Who was that demigod who took your memory? Was it the one they all speak of? What's his name, Circe? Bah! We must rip him to pieces, you and I, eh?

"Ha-ha." Bob swallowed. "Yes, indeed. Rip him to pieces."

Percy’s fingers closed around his pen. He didn’t think much of Bob’s brother, even without the rip him to pieces threat. Compared to Bob’s simple way of speaking, Koios sounded like he was reciting Shakespeare. That alone was enough to make Percy irritated. But Percy wasn't sure of Bob, he was half scared that the Titan would turn on him. He was ready to uncap Riptide if he had to, but so far Koios didn’t seem to have noticed him. And Bob hadn’t betrayed them yet, though he’d had plenty of opportunities. But Percy would do what he had to do.

"Ah, it’s good to see you …" Koios drummed his fingers on his bear’s-head helmet. "You remember what fun we had in the old days?"

"Of course!" Bob chirped. "When we, uh …"

"Were holding down our father Ouranos," Koios said.

"Yes! We loved wrestling with Dad …"

"We restrained him."

"That’s what I meant!"

"While Kronos cut him to pieces with his scythe."

"Yes, ha-ha." Bob looked mildly ill. "What fun."

"You grabbed Father’s right foot, as I recall," Koios said. "And Ouranos kicked you in the face as he struggled. How we used to tease you about that!"

"Silly me," Bob agreed.

"Sadly, our brother Kronos was dissolved by those impudent demigods." Koios heaved a sigh. "Bits and pieces of his essence remain, but nothing you could put together again. I suppose some injuries even Tartarus cannot heal. One day, maybe..."

"Alas!"

"But the rest of us have another chance to shine, eh?" He leaned forward conspiratorially. "These giants may think they will rule. Let them be our shock troops and destroy the Olympians – all well and good. But once the Earth Mother is awake she will remember that we are her eldest children. Mark my words. The Titans will yet rule the cosmos."

"Hmm," Bob said. "The giants may not like that."

"Spit on what they like," Koios said. "They’ve already passed through the Doors of Death, anyway, back to the mortal world. Polybotes was the last one, not half an hour ago, still grumbling about missing his prey. Apparently some demigods he was after got swallowed by Nyx. Never see them again, I wager!"

Percy grip on riptide tightened.

If the giants had already passed through the Doors, then at least they wouldn’t be hunting through Tartarus for Percy, that was one good thing. Unfortunately, that also meant his friends in the mortal world were in even greater danger. All of the earlier fights with the giants had been in vain. Their enemies would be reborn as strong as ever.

"Well!" Koios drew his massive sword. The blade radiated a cold deeper than the Hubbard Glacier. "I must be off. Leto should have regenerated by now. I will convince her to fight."

"Of course," Bob murmured. "Leto."

Koios laughed. "You’ve forgotten my daughter, as well? I suppose it’s been too long since you’ve seen her. The peaceful ones like her always take the longest to re-form. This time, though, I’m sure Leto will fight for vengeance. The way Zeus treated her, after she bore him those fine twins? Outrageous!"

Percy almost grunted out loud.

The twins.

It clicked in his head like the sharp snap of a finger. Leto. The name rang a bell from Chiron’s endless myth lectures—the ones Percy had only half-listened to because, frankly, his brain could only hold so much ancient drama before it short-circuited. Leto was the mother of Apollo and Artemis, which made Koios… their granddad.

The realization hit him like a bad punchline. Koios had the same frosty, calculating stare as Artemis, like he was quietly judging everything Percy had ever done wrong in his life. But the smile? Oh gods, the smile was Apollo’s. That lopsided, golden-boy grin that Percy had seen a hundred times, usually when Apollo was busy trying to flirt with him or show off some dumb haiku. Seeing it on Koios, twisted into something cruel, made Percy’s stomach churn.

Great, he thought bitterly. I’m in the deepest pit of hell, and even here, I can’t escape Apollo’s face.

But now that he was thinking about it, the resemblance unsettled him more than it should have. Koios’s words—my daughter—echoed in Percy’s head, and against his will, his thoughts circled back to Apollo. Not in the oh hey, he’s an annoying god who can’t stop hitting on me way. No, this was worse. This was the Apollo, who might actually mean it when he smiles at me, even though I have no clue how to handle that way.

It was bad enough that Percy could still remember Apollo’s smirk, the way it seemed to light up the whole room. But now, stuck in Tartarus, it was like his brain had decided to replay every little moment they’d ever shared, as if Percy didn’t have enough to deal with.

Focus, Jackson, he scolded himself. This is no time to get hung up on feelings. Especially feelings about an immortal, golden-haired god who probably flirts with everyone who’s ever breathed.

But as much as Percy tried to shove the thoughts aside, they kept coming back. He could hear Apollo’s voice in his head, smooth and teasing, calling him Seashell in that infuriatingly fond tone. Like he was something delicate and worth protecting, instead of… whatever he actually was. Percy wasn’t even sure what Apollo meant by it—was it a compliment? A joke? Both? Probably both.

And worse, he could see that stupid, dazzling grin—the kind of grin that didn’t belong in Tartarus, where everything was bleak and broken.

Koios kept talking about Leto and Zeus, but Percy barely heard him. His thoughts had taken an unfortunate detour, spiraling down a path he wasn’t sure he wanted to follow.

He could still remember the way Apollo had stood beside him on the deck of the Argo II, a rare moment of quiet between battles. The god had looked at Percy like he actually saw him—not just as a demigod or a hero, but as… Percy. Like he was something more than the sum of his quests and scars. And that was terrifying. Percy didn’t know how to deal with someone seeing him like that, especially when he didn’t even know how to see himself.

And now here he was, in the literal pit of despair, staring at Apollo’s creepy Titan granddad and trying not to lose his mind.

Yeah, sure. Let’s throw unresolved feelings into the Tartarus mix. Because that’s exactly what I needed right now, Percy thought, glaring at Koios. The Titan’s voice grated on his ears, but all Percy could think was how much he hated that smile—the one that reminded him too much of Apollo, in all the worst and best ways.

He clenched his fists, grounding himself in the sting of his nails against his palms. One crisis at a time, Percy. First, survive Tartarus. Then… figure out what the heck you’re going to do about Apollo.

That thought brought a fresh wave of frustration. Percy didn’t even know if Apollo cared about him like that—or if he was just another mortal conquest to the god of the sun. But if he survived this, maybe—just maybe—he’d have the guts to find out.

Assuming, of course, he thought grimly, that I don’t die down here first.

For now, though, he shoved Apollo to the back of his mind—along with the growing ache in his chest—and focused on the immediate problem: Koios, Tartarus, and staying alive long enough to deal with whatever awaited him topside.

"Well! I’ll see you in the mortal world!" Koios chest-bumped Bob, almost knocking the cat off his head. "Oh, and our two other brothers are guarding this side of the Doors, so you’ll see them soon enough!"

"I will?"

"Count on it!" Koios lumbered off, almost knocking over Percy as he scrambled out of his way.

Before the crowd of monsters could fill the empty space, Percy motioned for Bob to lean in.

"You okay, big guy?" Percy whispered.

Bob frowned. "I do not know. In all this –" he gestured around them – "what is the meaning of okay?"

Fair point, Percy thought.

Percy peered towards the Doors of Death, though the crowd of monsters blocked them from view. "Did I hear correctly? Two more Titans guarding our exit? That’s not good." Percy glanced up at Bob. The Titan’s distant expression worried him. "Do you remember Koios?" he asked gently. "All that stuff he was talking about?"

Bob gripped his broom. "When he told it, I remembered. He handed me my past like … like a spear. But I do not know if I should take it. Is it still mine, if I do not want it?"

Percy wished he could answer Bob. He wished he could tell Bob with absolute confidence that he should forget about his past.

But Percy understood Bob’s confusion. He remembered the day he’d opened his eyes at the Wolf House in California, his memory wiped clean by Hera. If somebody had been waiting for Percy when he first woke up, if they’d convinced Percy that his name was Bob and he was a friend of the Titans and the giants … would Percy have believed it? Would he have felt betrayed once he found out his true identity?

This is different, he told himself. I'm the good guy.

But were they? Percy had left Bob in Hades’s palace, at the mercy of a new master who hated him. Percy didn’t feel like he had much right to tell Bob what to do now – even if their lives depended on it. Percy didn't want to lie, to manipulate. He didn't want to be the monster that he was.

"I think you can choose, Bob," Percy ventured. "Take the parts of Iapetus’s past that you want to keep. Leave the rest. Your future is what matters."

"Future …" Bob mused. "That is a mortal concept. I am not meant to change, Percy Friend." He gazed around him at the horde of monsters. "We are the same … forever."

"If you were the same," Percy said, "I would be dead already. Maybe we weren’t meant to be friends, but we are. You’ve been the best friend we could ask for."

Bob’s silver eyes looked darker than usual. He held out his hand, and Small Bob the kitten jumped into it. The Titan rose to his full height. "Let us go, then, friend. Not much further."

How... Fun?

Stomping on Tartarus’s heart wasn’t nearly as much fun as it sounded.

The purplish ground was slippery and constantly pulsing. It looked flat from a distance, but up close it was made of folds and ridges that got harder to navigate the further they walked. Gnarled lumps of red arteries and blue veins gave Percy some footholds when he had to climb, but the going was slow.

And, of course, the monsters were everywhere. Packs of hellhounds prowled the plains, baying and snarling and attacking any monster that dropped its guard.

Arai wheeled overhead on leathery wings, making ghastly dark silhouettes in the poison clouds.

Percy stumbled. His hand touched a red artery, and a tingling sensation went up his arm. "There’s water in here," he said. "Actual water."

Bob grunted. "One of the five rivers. His blood."

"His blood?" Percy stepped away from the nearest clump of veins. "I knew the Underworld rivers all emptied into Tartarus, but –"

"Yes," Bob agreed. "They all flow through his heart."

Percy traced his hand across a web of capillaries. Was the water of the Styx flowing beneath his fingers, or maybe the Lethe? If one of those veins popped when he stepped on it … Percy shuddered. He realized he was taking a stroll across the most dangerous circulatory system in the universe.

Could he use it? Could he control it?

"We should hurry," Percy said. "If we can’t …"

His voice trailed off.

Ahead of them, jagged streaks of darkness tore through the air – like lightning, except pure black.

"The Doors," Bob said. "Must be a large group going through."

Percy’s mouth tasted like gorgon’s blood. Even if his friends from the Argo II managed to find the other side of the Doors of Death, how could they possibly fight the waves of monsters that were coming through, especially if all the giants were already waiting for them?

"Do all the monsters go through the House of Hades?" he asked. "How big is that place?"

Bob shrugged. "Perhaps they are sent elsewhere when they step through. The House of Hades is in the earth, yes? That is Gaia’s realm. She could send her minions wherever she wishes."

Percy’s spirits sank. Monsters coming through the Doors of Death to threaten his friends at Epirus – that was bad enough. Now he imagined the ground on the mortal side as one big subway system, depositing giants and other nasties anywhere Gaia wanted them to go – Camp Half-Blood, Camp Jupiter or in the path of the Argo II before it could even reach Epirus.

"What about me? W-If I get out will that happen?"

Bob scratched his chin. "You are not a monster. It may be different for you."

Wasn't he? Because Percy wasn't sure if he was a monster or not. He certainly felt like one right now. Wasn’t he? Percy stared into the void around him, feeling it seep into his skin like poison. He wasn’t sure anymore. Monsters didn’t care about the things they broke. But what if he’d stopped caring, too?

He could still feel Akhlys’s brittle neck in his hands, the way her voice had cracked when she begged him to stop. And he hadn’t. Not because he couldn’t. Because he didn’t want to.

His hands trembled as he looked at them. They weren’t hands anymore; they were weapons. Tools for breaking. Tools for killing.

Heroes were supposed to protect people. To save them. But every time Percy tried, someone got hurt. Someone always got hurt. His enemies. His friends. Himself. It didn’t matter how hard he tried; his actions tore through lives like a riptide.

Maybe it wasn’t the monsters that made him dangerous. Maybe it was just him.

He didn’t relish the idea of Gaia waiting for him on the other side, ready to teleport him into the middle of a mountain, but at least the Doors were a chance to get out of Tartarus. It wasn’t like he had a better option.

Bob helped him over the top of another ridge. Suddenly the Doors of Death were in plain view – a freestanding rectangle of darkness at the top of the next heart-muscle hill, about a quarter mile away, surrounding by a horde of monsters so thick Percy could’ve walked on their heads all the way across.

The Doors were still too far away to make out much detail, but the Titans flanking either side were familiar enough. The one on the left wore shining golden armour that shimmered with heat.

"Hyperion," Percy muttered. "That guy just won’t stay dead."

The one on the right wore dark-blue armour, with ram horns curling from the sides of his helmet. Percy had only seen him in dreams before, but it was definitely Krios, the Titan that Jason had killed in the battle for Mount Tam. Oh gods this was confusing, there was Koios and Krios and Kronos and he had already had enough.

"Bob’s other brothers," Percy said. The Death Mist shimmered around him, temporarily turning his face into a grinning skull. "Bob, if you have to fight them, can you?"

Bob hefted his broom, like he was ready for a messy cleaning job. "We must hurry," he said, which Percy noticed wasn’t really an answer. "Follow me."

More following... Great, let's rely on a massive titan some more!

So far, his death mist camouflage plan seemed to be working. So, naturally, Percy expected a massive last-minute fail.

Fifty feet from the Doors of Death, he froze.

They were the same. Framed in Stygian iron, the magical portal was a set of elevator doors – two panels of silver and black etched with art decorative designs. Except for the fact that the colours were inverted, they looked exactly like the elevators in the Empire State Building, the entrance to Olympus.

Seeing them, Percy felt so homesick he couldn’t breathe. He didn’t just miss Mount Olympus. He missed everything he’d left behind: New York City, Camp Half-Blood, his mom and stepdad. Apollo. His eyes stung. He didn’t trust himself to talk.

The Doors of Death seemed like a personal insult, designed to remind him of everything he couldn’t have.

As he got over his initial shock, he noticed other details: the frost spreading from the base of the Doors, the purplish glow in the air around them and the chains that held them fast. Cords of black iron ran down either side of the frame, like rigging lines on a suspension bridge. They were tethered to hooks embedded in the fleshy ground. The two Titans, Krios and Hyperion, stood guard at the anchor points.

As Percy watched, the entire frame shuddered. Black lightning flashed into the sky. The chains shook, and the Titans planted their feet on the hooks to keep them secure. The Doors slid open, revealing the gilded interior of an elevator car.

Percy tensed, ready to charge forward, but Bob planted a hand on his shoulder. "Wait," he cautioned.

Hyperion yelled to the surrounding crowd: "Group A-22! Hurry up, you sluggards!"

A dozen Cyclopes rushed forward, waving little red tickets and shouting excitedly. They shouldn’t have been able to fit inside those human-sized doors, but as the Cyclopes got close their bodies distorted and shrank, the Doors of Death sucking them inside.

The Titan Krios jabbed his thumb against the UP button on the elevator’s right side. The Doors slid closed.

The frame shuddered again. Dark lightning faded.

"You must understand how it works," Bob muttered. He addressed the kitten in his palm, maybe so the other monsters wouldn’t wonder who he was talking to. Percy hadn't even thought to how it would look to others to see Bob talking to thin air.

"Each time the Doors open, they try to teleport to a new location. Thanatos made them this way, so only he could find them. But now they are chained. The Doors cannot relocate."

"Then we cut the chains," Percy whispered.

Percy looked at the blazing form of Hyperion. The last time he’d fought the Titan, it had taken every ounce of his strength. Even then Percy had almost died. Now there were two Titans, with several thousand monsters for backup.

"My camouflage," he said. "Will it disappear if I do something aggressive, like cutting the chains?"

"I do not know," Bob told his kitten.

"Meow," said Small Bob.

"Bob, you’ll have to distract them," Percy said. "I will sneak around the two Titans and cut the chains from behind."

"Yes, fine," Bob said. "But that is only one problem. Once you are inside the Doors, someone must stay outside to push the button and defend it."

Percy tried to swallow. "Uh … defend the button?"

Bob nodded, scratching his kitten under the chin. "Someone must keep pressing the UP button for twelve minutes, or the journey will not finish."

Percy glanced at the Doors. Sure enough, Krios still had his thumb jammed on the UP button. Twelve minutes … Somehow, they would have to get the Titans away from those doors. Then Bob or Percy would have to keep that button pushed for twelve long minutes, in the middle of an army of monsters in the heart of Tartarus, while the other two rode to the mortal world. It was impossible. Only one could get out alive.

"Why twelve minutes?" Percy asked.

"I do not know," Bob said. "Why twelve Olympians or twelve Titans?"

"Fair enough," Percy said, though he had a bitter taste in his mouth. "Anyway what do you mean the journey won’t finish?" he asked. "What happens to the passengers?"

Bob didn’t answer. Judging from his pained expression, Percy decided he didn’t want to be in that elevator if the car stalled between Tartarus and the mortal world.

"If we do push the button for twelve minutes,’ Percy said, "and the chains are cut –"

"The Doors should reset," Bob said. "That is what they are supposed to do. They will disappear from Tartarus. They will appear somewhere else, where Gaia cannot use them."

‘Thanatos can reclaim them,’ Percy said. ‘Death goes back to normal, and the monsters lose their shortcut to the mortal world. Easy-peasy. Except for... well, everything."

Small Bob purred.

"I will push the button," Bob volunteered.

A mix of feelings churned in Percy’s gut – grief, sadness, gratitude and guilt thickening into emotional cement. "Bob, I can’t ask you to do that. You want to go through the Doors, too. You want to see the sky again and the stars and –"

"I would like that," Bob agreed. "But someone must push the button. And once the chains are cut … my brethren will fight to stop your passage. They will not want the Doors to disappear.’

Percy gazed at the endless horde of monsters. Even if he let Bob make this sacrifice, how could one Titan defend himself against so many for twelve minutes, all the while keeping his finger on a button? He couldn't do it, all Bob wanted to do was see those stupid stars. Just like Zoe. Bob wanted to see the stars.

The stars. Why was it always the stars?

Percy’s heart twisted like someone had reached inside his chest and wrung it dry. He could almost hear Zoë’s voice, soft and full of wonder, as she’d gazed at the night sky for the last time. "Stars. I can see the stars again, my lady."

And now Bob, this towering, kind-hearted Titan, who had every reason to hate him, wanted the same thing. Not revenge. Not glory. Just a glimpse of light in the darkness.

Percy’s throat tightened. His vision blurred. He wanted to scream, to rage, to throw himself at the monsters and let them tear him apart, just so Bob wouldn’t have to. How many times had he been here before? Watching someone else—someone good, someone better than he’d ever be—step forward and take the fall so he could keep going?

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t right.

It should have been him.

It always should have been him.

“I can’t let you do this,” Percy said, his voice cracking. The words felt weak, useless, crumbling to dust before they even reached Bob. “You deserve to see the stars again. You deserve—”

But what did Percy deserve? To escape? To live? To look into someone's eyes knowing he had traded another's life for his survival?

His fists clenched so tightly, his nails bit into his palms. The weight of it all pressed down on him like the sky had once again found its way to his shoulders. This time, there was no Artemis to save him. No gods to swoop in. Just him, and a choice he hated more than anything in the world.

Bob was looking at him with that calm, unshakable expression, the one that made Percy feel like he was a kid throwing a tantrum in front of someone infinitely wiser.

“You don’t understand,” Percy said, his voice desperate. “If you do this, I’ll have to live with it. I’ll have to live knowing that you—” He choked on the words, shaking his head. “Why does it always have to end like this?”

He wanted to beg. To shout. To grab Bob and drag him through the Doors, even if it killed them both. Because that was easier. That was cleaner.

But Percy knew the truth. He always knew.

The hero never got to choose who lived or died. They just kept moving forward, and the losses stacked up behind them like corpses on a battlefield.

Bob wanted to see the stars. He deserved to see the stars. And Percy would never stop carrying the weight of this moment—the same way he carried Bianca, Silena, Beckendorf, and Zoë.

The same way he carried everyone.

“Please,” Percy whispered, his voice breaking. He wasn’t even sure who he was begging anymore. Bob. The monsters. The universe.

But there was no mercy left for him.

The stars would have to wait. For 12 minutes

The cement settled in Percy’s stomach. He had always suspected how this would end. He would have to stay behind. Percy would hold the button whilst fending off the entire army and Bob would go up.

"Little prince you need to make it, I need you back here. We all need you back. Fight, do whatever you can but get back here. Please."

That stupid voice.

He didn't know what to do. He needed Bob safe, he needed to get back. Either way the Doors needed to disappear, he could die knowing he’d done something right if they were gone.

"Friend?" Bob asked, a knowing look in his eye.

Sometimes the guy was too smart for his own good.

"First things first," he said. "Let’s cut those chains."

Notes:

4613 words!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We are so close to being out of tartarus!!!!!!!!! Like honestly it's kinda freaky. Anyway please comment your favourite line and anything else you want to see in the chapters coming out soon!!!!

I hope you enjoyed where this was going, did anyone cry?

I hope you enjoyed this chapter!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Chapter 25: The uncle no one likes shows up

Notes:

Hi guys sorry for the delay but the Christmas social activities I have been forced to engage in have been piling up. This chapter was going to be posted on boxing day but as many people may have noticed Ao3 went down so....

Anyway thank you sooooooo much for all the amazing comments, I have responded to every single one of them now!!!!!!!!!!! Also we passed 50000 hits, woooooooh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Buckle up guys as the fuse has been lit...

"Iapetus!" Hyperion bellowed. "Well, well. I thought you were hiding under a pair of Hades Chitons. Or does he wear bloomers nowadays?"

Bob sauntered forward, scowling at his brother. "I was not hiding."

Percy crept towards the right side of the Doors.He would start there before running over to the left. The Titans gave no sign of noticing him, but Percy took no chances. He kept Riptide in pen form. He crouched low, stepping as quietly as possible. The lesser monsters kept a respectful distance from the Titans, so there was enough empty space to manoeuvre around the Doors, but Percy was keenly aware of the snarling mob at his back. He would have one shot at this, if he failed... Well he would just have to not fail.

Other then the fact that Percy was better left to right then right to left, he chose to take the side that Hyperion was not guarding, on the basis that Hyperion was more likely to feel Percy. After all, Percy was the last one to have killed him in the mortal world, and the guy held grudges.

That all lined up fine with Percy, he could barely stand to look at Hyperion's bright burning armour without his vision failing - a consequence of being in Tartarus too long. On Percy’s current side of the Doors, Krios stood dark and silent, brooding like a teenage boy who was mortal, his ram-horned helmet covering his face. He kept one foot planted on the chain’s anchor and his thumb on the UP button.

Bob faced his siblings. He planted his spear and tried to look as fierce as one could when they had a kitten on his shoulder. "Hyperion and Krios. I remember you both."

"Do you, Iapetus?" The golden Titan laughed, glancing at Krios to share the joke. "Well, that’s good to know! I heard Percy Jackson turned you into a obedient maid. What did he rename you … Bessy?"

"Bob," snarled Bob.

"Well, it’s about time you showed up, Bob. Krios and I have been stuck here for weeks –"

"Hours," Krios corrected, his voice a deep rumble inside his helmet. Percy wondered how he could tell how long it had been but maybe the Titan's were immune to the disorienting time in Tartarus after how long they'd been here.

"Whatever!" Hyperion said. "It’s boring work, guarding these doors, shuffling ungrateful, lesser monsters through at Gaia’s orders. Krios, what’s our next group, anyway?"

"Double Red," said Krios.

Hyperion sighed. The flames glowed hotter across his shoulders, as if he was fueling them with his exasperation. "Double Red. Why do we go from A-22 to Double Red? What kind of system is that?" He glared at Bob. "This is no job for me – the Lord of Light! Titan of the East! Master of Dawn! Why am I forced to wait in the darkness while the giants go into battle and get all the glory? Now, Krios I can understand –"

"I get all the worst assignments," Krios muttered, his thumb still on the button.

"But me?" Hyperion said. "Ridiculous! This should be your job, Iapetus. Here, take my place for a while."

Percy half got what Hyperion was saying; trying to imagine Apollo, god version of Hyperion however much it made Percy cringe at the comparison, in Tartarus was just wrong. To see something so bright in a place so dark was unfathomable - to see the shadows crawl on top of all which shone until they were smothered...

"The four of us held down our father, Ouranos," Bob remembered as he stared at the doors, gaze fixed on something from the past. "Koios and me and the two of you. Kronos promised us mastery of the four corners of the earth for helping with the murder."

"Indeed," Hyperion said. "And I was happy to do it! I would’ve wielded the scythe myself if I’d had the chance! But you, Bob … you were always conflicted about that killing, weren’t you? The soft Titan of the West, soft as the sunset! Why our parents named you the Piercer, I will never know. More like the Whimper."

Percy reached the anchor hook. He uncapped his pen and Riptide grew to full length. Krios didn’t react. His attention was firmly fixed on Bob, who had just levelled the point of his spear at Hyperion’s chest.

"I can still pierce," Bob said, his voice low and even. "You brag too much, Hyperion. You are bright and fiery, but Percy Jackson defeated you anyway. I hear you became a nice tree in Central Park."

Hyperion’s eyes smouldered. "Careful, brother. That boy is down here now, and Nyx is after him. He won't be alive for long but if I do find him... Well I will certainly take my time with him; his death is forever after all."

Percy shivered glancing at Bob before quickly looking away. He couldn't afford to worry right now, he needed to stay focused on the task at hand.

"At least a janitor’s work is honest," Bob said. "I clean up after others. I leave the palace better than I found it. But you … you do not care what messes you make. You followed Kronos blindly. Now you take orders from Gaia. Are you a puppet Hyperion? Or just an obedient dog-"

"She is our mother!" Hyperion bellowed.

"She did not wake for our war on Olympus," Bob recalled. "She, as all mothers do, has favourites and she favours her second brood, the giants."

Krios grunted, clearly miffed at the lack of attention he had received from his mother. No bedtime story for him it seemed. "That’s true enough. The children of the pit."

"Both of you hold your tongues!" Hyperion’s voice was tinged with fear. Percy couldn't imagine what would make a Titan this scared but he did not want to find out. "You never know when he is listening."

The elevator dinged. All three Titans jumped.

Had it been twelve minutes? Percy had lost track of time. Krios took his finger off the button, shaking it slightly, and called out, "Double Red! Where is Double Red?"

Hordes of monsters stirred and jostled one another, but none of them came forward. Krios heaved a sigh. "I told them to hang on to their tickets. Double Red! You’ll lose your place in the queue!"

Percy was ready, sword raised over the based of the chains, and he got ready to swing. He had to cut the chain when the Titans were as distracted as possible, yet he had to make sure both chains were cut before the next group got in the elevator.

Hyperion muttered a curse in a language older then ancient greek. "Just wonderful. This will completely mess up our schedule." He sneered at Bob like it was his fault. "Make your choice, brother. Fight us or help us. I don’t have time for your lectures."

Bob glanced at Percy. Percy thought he might start a fight and he readied himself for who Bob would attack, but instead he raised the point of his spear. "Very well. I will take guard duty. Which of you wants a break first?"

"Me, of course," Hyperion said.

"Me!" Krios snapped. "I’ve been holding that button so long my thumb is going to fall off."

"I’ve been standing here longer," Hyperion grumbled. "You two guard the Doors while I go up to the mortal world. I have some Greek heroes to wreak vengeance upon!"

"Oh, no!" Krios complained. "Don't you want to kill Jackson? He's down here, guess you have to stay."

"He's dead from Nyx, I will just have to visit the underworld when we take over to enact my revenge. There are more Greek heroes I can torture as my waiting fee."

"Well too bad. That Roman boy is on his way to Epirus – the one who killed me on Mount Othrys. Got lucky, he did. Now it’s my turn."

"Bah!" Hyperion drew his sword. "I’ll gut you first, Ram-head!"

Krios raised his own blade. "You can try, but I won’t be stuck in this stinking pit any longer!"

Perfect. Percy raised his sword even higher. One, Two Thr-

Before he could strike the chains, a high-pitched whine pierced his ears, like the sound of an incoming rocket. Percy just had time to think: Oh sh-. Then an explosion rocked the hillside. A wave of heat knocked Percy backwards. Dark shrapnel ripped through Krios and Hyperion, shredding them as easily as wood in a chipper.

"Stinking pit? You should mind how you speak." A hollow voice rolled across the plains, shaking the warm fleshy ground.

Bob staggered to his feet. Somehow the explosion hadn’t touched him. He swept his spear in front of him, trying to locate the source of the voice. Small Bob the kitten crawled into his coveralls. Percy was still on his feet surprisingly and he registered how glad he was that the two Titans were gone when he caught a glimpse of his hand. His very solid, non-death-mistified hand.

The Death Mist had evaporated.

"Titans," said the voice disdainfully. "Lesser beings, imperfect whiny creatures that I wish my sister had never created."

The air around the Doors of Death thickened, growing so dark it felt like it was clogging Percy’s lungs. Then it solidified, like shadows had been compressed into granite.

And from that darkness, it emerged.

Percy’s first instinct was to run. Not just run—sprint, dive, yeet himself into the nearest pit and hope for the best. But there was no one else here. No backup. No prayers that could save him. Just him, a billion monsters, and this...thing.

So, instead, he stayed frozen in place, trying not to throw up as his eyes climbed the god’s form.

The boots were the first thing he noticed—black iron monstrosities, each one the size of a coffin and just as cheerful. When they hit the ground, the earth didn’t just shake; it groaned, like it was begging for mercy.

Above that, the god’s legs were wrapped in dark greaves that gleamed faintly, catching the sick light from the Doors. His exposed flesh—if you could call it that—was purple, thick and lumpy, like a bruise stretched over boulders. The muscle shifted unnaturally, like it wasn’t even part of him but some kind of living armor.

And the skirt. Percy didn’t want to call it that—what kind of god wore a skirt?—but there was no other word for it. It was made of bones, thousands of them, blackened and twisted, fused together like links in a horrifying chain. Worse, the belt holding it in place was a writhing mass of dismembered arms—monstrous, clawed, and bent at angles that shouldn’t be possible.

He didn’t want to look higher, but he couldn’t stop himself.

The breastplate was a nightmare all its own. Its surface wasn’t solid; it shimmered and moved, like oil floating on water, only instead of colors, there were faces. Percy saw giants, Cyclopes, gorgons, and drakons pressing against the armor, their features distorted in agony. They sank into the murky depths only to be replaced by others, a never-ending parade of misery. Percy couldn’t tell if they were trapped souls or something even worse, but either way, his stomach twisted.

The arms were bare, corded with thick, glistening muscle, each one as wide as a telephone pole. The hands—if you could even call them that—looked like they belonged on a demolition crane, massive and clawed, ready to crush anything in their path.

And then Percy made the mistake of looking at the head.

It wasn’t a head. It was a nightmare.

The helmet—or whatever passed for one—looked like it had been hammered together from molten rock and metal, jagged spikes sticking out at random angles. Glowing patches of magma pulsed like a heartbeat, steaming with hellfire.

There was no face, just a gaping void where the god’s features should’ve been. And it wasn’t just empty—it was moving, spiraling inward like a whirlpool of darkness. Percy could feel it pulling at him, dragging his gaze toward its endless center. He realized, with a sick jolt, that the last golden wisps of Hyperion and Krios—their Titan essence—were being sucked into that void.

The god inhaled their power like it was nothing.

Percy’s legs wobbled. His hands felt clammy against the hilt of Riptide. His brain whispered words he didn’t want to hear: Primordial. Not a god, something older. Something worse.

This wasn’t a being you fought. It wasn’t even something you survived.

And yet, Percy was here. Alone.

His chest tightened as the god’s gaze—or lack of gaze—turned toward him. He didn’t have Apollo’s voice to steady him. No friends to tell him he could do this. Even that mysterious voice had scarpered after seeing this thing. There was no one. Just himself.

Somehow Percy found his voice. "Tartarus."

The warrior made a sound like a mountain cracking in half: a roar or a laugh, Percy couldn’t be sure. "This form is only a small manifestation of my power," said the god. "But it is enough to deal with you. While you certainly cause trouble for creatures that should be able to destroy you with one strike, it does not impact me. Make no mistake, I do not interfere lightly, little demigod. It is beneath me to deal with gnats such as yourself."

"Uh …" Percy’s legs threatened to collapse under him. "Don’t … you know … go to any trouble."

"You have proven surprisingly resilient," Tartarus said. "You have come too far. I can no longer stand by and watch your progress. It is insulting."

Tartarus spread his arms. Throughout the valley, thousands of monsters wailed and roared, clashing their weapons and bellowing in triumph. The Doors of Death shuddered in their chains.

"Be honoured, little demigod," said the god of the pit. "Even the Olympians were never worthy of my personal attention. But you will be destroyed by Tartarus himself!"

Notes:

2344 words!!!!!!!!!!

Favourite line???

Hope you guys enjoy and I can't wait for you to see where this is going!!!!!!!!!!!!

Chapter 26: Why can't I have a normal death?

Notes:

Hello again. Miss me??? Hopefully not considering I was here yesterday. I hope you all enjoyed the last chapter and are prepared for more because here it is!!!!

I added all the feels into this one. Buckle up, the fires burning quickly!!!!!!!!!!

Getting killed by Tartarus didn’t seem like much of an honour.

As Percy stared up at the dark whirlpool of his face, he decided he'd rather die in a less honourable, less memorable way - like falling down the stairs, or passing in his sleep at the age of ninety after a nice quiet life. Less dramatic sure, but he wasn't a child of Zeus, he didn't need drama. He was happy dying in a boring way, as long as it didn't involve him passing right now it sounded good.

It wasn’t the first time Percy had faced an enemy that by all logistics he shouldn't be able to beat by force. Now would be the time where he would form some elaborately stupid and suicidal plan that by all means shouldn't work but somehow does. Small problem though - he couldn't think up anything. His brain had short wired, it wouldn't even let him breathe.

Now that would be a boring way to die, not remembering to breathe.

He was dimly aware of the massive army of monsters that swirled around him, but after their initial roar of triumph - glad that the final boss was to fight Percy - the horde had fallen silent, warily watching in anticipation. Percy should have been swarmed upon, ripped to pieces by now. Instead, the monsters stayed where they were, waiting for Tartarus to act.

The deity of the pit flexed his fingers, ones that Percy had most likely walked in at some point during his journey, examining his polished black talons the way girls examined their nails. No expression could be made out from the place where his should have been, but his shoulders straightened as if he was pleased. "It is good to have a form," he concluded. "With these hands, I can eviscerate you."

His voice sounded like a video being played in reverse - as if the words were being sucked into the vortex where his face should have been rather than projected out. As a matter of fact, everything looked to be drawn towards the face of this god - the sprinkles of dim light, the poisonous clouds, the essence of the monster, even Percy's own fragile life force. He glanced around, unwilling to take his eyes of the god for too long, and realized that every object that was in this vast plain of Tartarus's heart had grown a tail of vapour. All of the tails were pointing towards Tartarus like needles on a compass.

Percy knew he should say something, anything, but his instincts right now were a mix between flight and freeze. He wanted to curl up in some corner somewhere like he used to do when his mom would work late shifts and he was left with Gabe for the night. If he hid well enough and avoided doing anything that would draw the man's attention then he might be spared for the night.

Maybe that worked on ancient deities that were old enough to remember the start of the world.

Besides, what could he say? "You won't get away with this!"

That wasn't true and everyone knew it. Percy had only survived this long because Tartarus was acting like a kid when they put on a new princess dress, desperate to show it off to as many people as possible - oh what Percy would give to see this god in a sleeping beauty dress. He was savouring his new form, wanting the pleasure of physically ripping him to pieces instead of whatever other thing the deity could do. If Tartarus wished, Percy had no doubt in his mind that he could devour his existence with a single thought, just like what he'd done to Hyperion and Krios. He doubted there would be any rebirth from that.

Percy almost dropped his sword, something he hadn't done in a long, long time. He couldn't see his no longer Death Mist shrouded face but he was sure to anybody who looked he would resemble a corpse even more than Nico did.

Tartarus hissed again - probably laughing - and those yellow eyes from what now felt like a decade ago filled the remaining spot of his vision that wasn't currently occupied by the figure from before him. He half wished that Lamia had taken his eyeballs, maybe if he couldn't see the thing in front of him it wouldn't be as downright petrifying as it was.

"I must say, your fear smells wonderful," said the god, as if he was merely commenting on the new cologne Percy decided to use. "I see the appeal of having a physical body with so many senses. Perhaps my beloved sister, Gaia, is right to want to wake from her slumber. Nevertheless, I have no need to drag this out."

A large surge of pure heat and power hit Percy, forcing him several paces back again with the sheer magnitude of it. His very bones quaked from the simple brush of it against him and he could feel his skin wanting to melt of his bones. It felt like a more powerful version of whatever had happened with Apollo back when he was still on his way to Rome, yet Apollo's had been less. Less power, less truth, less malice. This was designed to kill him, to not hold anything back.

Yet he was still here.

Something deep within him, from the place where the orb had shattered, was absorbing this swell of ancient power leaving him mostly unharmed. It wasn't human, he should be dead. But all that was left as a reminder of what had just transpired was a nasty burn across his neck.

"What!" Tartarus bellowed, causing the monsters to hastily back away from his form. He took a couple of breaths apparently steadying himself before cocking his head to examine Percy through his vortexual face. "How peculiar. You have enough - well it's not all that surprising. I saw what you did to Akhyls after all. Either way it does not matter, you will not miss out on the honour of a death by my hand."

He stretched out his massive purple hand and might have plucked up Percy like a weed, but Bob intevened.

"Bob says go!" The Titan levelled his spear so that it pointed right at the god. "You have no right to meddle!"

"Meddle?" Tartarus turned. "I am the lord of all creatures of the darkness, you runt, Iapetus. I can do as I please. How dare you begin to speak to me that way."

His cyclone face made of ink spun faster and faster. The howling sound of a wounded animal chewing through their own bone after getting caught in a trap was so horrible, so guttural that Percy wanted to collapse right there and then. He wanted to clutch his ears and block out the sound, he wanted someone to take him away from this. He wanted -

He wanted his dad.

It was such a childish want, one that Percy very rarely allowed himself to think of. As a child he always had too much resentment for his father to even consider wanting him in times like these; he had left to go to sea, leaving him and his mom with no letter, no child support, nothing - just Gabe. When he learnt who his father was that resentment only grew, how could a god with all that power abandon him? Percy did not trust, he did not trust his father to save him when he needed it nor show up when he could.

In the last few years Percy had matured just enough to understand the rules keeping his father from him. Poseidon at least claimed him, he was proud of Percy which was more than many other demigods could say for sure about their parents. He created a bedroom in his palace just for his only human child and had started begging his underwater family to accept him. The man gave help when he could and fought for Percy more times then he knew - he tried. Sure he wasn't about to win any father of the year prize but his dad was enough for him, he was his dad and Percy didn't want to trade even if he could. His life? Yes, he would love to get rid of endless pressures, the danger. His dad? No, the man cared for his children; even for the monsters.

But the ruler of the seas could not show up whenever Percy wanted, he couldn't pop in every time the demigod got scared. It was ridiculous. So he rarely let himself even consider the thought.

Despite this, he couldn't quite quell the need for his dad. For someone who didn't need protecting, his mom was Percy's responsibility to protect despite what she said, who had more power then Percy had. Who would get angry on his behalf, who would fight for his son the second someone mentioned harming him; someone who Percy could afford to feel small in their presence. Percy needed someone who he could show all his ugly flaws, all his cracks and breaks, and have him be there for him all the same. He needed a dad.

He needed his dad.

Something stumbled in the corner of his eye, bringing his attention back as Bob tumbled towards the god, the wispy trail of his life force growing longer as it was sucked into Tartarus's face. Bob roared in defiance not willing to go down without a fight and charged forwards, thrusting his spear at Tartarus's chest.

Before it could connect, Tartarus swatted Bob aside as if he was just a mere fly in his way. The giant Titan went flying.

"Why do you not disintegrate?" Tartarus mused, a perplexed expression forming across his face. "You are nothing. You are even weaker than the other two annoying things.

"I am Bob," said Bob.

Tartarus squinted down at him. "What is that? What is a Bob?"

"I choose to be more than Iapetus," said the Titan. "I am not Iapetus, I am Bob. Bob is me. You do not control me, no one controls me unlike my brothers. I am not like my brothers. I am good."

The collar of his overalls bulged slightly before Small Bob lept out. The kitten landed on the ground in front of his owner, then arched his back and hissed at the lord of the abyss. A kitten just hissed at one of the oldest beings in the entire world, and Percy had thought he had seen it all.

As Percy watched, Small Bob began to grow, his form flickering until the little kitten had become a full-sized, translucent skeletal sabre-toothed tiger.

"Also," Bob announced as an afterthought, "I have a good cat."

No-Longer-Small Bob obviously thought that Tartarus's thigh looked like a climbing tree as he sprung at the primordial, sinking his claws deep into Tartarus's thigh. The tiger scrambled up his leg, straight under the being's chain-link skirt and judging by the noises made by the god, the animal must have sunk his claws in there as well.

Tartarus stomped and howled, apparently no longer too fascinated with having a physical form once he remembered that they hurt when clawed. Specifically the areas the oversized kitten was currently in - Percy almost felt sorry for the thing. The cat he meant. He suddenly had an image of what was under that skirt after being mauled and bloodied. Cursing his overactive imagination, he wondered if he could find any bleach nearby to bleach his mind. It was not an image he ever wanted to see again.

Meanwhile, Bob thrust his spear into the god’s side, right below his breastplate.

Roaring in agony, he swatted his hand out to Bob but the Titan backed just out of reach, grinning up at his uncle. Percy watched as Bob thrust out his fingers and his spear that was buried deep within the god's flesh yanked itself free ,pulling out chunks of skin with it, and flew back to Bob's hand. The demigod gulped in amazement at the control the previously friendly Titan had. He also had never imagined a broom could have so many useful features and would make sure to ask where he could get one of these brooms after.

Small Bob dropped out of Tartarus's skirt. He ran to his owner's side, his sabre-toothed fangs dripping golden ichor all over the floor. It reminded Percy how they were still standing on Tartarus, despite his body being in front of them as well. He tried to work out how it worked but gave up pretty quickly as it was too complicated to worry about right now, especially when he was likely to die any minute.

"You will die first, Iapetus," Tartarus decided. "Afterwards, I will add your soul to the many in my armour, where it will slowly dissolve, over and over, in eternal agony." Tartarus drew attention to his breastplate as he pounded his fist hard against it. Milky faces swirled in the metal, screaming to get out - it reminded Percy slightly of Uncle Hades' clothing.

Bob turned towards Percy. The Titan grinned which would not have been Percy's reaction to a threat of eternal agony. The only way Percy would have grinned at that threat would have been if he had another plan in mind; Bob's eyes were sharp and calculated. He had a plan.

"Take the Doors," Bob said. "I will deal with Tartarus."

Percy wanted to yell, he wanted to argue. Yet no sound escaped. It wasn't even like he could have taken the elevator, even if he wanted to. Without Bob, Percy was screwed; someone had to hold that goddamn button for 12 minutes.

Percy would have to fight, to make sure Bob survived. So that at least one of them could get to see the Sun, the stars.

Tartarus threw back his head and bellowed – creating a vacuum so strong that the nearest flying demons were pulled into his vortex face and shredded.

"Deal with me?" the god mocked. "You are only a Titan, a lesser child of Gaia! I will make you suffer for your arrogance. And as for your tiny mortal friend..." Tartarus swept his hand towards the monster army, beckoning them forward. "Destroy him!"

Crap.

Notes:

2392 words!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Favourite line???

I will be adding a poem here that I lovingly wrote in response to someone's comment which may give some hints...

The ending is within reach,so close yet so far;
but when it all comes to light, maybe just maybe
the updates that are in demand are closer -
if one would just ask.

As the typos form through quick nimble hands,
The words bleed together, a rhythmic beat in the bands.
The author looks on, their lips quirked as they uncast
A river of chapters, waiting for the reader to just ask.

 

These are the literal worst poems I have ever written (which is saying a lot) but either way, I wonder if anyone can work it out???

Hope you guys enjoyed!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Chapter 27: So close yet so far

Notes:

Hi guys!!!!!!!!!!!!

I wonder if you all can keep up with me with how speedy I'm going!!!

Buckle up as the blaze is at it's brightest!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Destroy him.

Percy had heard those stupid words enough times, he really would be happy if he never had to hear them again. Those words just never brought anything other than annoying situations that usually ended up with Percy being shoved into an infirmary bed by Will. He would then be stuck in the uncomfortable cot for hours as the son of Apollo would keep forcing him back down everytime he attempted to get up.

Those words caused him to raise his sword and dive for the chains holding those stupid Doors. Riptide cut through the right-side mooring in a single swipe before getting caught in the flesh beneath him. Good, maybe Tartarus would feel that.

He swung around, striking down an arai that had crept up to him within the first wave. The onslaught of pain that came over him as the arai burst into dust caused Percy to buckle in on himself. He had created too many enemies to tell what injury he had just been forced to experience again, all he knew is that he was no bleeding profusely all over the ground.

Yet the monsters would not stop for anything. Half-a-dozen telkhines had gotten a stupid idea within their head to attack him when he was still hunched over - they got scythed down before they could so much as scratch him. As a slight break occurred in the charge, Percy turned around and lunged towards the chains left on the other side. They fell apart with a satisfying clank as Percy's ever comforting sword did its' job.

The Doors shuddered, then opened with a pleasant Ding!

Bob and his oversized kitten that had just attacked a primordial's hidden bits continued to weave and drift around Tartarus's legs, attacking and dodging but mostly trying to stay out of his clutches. And, although the damage was lacking, Tartarus still lurched around unstably - he was obviously not up to speed with how to fight in a humanoid body. Hopefully he would come tumbling down after tripping over his too large feet. He kept swiping and missing, swiping and missing.

Even more monsters managed to appear from nowhere, surging towards the Doors. A spear narrowly missed Percy's head as it flew past. He turned and stabbed an empousa through the gut, then dived for the Doors as they started to shut. They could not shut, not now. Not after everything. He flung his foot between the gap forcing them back open as he fought. At least no monster would come from behind him now that the elevator was covering his back. Touch wood...

"Bob get over here!" He yelled.

Bob turned and shook his head before turning back round. Percy stared in shock, blood and sweat dripping into his eyes as he killed another arai that flung itself at him.

"GODS!"

Bob swirled round, only narrowly missing a swinging fist, the Titan's face was filled with worry as he looked directly into Percy's eyes.

Had he just made that sound?

If he was in a different place right now, he might have blushed from how guttural and pained his cry had been. The good thing was there was no one down here who would live long enough to judge him. Only the dead would hear how weak Percy was; it would just require a conversation with Nico to keep any mention of it away from his friends

"Percy good?" Bob asked, eyes overflowing with concern, like a puppy.

He nodded slightly, forcing the water filling his eyes to flow back into him. "I-I think I got some kind of pain curse from that stupid arai!" He hacked a gryphon out of the air. "Hurts, sure. But I doubt it will kill me, which is always good. Get in the elevator Bob, I'll hold the button."

"No, No." Bob sung as he danced out of the way from Tartarus's hand again. Percy smacked a carnivorous horse in the snout with the butt of his sword as he heard the vulgar language that could rival even Arion's. The monster was sent stampeding through the crowd, helpfully crushing a couple of the others along with it. All Percy could do was stare at Bob as the Titan started laughing. "Bob will stay here. Bob will save his friend."

"Bob-"

"I am Bob!"

"Y-Yeah I know you're Bob. And Bob needs to see the stars doesn't he? Bob wants to see the stars, he can't do that if he's down here." He could tell that the Titan was considering what he was saying.

"But Percy needs to go see his friends..."

"No I d-"

"Little Prince, we need you up here. Please."

Oh so now the voice chose to come back. How dare it sound so urgent when it had just vanished for a good while.

The Doors loomed directly behind his back, pulsing faintly in the oppressive darkness. Percy’s heart felt like it was being squeezed, each beat slower, heavier, as if even it were questioning why it bothered to keep going. Behind him, the clash of Bob’s spear against an endless tide of monsters rang out like some cruel metronome, counting down the seconds he had left to decide.

He stood frozen, every muscle in his body taut, a bowstring pulled too tight. The weight of his sword felt unbearable, the bronze biting into his palm. His instincts screamed at him to move, to run, to fight, but his foot might as well have been encased in stone. It had to stay there.

"I can’t leave him." He muttered, "He is too good for this world. He never deserved this."

"Neither do you, Guppie."

The thought clanged against his skull, ricocheting over and over. But the longer he stood here, the quieter it grew, until another voice seeped in, softer, sharper, cutting him to ribbons. It was too calculated...

"Yes, you can. You’ve done it before. You always find a way to keep going, don’t you? Even if it means leaving someone else behind."

He winced, the thought like a slap across his face. It wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to leave Bob. But what was the alternative? Stay? Be swallowed whole by Tartarus, dragged into the void alongside the only ally he had left?

What would it matter? What was one more sacrifice to this endless pit of nightmares?

The others would move on. That was the truth no one wanted to say out loud, but Percy could feel it, deep in his bones. Sure, his dad would be upset. Apollo might care for a while—might even write a stupid song about him—but they’d all keep going. They had to. The world didn’t stop spinning for dead heroes. For dead monsters.

They’d mourn. Maybe even cry. But then they’d laugh again. Smile. Live.

The thought brought a bitter taste to his mouth, as if he’d swallowed seawater. Even seawater never taste this bitter to it. He could picture it so clearly—his friends and family back on the surface, rebuilding their lives, telling stories about him like he was some kind of legend. They’d talk about how reckless he’d been, how he’d faced Tartarus itself and lost.

But they wouldn’t know. Not really.

They wouldn’t know how much of this place had seeped into him, how every step he took felt heavier, his soul darker. They wouldn’t know how many times he’d thought about lying down and letting it end. They wouldn’t know how much he wanted—needed—to see them again. They wouldn't know just what he was willing to do to see them.

And that was the cruelest part. He wanted to go back. He wanted to see his dad again, standing tall and unshakable, even as his eyes betrayed the pride he couldn’t put into words. He wanted to hear Nico’s dry humor, Hazel’s quiet resolve, Frank’s laughter and Thalia's quick witted retorts. He wanted to hear Apollo tease him, that insufferable grin lighting up his face, a reminder that there was still beauty in the world even in its darkest moments.

But he didn’t deserve it.

That thought rooted itself deep, burrowing into his chest like a barbed arrow. What right did he have to go back when Bob was still here, fighting for his chance to escape? When so many others had sacrificed themselves for him?

Zoe. Luke. Beckendorf. So many names, so many faces. Each one a reminder that Percy Jackson wasn’t a hero. He was just someone who kept walking forward, no matter how many people he had to step over to do it.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the memories, but they came anyway. Zoe’s faint smile as she whispered about the stars. Luke’s face, calm and resolute as he made the choice Percy hadn’t been strong enough to make.

And now Bob, standing between him and the horde, asking for nothing but a chance to see the sky again.

Stars. It was always the stars.

The irony twisted in his gut like a knife. Bob wanted to see the stars, the same way Zoe had. The same way Percy had once stared up at the night sky, dreaming of a world beyond monsters and gods and impossible choices.

But there were no stars here. No sky. No hope.

If he stayed, Bob might have that chance. He could hold the line long enough for the Titan to escape, to see the world he’d been robbed of for so long. But if Percy stayed …

No. There was no “if.” Staying meant death. Tartarus wouldn’t let him go.

But leaving meant Bob would die. And for what? So Percy could go back to a world that would keep turning without him? A world where his absence might not even be felt?

The thought hollowed him out, left him cold and empty. He was sixteen years old. Sixteen. And here he was, standing in the bowels of the earth, trying to decide whether to live or die.

Percy should’ve been in a classroom right now, doodling in the margins of his history notes or passing a folded-up paper football across the desk to his best friend. He should’ve been stressing about his SATs, not survival; planning for prom, not plotting escape routes. Maybe he’d be sitting on the bleachers at a Friday night football game, pretending to care about the score while sneaking glances at his crush in the crowd. Or maybe he’d be walking home after school, earbuds in, the biggest problem in his life being how to explain to his mom why his grades weren’t exactly stellar. Normal worries. Normal life. Instead, he was here, in the deepest, darkest corner of the world, where nothing was normal and everything wanted to kill him. He wanted to go home.

It wasn't fair.

But then, nothing ever was.

The Doors pulsed again, brighter this time so he could see it even when not facing it, as if mocking him. Time was running out, but Percy still couldn’t move. He stared at the swarm of monsters, his throat tight, his mind racing.

"What do I do?"

There was a pause when no answer was given. Only the weight of his choices, pressing down on him like the sky once did two years ago.

"You come home. We need you here. Just come back Percy." He shook his head. "Jackson please! He needs y-"

"JUST SHUT UP!"

"Excuse you, disrespectful child! How dare you tell me to shut up!" Tartarus yelled from here he was clutching Bob, spear jutting out from his arm. He dropped the Titan in shock. "I have never met someone so rude, so a-"

"Oh no one cares you overgrown sulky sinkhole so just shut it!"

Now, Bob was staring at him with his mouth hanging open. Percy just ignored them, trying to work through his dilemma; the two looked at each other, shrugged and started fighting again.

An entire phalanx of Cyclopes charged forward, knocking smaller monsters out of the way. "It had to be Cyclopes," he grumbled, thinking about Tyson in a time when he shouldn't be.

Percy gave a battle cry. At the Cyclopes’ feet, a red vein in the ground burst open, spraying the monsters with liquid fire from the Phlegethon. The firewater might have healed mortals, but it didn’t do the Cyclopes any favours. They combusted in a tidal wave of heat. The burst vein sealed itself, but nothing remained of the monsters except a row of scorch marks.

He tried to catch Bob's eye, failing again as he brought his sword down on the head of a heavily tattooed ogre.

Percy stood in the doorway, waiting for the next wave. The exploding vein had given the monsters pause, but it wouldn’t be long before they remembered: Hey, wait, there’s seventy-five gazillion of us, and only one of him.

Percy could really use an idea right now, but nothing came up,

The Doors of Death stood right behind him – his exit from this nightmarish world. But he couldn’t use the Doors without someone manning the controls for twelve long minutes. If he stepped inside and let the Doors close without someone holding the button, Percy didn't think that the results would end with him being happy and healthy on the surface.

And if he stepped away from the Doors for any reason he imagined the elevator would close and disappear without him.

The situation was so pathetically sad it was almost funny. Almost.

The crowd of monsters inched forward, snarling and gathering their courage.

Meanwhile, Bob’s attacks were getting slower. Tartarus was learning to control his new body. Sabre-toothed Small Bob lunged at the god, but Tartarus smacked the cat sideways. The howl filled the air mixing with Bob's bellowing as he chagren in rage, but Tartarus grabbed his spear and wrenched it out of his hands. He kicked Bob downhill, knocking over a row of telkhines like sea-mammal bowling pins.

"Yield!" Tartarus thundered.

"Bob will not!" Bob said. "Bob will not listen, you are not my master!"

"Die in defiance, then," said the god of the pit. "You Titans are nothing to me. My children the giants were always better, stronger and more vicious. They will make the upper world as dark as my realm!"

Tartarus snapped the spear in half. Bob wailed in agony as if instead of a broom it was his arm that had been snapped like a twig. Sabre-toothed Small Bob leaped to his aid, snarling at Tartarus and baring his fangs. The Titan struggled to rise, but Percy knew it was over if he didn't step in. Even the monsters turned to watch, as if sensing that their master Tartarus was about to take the spotlight. The death of a Titan was worth seeing.

Percy turned to the doors, finally brave enough now that the monsters weren't piling on top of him. These doors would shut if he left, unless...

Riptide sparkled in his hand, as if the sword was thinking up the plan for him. He twirled it slightly in his wrist considering for a second before he shoved it into the door at the bottom, movie style and all, so that one side of the doors could not close at all. That left him with just enough room to turn, looking up at the being about to kill his friend.

"Percy, you can't. You can't fight him, no demigods can. Not even you."

He knew the voice was right. Tartarus was in a class by himself. He was more powerful than the gods or Titans. Demigods were nothing to him. If Percy charged to help Bob, he would get squashed like an ant. But Percy already knew he wouldn't listen, he couldn't leave Bob to die alone. He just couldn't, even after all he has done, leaving Bob felt like crossing one line that would have no return.

Percy took one step away from the door, listening to the creek of the doors attempting to close through riptide. He took another before he started running towards Tartarus, prepared to do something. He wanted to see this thing die, preferably now.

He was just about to run into the primordial when a ripple of alarm passed through the army. In the distance, Percy heard shrieks, screams and a persistent boom, boom, boom that was too fast to be the heartbeat in the ground – more like something large and heavy, running at full speed. An Earthborn spun into the air as if he’d been tossed. A plume of brightgreen gas billowed across the top of the monstrous horde like the spray from a poison riot hose. Everything in its path dissolved.

Across the swath of sizzling, newly empty ground, Percy saw the cause of the commotion. He started to cackle.

The Maeonian drakon spread its frilled collar and hissed, its poison breath filling the battlefield with the smell of pine and ginger. It shifted its hundred foot-long body, flicking its dappled green tail and wiping out a battalion of ogres. Riding on its back was a red-skinned giant with flowers in his rust-coloured braids, a jerkin of green leather and a drakon-rib lance in his hand.

"Damasen." Percy forced out through his manic laughter.

The giant inclined his head."Percy Jackson, I decided to suffer through your presence again. I decided to choose my own fate."

Well this could change everything.

Notes:

2907 words!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Favourite line???

Hope you guys enjoyed and are looking forward to what's happening next.

Chapter 28: I made it?

Notes:

Hi guys Happy New Year!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Welcome to 2025, wow that feels weird to type. It's been a crazy couple of years and it shocks me that 2020 was half a decade ago.

Anyway I'm just gonna say, prepare tissues and buckle up.

"What. Is. That." The sinkhole hissed, as if he had a faulty pipe that had been burst by Small Bob's sharp claws. "It looks like a spawn of mine yet this disgrace of a son cannot be related. What are you doing here?"

A quick glance towards Percy got the message across quickly: Scram. Right now.

But Percy didn't want to 'beat it' as he was so often told to do. He couldn't. He didn't even have riptide anymore, his trusty sword was currently keeping his only exit open, yet he still wanted to run straight into the battle. His friends would probably tell him he's being stupid, reckless, that he was trying to get himself killed. But how could he run when that meant he would be leaving behind everyone in this horrible place? How could he leave knowing that he had condemned his friends to a death worse than anything one could imagine?

He may be a monster but that line still felt too large, too deep to cross. It was a chasm of darkness that would permanently destroy who he was.

He turned towards Tartarus and watch as Damasen slowly walked towards the primordial, making eye contact with Bob who was still sprawled across the floor. The drakon that followed the giant started to stamp its feet and snarled, staring at every creature in its way with a deadly glare.

"Well father, did you not wish for a more worthy opponent? I thought you wanted to see someone that you spawned, not a pathetic Titan." Damasen asked, his voice not raising up to the challenge his father was offering. Ever the peacemaker. "After all, I am one of the giants you always talk so proudly of. You wished for me to be more vicious all my life, more like the god I was born to oppose. Well what's more vicious than destroying you!"

With one final glance towards Percy, Damasen straightened out his weapon and charged towards one of the oldest creatures EVER.

Thousands of monsters that had previously been focused on Percy swarmed towards the giant, but the drakon ran forward. His previous archenemy was helping Damasen as it destroyed anything in its path - it sprayed poison whilst Damasen jabbed his lance at Tartarus. A coordinated dance that forced the god to back up like a cornered cat; a cat that would lash out when threatened too much.

When cornered, animals would do anything to get out. Desperation was the true danger, more so then any anger. When someone felt they had nothing to lose, then they would do anything to survive. It was a lesson hard learned, but he did learn.

The streets of Manhattan weren’t kind to kids like Percy - kids that were too small, too innocent, too naive. Innocence wasn't something someone could afford when living in the shadow of all the people he went to school with. Even before he knew who his father was, who he was, the city always seemed like it was out to get him—like the sidewalk cracks were waiting to trip him up, the streetlights were always one flicker away from plunging him into darkness, and every stranger had eyes that lingered just a little too long.

That darkness was laughable in comparison to what he was experiencing now. But those eyes...

He was only seven when it happened.

It had been one of those nights where home wasn’t safe anymore. Gabe had been in a mood, and Percy had known better than to stick around to see how far that mood would go. Mom had tried to stop him as he bolted for the door, her hand on his wrist and her voice trembling with worry, but he’d shaken her off and run into the cool night air, the smell of hot garbage and car exhaust filling his lungs.

His mom didn't understand, she wasn't home enough to really understand that outside was better then whatever was in store for him in that apartment.

The city was quieter at night, but not quiet enough. Cars honked in the distance. A couple of teenagers shouted at each other from across the street. Somewhere, a cat hissed and knocked over a trash can. And a couple of streets down something banged and left young Percy wondering whether it was just a car backfiring or something worse.

Percy had kept walking, pulling his too-thin jacket tighter around him. He didn’t have a destination. Just... away. Anywhere but home.

He’d wandered for hours, his stomach growling and his legs aching, until he found himself in a part of the city he didn’t recognize. The buildings were older here, their windows boarded up or smashed. The streetlights were few and far between, casting long shadows that moved like living things.

That was when he’d heard the voice.

"Hey, kid."

Percy had turned to see a man leaning against a lamppost. His clothes were shabby, his eyes sunken, but there was a sharpness to his smile that made Percy’s skin crawl.

"What’re you doing out here all alone? Not safe for a kid like you."

Percy had frozen, every instinct in his body screaming at him to run. But where? He didn’t even know where he was.

The man had stepped closer, his smile widening. "Don’t be scared. I just wanna help."

And that was when Percy had bolted.

He hadn’t gotten far. The man was faster than he looked, his hand closing around Percy’s arm like an iron clamp. Percy had kicked and struggled, shouting for help, but no one came. No one ever came.

"Let me go!" Percy had yelled, his voice cracking. "I’ll—I’ll—"

He hadn’t known what he’d do. He was seven. What could he do?

A knife was on his neck before he had a clue what was going on and his back smashed against the wall. It hurt. Badly.

Tears filled his eyes, and he wasn’t sure whether they were from pain or fear. He didn’t want to die—not now, not ever. Death scared him.

It wasn’t the kind of fear he could run from, like a bully chasing him down the street, or something he could fight, like the monsters that had started creeping into his life. It was bigger than that—unrelenting and impossible to escape. No matter how fast he ran or how hard he swung, death would always be waiting, just out of sight.

The thought made his chest feel too tight, like the air itself was pressing in. What if it hurt? What if it was dark, empty? What if he just... stopped?

For a second, he imagined his mom waking up to an empty apartment, waiting for a knock on the door that would never come. The thought was worse than the fear of dying itself—leaving her behind, alone, with no explanation. He didn’t want to be a memory. He didn’t want to be a name someone said in a hushed voice because it was too painful to say out loud.

He clenched his fists against the ground, nails biting into his palms. Not yet. Not like this. He wasn’t ready to be gone, to become a nothingness that no one could touch or hear or see. He wanted to laugh again, to eat blue pancakes in the morning, to feel the sun on his face and the salt in his hair. He wanted more. He wanted to live. Not just survive but truly live.

The tears came faster, stinging against his flushed cheeks, but he didn’t bother to wipe them away. Death scared him, but the thought of not fighting for the life he still had scared him more.

"What's a pretty boy like you doing out here?" The man spat, digging the knife deeper into his neck. "Do you work with Jay? I didn't know he had runners this young."

"Who's Jay dude?" Percy yelled, trying to appear as if he was confidant. His high voice did not help.

"Quit it kid! I'm not pla-"

The air shifted—sharp and cold, with the tang of salt and brine. It was subtle at first, like the faintest whisper of the sea carried on the breeze. Then it grew, swelling into a powerful presence that seemed to fill the alley.

The man froze, his sneer faltering. “What the—”

“Leave the boy,” a voice commanded, deep and calm, yet laced with undeniable authority.

Percy turned his head, and his breath caught.

A man stood at the entrance of the alley, tall and broad-shouldered, with an air of quiet power that seemed to ripple around him like waves. He was dressed simply—dark jeans, a sea-green sweater, and a long coat that billowed slightly despite the still air. His hair was salt-and-pepper, slicked back like he’d just stepped off a boat, and his beard was neatly trimmed. But it was his eyes that held Percy’s attention—stormy and endless, like the ocean itself.

“Who the hell are you?” the man in the alley growled, though he took a wary step back.

The newcomer didn’t answer. Instead, he took a single step forward, and the puddles on the ground seemed to ripple in response.

“Last warning,” the stranger said, his voice low and steady. “Leave.”

The man in the alley hesitated, his bravado faltering under the weight of that gaze. He muttered something under his breath, then turned and bolted, disappearing into the shadows.

Percy didn’t move. His legs still felt like jelly, his mind racing to catch up with what had just happened.

The stranger approached slowly, his steps purposeful but unthreatening. When he reached Percy, he crouched slightly, meeting his eyes.

“You’re safe now,” he said, his voice softer, almost gentle.

Percy couldn’t speak. He stared at the man, trying to make sense of it all. Who was he? How had he done... whatever that was?

“Be careful,” the man continued. His stormy eyes seemed to pierce right through Percy, filled with something Percy couldn’t name. “The world isn’t always kind to those like you.”

“Like me?” Percy finally managed to croak.

The man smiled faintly, a bittersweet curve of his lips, and placed a hand briefly on Percy’s shoulder. It was warm and reassuring, but there was something vast in it, like the touch of a wave pulling you into the tide.

“You’ll understand one day,” the man said. He stood, his coat swirling around him as started walking, dragging Percy with him.

“Wait!” Percy asked, his voice shaky. “Who are you?”

For a moment, Percy thought he saw the faintest glimmer of sea-green light in his eyes.

"Come on, I'll walk you home."

He didn't ask why the man knew where he lived. He didn't care. He felt safe as the man brought him up to his door, knocking once. It was only then he remembered why he ran in the first place - who he ran from. He cowered behind the man waiting until his mom opened the door in a hurry, her face paled with worry.

"Wh-"

"Mom!"

Percy ran from behind and straight into her arms. She didn't hesitate, she only pulled him into a hug holding him so tightly he thought he might break. But that was fine with him.

"Thank you." His mom whispered at the man, not letting go of Percy for a second. "For answering."

The man stared at her for a second before nodding once. "Always Sally."

By the time Percy was released from his mom's hold the strange man was gone. Percy never knew who he was or had properly thanked him but he knew he owed that man his life.

That night, Percy had lain awake in his bed, staring at the cracked ceiling and trying to make sense of what had happened. The man. The feeling that the city itself had come to his rescue. The fact that Gabe had passed out early was another blessing he could only be grateful for.

That was the night Percy Jackson realized he didn’t belong in the normal world.

Now, in Tartarus, Percy thought of that moment—the way he’d felt so small and powerless, so sure that no one would care if he disappeared forever.

He thought about the man’s words. Not safe for a kid like you.

Tartarus wasn’t safe either. For anyone, but especially for a kid like him. And yet here he was. Sixteen years old, standing in a literal hellscape, fighting monsters and gods and his own guilt.

But was he really any different now than he’d been back then? Still running. Still scared. Still convinced that no one would miss him if he disappeared.

The difference, maybe, was that now he had people waiting for him. People who cared. His mom. His dad. Grover. Nico. Thalia. Apollo.

He swallowed hard, the memory of Apollo’s laugh flashing through his mind. The way the sun god had looked at him, like he was something more than just a kid who kept messing up.

Maybe Percy didn’t deserve that kind of faith. But gods, he wanted to.

So he kept moving, one foot in front of the other, because he’d learned something that night on the streets of Manhattan. When the world seemed like it was out to get you, when every shadow felt like it was closing in—you didn’t stop.

You ran. You fought. You survived.

And maybe, just maybe, you found your way back home.

Percy shook his head, getting back to the moment.

He watched as Bob stumbled up and away from the battle, Small Bob growling at any monsters approaching. Percy tried to give as much cover as he could, forcing the blood vessels across the ground to burst one after another. A couple of the monsters were vaporized by the water that had scorched his throat as he drunk it, others got a shower of misery as they collapsed in tears. A few even got Iapetus treatment, doused by Percy with liquid Lethe so that they no longer remembered who they were.

Bob limped towards where Percy was still standing, close to the entrance of the Doors. Golden ichor flowed down his body, from wounds across his arms and chest, as he looked at Percy. Not only was his clothes hanging in tatters but he was hunched over as if he was in more pain then just the wounds on his body. The only link Percy could make was from when Tartarus broke his spear, his broom, something had broken inside him. The life that Bob had lived since he became Bob and before he came down here to save Percy was gone. Broken by this place himself. Despite all of it, he still grinned, silver eyes bright with determination in an eerily childish way.

All Percy could see was Tyson.

"Go!" He ordered. "B-I will wait on the button."

Percy stared, perplexed at what Bob was offering to do. "Bob, you can't ! We discussed this, you need to go see the stars. And you're in no condition to -"

"Perseus..."

"I can't just leave him! I can't leave my friend!"

"You must... Friend." Bob shoved Percy closer to the Doors, almost knocking him over in the process. "I can still press a simple button Jackson, my arms not cut off. But I have a request."

"Anything."

"Take Small Bob. I- He's been a good cat this entire time, he deserves to see the stars even if I can't. He can see the sun and the grass when I can't." The Titan swooped down, picked up the sabre-toothed tiger and placed him into Percy's arm where the cat shrunk into a small kitten. "Besides even I can't prevent destiny. It is your fate to return to the world and put an end to what Gaia plans."

A Cyclops died screaming behind them as it sizzled like a sausage from one of the burst blisters. The drakon trampled through the army, stomping on anything like they were ants. Damasen had mounted it at some point and was using the Maenonian as a jousting horse as he jabbed at the god of the sinkhole pit. Taunting he primordial further and further away from the Doors.

Tartarus chose to lumber after him, his stomps making craters across the ground at causing mini earthquakes. "You cannot kill me! No one can kill me!" He bellowed. "I am the pit you reside in now. You can't kill me the same way you can't kill the earth, it's a fruitless effort. We are eternal and we decide your fate. You bow to me!" His fist came crashing down but with a simple sidestep, Damasen impaled his Javelin straight into Tartarus's rotting brain.

Ichor fell from his head but the only expression was annoyance. He wasn't hurt after getting a fricking lance in the brain, maybe he didn't have brain in the first place? He turned his swirling vortex of a face directly towards the giant but he was too slow. The only thing sucked in was a dozen of the monsters from his army where they were disintegrated.

All of this was going on in the background as Percy's entire world was ending. Those monsters just remind Percy of Bob's fate. He turned his pleading eyes onto Bob, "Bob please! He'll destroy you forever. That's it. No regeneration. No coming back. Nothing. You're dead. Is that what you want?"

Bob simply shrugged. "Who actually knows what will happen? Who's been destroyed by Tartarus before? All I know is that you need to go. I promised them you would get out. We can't defeat him but I can buy you time."

The Doors creaked against Riptide and Bob shoved Percy into them. Crouching down so that his hand was on his sword and one on the door. Small Bob was safely in Percy's arms staring at his owner with a resigned expression.

"I can't give myself a better life. I can't give you everything. But twelve minutes?" Bob shook his head. "I can give you twelve minutes. Twelve minutes for my friend, the hero Percy."

Percy wanted to cry. But now when he really was allowed to cry, he couldn't bring anything up. "You and Damasen are heroes not me. And the fates will let you regenerate, they have to. Until then I won't let anyone forget you."

Bob smiled, his eyes crinkling slightly as a tiny bit of his old posture returned. He ruffled his hair a bit, leaned down to stroke Small Bob and took a stronger hold of Riptide. "I'm glad. My friend will make sure I'm remembered. Will you say hello to the stars and sun for me?" Percy nodded as his throat constricted choking him. "Be strong, friend. I doubt this is the first sacrifice you've made, and I doubt this is your last either."

The Titan used one hand to open the Doors slightly more, pushed Riptide into the elevator car with him and let go. Slowly backing up with a sad face. Percy could see the drakon using an ogre as his own chew toy, Damasen only a few steps away as he jabbed at Tartarus's legs.

He saw the primordial raise his head, locking eyes with Percy. The demigod couldn't hear the words yelled by him but he knew they were similar to: Stop them!

He looked at Bob, who smiled. "Hold those Doors tightly closed on your side. They will resist your passage." Percy couldn't speak as Bob started walking back even more, a small wave of goodbye as the panels slid shut.

He didn't have time to think, he just shoved his body against the door on one side. It didn't work. There wasn't a single handle in sight, nothing to hold on to. He couldn't hold onto both sides at the same time.

"Little Prince, rip off a section of your shirt." He followed the instructions. "Tie Riptide to it and use that sticky thing from the ground that you are caked in as a makeshift glue. Attach it the Doors and pull with one hand and push the other with the other."

He had no choice not to comply if he didn't hold them together then the shaking and attempts at opening the Door was doing would throw him into whatever lay between life and death. In the area of nothingness.

His shoulders ached and the elevator's music did not help. Maybe Apollo had written it, Percy would have to ask Apollo to change it. He felt for the monsters that had come up this elevator before him, the fact that they had to listen to this monotonous 'do-do-do, dodododo' would explain why they were in the mood to kill someone when they reached the mortal world.

Percy couldn't relax though. He had left Bob behind. He had left Damasen behind. He was alive. He was alive and they were dead and he didn't even look back. He couldn't even cry. He was numb. He couldn't feel but he felt too much and everything was trapped within his body. He could feel him start to hiccup, his panic starting but even then no tears came. He had just left them.

He was half glad he had a job to do. It kept his mind focused, or as focused as it could be with his Adhd. The terror also stopped anymore misery from seeping in.

But it didn't help.

Abandoning Damasen and Bob had been the worst choice he had ever had to make. In the end he didn't even make the choice, but deep down he knew he could have fought harder. But he knew that deep down he wanted to live. Gods he always just wanted to live. Unlike his friends he had never fought for glory or recognition, never for the victory of winning, only for his life. Or his friends life.

He always thought he had lost that fear of death from when he was seven. Always thought that it had disappeared when he learnt that there was no point worrying over things he can't control. But it never had. He was still deathly afraid of death, still afraid of losing everything to the darkness and simply staying in the underworld for the rest of his life. He just thought he deserved that fear. Everytime he took a suicidal move, or faced death in combat he knew that he could die and he still took that risk as he felt he deserved the pounding in his heart and head.

Percy wanted to get angry, he wanted to scream and yell and kill. He wanted someone to pay for what happened, he wanted to rip apart Gaia with his bare hands and these thoughts scared him. He felt too angry, too wild and at the same time too numb. He couldn't do anything but wait knowing that Bob's words were more true then anything he had been told in years. This would not be the last sacrifice he would have to make, he knew that deep down in him. But he couldn't do anything but live through the next twelve minutes.

He hoped that, despite the lack of probability, Bob could hold that stupid UP button for a whole twelve minutes. Who on earth came up with the idea for a whole twelve minutes? He hoped that his friends were controlling the other side, he hoped that Apollo would still want to meet him after all of this. He hoped a lot of things.

But he held the Doors shut as he ascended slowly, music playing in the background. Small Bob lay in a corner and Percy was sure he could see a couple of tears pouring from the now tiny cat's eyes. He held the Doors as somewhere below a Titan and a giant sacrificed their lives for Percy. He held the Doors as his breathing picked up as he started choking.

He held the Doors and waited. For twelve minutes.

Notes:

4004 words!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Favourite line???

Did anyone cry??? Did anyone sob??? Did anyone absolutely sit there cackling??? Let me know pretty please!!!!!!!!!!!!
It was the grand reveal and I really wanted people to like this after everything we've gone through together for a whole 6 months!!!!!!

Hope you guys enjoyed and please give me any ideas for everyone's reaction to seeing Percy!!!!!!!!!!!

Chapter 29: I'm dying aren't I?

Notes:

Hi guys sorry for the delay in the next chapter!!!!!!!! I'm back at school now and was trying to sort everything out and get back into a routine so I did miss last week's update but I did do extra during the holidays so I hope that made up for it.

Thank you all for the amazing comments I have received, I am slowly getting round to responding to all of them don't worry!!!!!!

Anyway this one is just Percy being a mess, enjoy!!!!!!!!

Twelve whole minutes felt like an eternity. It was as if time had slowed, the elevator jolted slightly as if it was in slow-mo, the doors strained at his arms for what felt like hours and still he kept going up. But if time had slowed, then his breathing had obviously lost the memo in the post.

Percy’s breath caught in his throat as he struggled to open his eyes. He couldn't' even remember shutting them but now it felt like a they had been cemented down. For a split second, he thought the movement might ground him, that the brief shift would pull him out of whatever this was. But it didn’t. If anything, it made everything worse. His heart, already pounding too fast, lurched violently in his chest. His legs trembled, and his grip on the Doors slipped for a fraction of a second before he clamped his hands back down, his fingers cramping around the edges of the metal.

Percy's chest rattled with each breath, gasping for the limited amount of oxygen still left in the space. It didn't help. Nothing ever helped. No matter how quickly he gasped, the constricting snake wound tighter and tighter against his lungs. Bones ground together as they were crushed under the sheer weight of the monster currently in him. He was the monster.

He was his own monster and everyone else's and there was nothing he could do about it. Everyone would see that in twelve minutes. Everyone would see who he truly was.

He tried to tell himself it was almost over. Twelve minute. No, it had to be less than that. Six minutes, it couldn't be much longer then that by now right? But the thought didn’t bring relief. Instead, it made his chest tighten further, panic swelling like a tidal wave. He couldn’t breathe. His lungs refused to cooperate, each gasp shallow and broken, like trying to suck air through a straw. His head spun, dizziness crashing into him in nauseating waves, and the heat in the elevator felt unbearable, sticky and suffocating.

Why couldn't he breathe?

He needed to breathe. Why wasn't his body listening to him? The air was airing inside his lungs, it wasn't filling him with the relief he needed. There was no expansion, no clear inhale and exhale. Everything was too thin, too thick, too heavy but too light. It was scratching his lungs, it was killing him from the inside. Why were his lungs on fire?

"Jac- Seashell, I need you to breathe with me."

How could anyone expect him to breathe through the fire in his lungs, through the smoke now filling his throat. He was burning from the inside out and they expected him to breathe?

He now knew what drowning felt like. Percy could now understand the fear people had of their lungs being slowly filled up from the inside as less and less air is given space to keep them alive. It wasn’t suffocating silence like he had once imagined—it was chaos, raw and unrelenting. The panic that fueled the fire ignited in his chest roared with joy, letting the fire spread uncontrollably. It consumed every rational thought, every atom of hope, nothing was safe. It felt like the air had been ripped from his lungs, leaving behind nothing but a cold, heavy pressure that crushed him from all sides. His instincts screamed at him to breathe, to claw for something solid, but there was nothing to grasp—nothing but the suffocating weight bearing down on him, unyielding and merciless.

Drowning wasn't the quiet death he'd occasionally longed to be able to do. It wasn’t quiet at all. His pulse thundered in his ears, louder than any external noise, drowning out whatever world was left around him. His chest ached, an unbearable burn as if his lungs were being ripped apart from the inside, filled with fire and ice all at once. His body felt trapped, sluggish and unresponsive, as if he were moving through water, every twitch of his muscles resisted by some invisible, oppressive force. His chest was filling up, he could feel water rushing in and for once there was no relief. Only terror.

His chest tightened further, the liquid? fire? thing invading every corner, icy and suffocating, until the edges of his vision blurred, his thoughts fracturing into pieces. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t escape. And the overwhelming truth settled like a weight in his chest: there was no way out.

The music overhead was warped and tinny, notes twisting together into an unholy cacophony that drilled into his skull. How could music being playing at a time like this? He wanted to scream, to claw at the walls, to tear the Doors open and hurl himself back into the pit just to make it all stop. He wanted it to end. He wanted it all to end. His vision blurred, and he blinked furiously, but the tears kept coming, hot and unrelenting, streaking his face and soaking into the collar of his shirt. He wasn’t crying. He wasn’t.

It was his fault. Everything was always his fault. If he hadn't fallen in the pit, Bob would be alive... If he hadn't opened his mouth then maybe Apollo might have thought he was worth saving. If he hadn't been born then none of this would have ever happened. So he had no right to cry. He had no right to let his fears spill out through his eyes, hoping that someone might take pity on him for once. He didn't need pity. He didn't deserve pity, he deserve to be here...

And the stupid music just reminded him of everything he wasn't. Everything he would never be enough for.

"Guppie I can hear you thinking from here. And it's terrible, please stop thinking like that, you just need to-"

“Get it together,” he tried to mutter but there was no air to forms the words. Either way the words didn’t stick. They floated away, useless, drowned out by the roaring in his head. He tried to steady himself, to focus on something—anything—but the only thing he could focus on was the knowledge that the elevator was still moving, that he was still trapped, that he couldn’t stop what was coming next.

"Johns-"

"Jackson... Seashell, I need you to... Can you hear... Pain?" It was as if the voice had reached a no service area, it kept cutting out. Good, Percy was glad it was gone. It had been too annoying...

But whilst he couldn't hear pain, he could feel it.

His arms ached from holding the Doors shut, his muscles burning like fire. His hands were slick with sweat, slipping slightly against the metal no matter how hard he tried to keep his grip. He couldn’t let go. He couldn’t. The thought of the Doors flying open, of the monsters breaking through, made his stomach churn violently. He squeezed his eyes shut, but that only made it worse. The images in his mind came rushing back—Bob and Damasen surrounded, the pit stretching endlessly below him, the faces of every friend he’d ever failed, every monster he’d ever fought. It was too much. Too loud. Too bright.

He felt the walls of the elevator pressing in on him, shrinking tighter and tighter until there was no pocket of air left to breathe through. They had completely smothered his life force. His knees buckled, and he barely caught himself before collapsing completely. His legs gave out, and he sank to the floor, his back pressed against the cold steel wall, his arms still locked around the Doors. He couldn’t hold on much longer. He couldn’t do this.

He couldn't breathe still. Why couldn't he breathe? Why couldn't he be at home. That's all he wants, to go home. He wants to go home. He wants his-

The roaring in his ears grew louder, drowning out everything else. He couldn't think. His chest felt like it was going to implode, the crushing weight making it impossible for his heart to beat. He tried to force himself to calm down, to think of something, anything, that could pull him out of this spiral. But his thoughts wouldn’t line up. They scattered like broken glass, sharp and painful, cutting him open every time he tried to pick up the pieces.

He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t strong enough. He wasn’t brave enough. He wasn’t enough. The thought hit him like a physical blow, knocking a rib straight out through his skin. There was no blood. Even that had given up on him. His whole body shook now, tremors running through him like aftershocks. His fingers dug into the metal of the Doors, his nails scraping uselessly against the surface. He wanted to let go. He wanted to give up. But it didn't matter what he wanted. He was irrelevant, worthless. Nothing about him matter when-

The elevator dinged.

The doors did not open.

Notes:

1499 words!!!!!!!!!

Favourite line???

Sorry for the shorter chapter but it's sort of a filla before the next one which will be from Apollo's pov so get your ideas in now!!!!!!!

Anyway we have passed 60000 hits and I'm flabbergasted (which is just such a fun word to write!!!) so thankyou to everyone who has given this story a chance, it honestly means so much to me!!!!!!

I hope you enjoyed!!!!!!!

Chapter 30: Oh gods

Notes:

Hi guys sorry for such a long wait for the update, its been a rough couple of weeks. I've been struggling to get back into my routine, I had a full week of dance competitions, my favourite dance teacher left and I unfortunately found out that someone I used to be close with but hadn't talked to for a couple of years had died. Maybe I'm getting the author curse.

Anyway we seem to have a lot of new people so a reminder I update every tuesday or wednesday (unless i have more time)!!!!!

Also I would buckle up for this one!!!!!!!

Apollo sat in his golden throne, the weight of centuries pressing down on his chest, suffocating him with an intensity he could not shake. He could not breathe, he was being crushed under his own sorrows. The once majestic and unshakable god of the sun, who had radiated respect and confidence in every crevice of the world, now found himself trapped in a shadow. His fingers rested lightly against the carved armrest, but there was no strength in them anymore. He did not feel the pulse of power that once flowed so effortlessly through his divine limbs, the power that used to sing in his veins. A fire itching to burn something.

He now felt nothing in his fingertips.

Instead, they felt stiff, numb—as though the very essence of life had drained from him, leaving him a hollow vessel. His mind was miles away, far from the cold splendor of his golden palace. It was lost in the empty, hollow void where Percy Jackson once stood. That space in his heart—once so full of warmth and admiration for the young demigod—now felt like a gaping wound, an endless chasm that could never be filled again. The love, the pride, the joy he had felt in Percy’s presence were gone, leaving only a sharp, unrelenting ache.

It could not be filled, not now, not ever.

Around him, the grandeur of his palace seemed to echo the emptiness inside. The walls, which had once gleamed with the divine glow of Apollo’s sun, now appeared dull and lifeless. The light that once streamed in through the high windows was weak and faded, as if even the sun itself had grown tired and reluctant to shine. The gilded columns, which had stood with unrivaled elegance and strength, now felt as though they were sagging, worn down by the passage of time, reflecting Apollo’s own weariness. Every corner of the room, once alive with warmth and energy, now felt cold and lifeless, as though the very air had become stale with the weight of grief and loss. His throne room, the heart of his divine domain, once a place of grandeur and brilliance, now felt more like a tomb—silent, suffocating, and empty.

The soft hum of divine power that had once vibrated through the air was now absent. It had been replaced by an oppressive stillness, a quiet that clung to everything and made the space feel even more suffocating. Apollo’s eyes wandered to the grand tapestries hanging along the walls, their once vibrant colors now muted and faded. They depicted scenes of glory—his chariot racing across the sky, bringing light to the world, bringing life. But now those images seemed like faded memories, like a distant past he could no longer touch. Each intricate detail of the tapestries reminded him of what was lost, of the hero who had once stood at his side, of the laughter and companionship that had filled the air. But now there was nothing—only silence, and an unbearable emptiness that pressed in from all sides.

Apollo's breath hitched slightly, and he felt a pang of longing for what once was. He missed the feeling of purpose, of direction, of being a god who brought warmth and light to the world. He missed the sound of Percy's voice, full of fire and determination, the way the demigod’s energy had filled the room like sunlight streaming through the clouds. He had been Apollo’s chosen, his pride and joy, and now... now there was only this crushing loneliness.

The throne, once a symbol of divine power, now felt like an unrelenting weight. It no longer offered comfort; it only reminded him of the endless passage of time, of the relentless march of eternity that had stripped him of so much.

For what good was eternity when he couldn't spend it with Percy? What was the use of all his power if he couldn't save his loved ones?

And as he sat there, looking out at the still, empty room, Apollo couldn’t shake the feeling that his palace, too, was mourning. Mourning for Percy. Mourning for the life that could have been. And for Apollo himself—mourning the loss of something irreplaceable.

In moments of quiet reflection, Apollo always thought he would get used to the pain of absence. But he never did. The emptiness Percy left behind was unbearable, worse than any wound Apollo had ever sustained. And unlike a physical wound, it wasn’t something that could be healed with his essence.

Silence. That was the worst of it. Even the constant music that swirled through the air—the sacred, soothing melodies of the gods—had ceased. Apollo could hear only the echo of his own fake, false heartbeat, a reminder of his isolation, his failure, his lack of humanity. It was as if the very essence of him, once full of life, had gone still. The music had always been his constant companion. And yet now, it felt as though even his music had abandoned him.

He reached out, his fingers brushing the delicate strings of his lyre, but his heart wasn’t in it. He wanted to play. He wanted to pour his sorrow into a melody, to create something beautiful in the midst of his pain. But when he touched the strings, the sound that echoed back to him was flat and hollow, the music devoid of meaning. The vibrations felt off, as though the strings themselves had become too heavy with grief to sing.

Apollo took his hand off the instrument and stared at it, a bitter smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Music had always been his refuge, his way to heal himself when the weight of eternity felt too much to bear. And yet, here he was—empty, with nothing left to give. There would be no sea shanty today.

His fingers twitched, restless. He could play again, could summon the music to fill the silence, but the thought of it made him sick. Music was supposed to heal, to uplift, to light the way through darkness. But the void where Percy had been was too vast, too consuming. No song could reach it. It was a wound that no note could patch, a sorrow so deep it spread through the very fabric of Apollo’s being.

The words echoed in his mind again—I love you.

He had heard them just before (as?) Percy fell into Tartarus. He hadn’t understood at first, the weight of those words, the intensity behind them. It had hit him like a lightning bolt, sharp and sudden. He could still feel the heat of them, burning into his very soul. A cry for help. A prayer to the stars. A plea from someone who, despite the heroism that defined him, had felt so small, so fragile.

Apollo had never realized how deeply he had come to care for Percy Jackson. How the boy had wormed his way into his heart, making a mockery of Apollo’s usual flirty detachment. But now it was too late. Percy had fallen, and Apollo had been left with nothing but the silence of his absence.

Apollo had tried—oh, how he had tried. He’d gone to Olympus, demanded they let him go after him. But his family—his fellow gods—had been bound in their decisions by the fates; it was not his duty to meddle with prophecies. As if he wanted to meddle with the prophecy, he just wanted Percy safe. Yet they were all like: "It's meddling with mortal affairs." "A god being lost to Tartarus is too disruptive." As though he could be lost, as though he could matter less than Percy, who had always been so much more than any god had ever allowed him to be.

The fates had failed him. Just like the world had failed Percy.

Apollo’s gaze drifted to the empty space in the room, and for a fleeting moment, he thought he saw Percy standing there, a faint silhouette in the dim light. His heart skipped, but the vision was gone just as quickly. Apollo’s stomach twisted, the weight of his helplessness sinking deeper with each passing second.

A part of him—small and selfish—resented Percy for making him care. Why had the boy wormed his way under his skin? He was a mortal. A hero, yes, but still a mortal. It shouldn’t have mattered. But it did.

And that, Apollo realized, was what terrified him most.

He sat still for a long moment, the room silent but for the rustle of his own thoughts. What had Percy been thinking in those final moments? What had pushed him to leap into the depths of Tartarus to save his friends, to put himself in harm’s way, knowing the risks? Was it fate? Or had Percy’s courage simply led him into a situation he could no longer escape?

And Apollo—what had he done? Nothing. He had watched, helpless, as Percy, the boy who had changed everything, had vanished into the abyss.

Apollo’s gaze shifted to the empty space in front of him again. He could almost hear Percy’s voice, soft and steady, as if the boy were still there, standing just out of reach. But the longer he thought about it, the more impossible the idea seemed. The world had continued to turn, even as Apollo had felt time stand still.

He stood abruptly, pacing across the cold stone floor. He needed to do something. Anything. He needed to take action, to fight, to save Percy from the horrors of Tartarus.

But there was nothing.

There was no lead, no way to reach him. No way to undo what had been done.

Apollo could feel it now. That crushing sense of inevitability. That sense of helplessness that had been gnawing at him for what felt like an eternity.

“It's too bright in here, Polly.”

The voice broke through his thoughts, sharp and cold, warm and soft, a familiar edge that always made him tense. He turned, already knowing who it would be. That voice only came out when they were alone. His sister, Artemis, standing in the doorway, bathed in the soft, silver glow of the moonlight that she wore like a cloak. Her arms were crossed, and her eyes—those piercing silver eyes—were scanning him, as though evaluating him like some stray animal she had decided to study.

He groaned. “Let me guess. You’re here to lecture me.”

Artemis didn’t even flinch. “Lecture? No,” she said, her tone dripping with her usual brand of dry humor. “Mock you? Possibly.”

Apollo scowled and resumed his pacing. “I’m not in the mood, Artemis.”

“You’re sulking,” she said bluntly.

“I’m grieving,” Apollo corrected sharply.

“You’re brooding,” she shot back.

“I’m processing,” he replied with a huff.

“You look miserable,” Artemis observed, her voice flat and matter-of-fact.

“I am miserable!” Apollo snapped, throwing his hands up in frustration. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Artemis took a few steps forward, tilting her head as she regarded him. There was something different in her eyes, something soft beneath the usual steeliness. It was an unsettling look for Apollo, one that made him pause mid-pacing. She was looking at him now, truly looking, and it made him feel exposed, as though his vulnerabilities were laid bare in a way he didn’t know how to handle. He didn't want to see them.

“He’s not dead,” Artemis said quietly, her voice somehow both a reassurance and a warning.

Apollo shook his head, the pain in his chest blooming once more. “You don’t know that.”

“He’s not dead,” Artemis repeated, her tone firmer now, though her eyes softened ever so slightly. “You underestimate him.”

Apollo stopped, his breath hitching. “Oh, Artemis. That’s where you’re wrong.” His voice was tight with emotion. “You think I don’t know him? He’s down there, in Tartarus—alone—and we’ve failed him. I failed him.”

There was no hiding from the truth anymore. The guilt clawed at him from every corner, dragging him down. The words, so simple, so inevitable, had never felt so heavy.

Artemis’s gaze flickered, a fleeting moment of uncertainty passing through her silver eyes. She stepped closer, her tone quiet and measured. “You think him weak?”

“No,” Apollo whispered, his voice barely audible. “I think he’s tired. I think he’s breaking. And no one saw it until it was too late. Until he jumped.” His voice cracked on the last word, and the tears that he had been holding back began to sting at the corners of his eyes.

“Damn him,” Apollo muttered under his breath, the words of anger mingling with his grief. He wiped at his face impatiently, but the tears kept coming.

Artemis didn’t speak for a long moment, her expression unreadable. The silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Her presence was a cold comfort—distant, yet close enough to remind him that she was there. "No, I will not damn him..." His tears kept running, and she suddenly stepped up to the taller one and wrapped her arms around him. "How many times have we had this conversation Polly? We had it in that city, at camp, in Olympus... Percy is too good for this world, he's better than all of us. He won't die, he won't let himself die when he is needed up here. When others need him. "

Apollo let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow and bitter. “We all should’ve noticed. But we were too busy treating him like a hero. We never saw the boy underneath.” He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes raw with pain. “He was so tired, Artemis. And we never saw it.”

The words hung in the air, the weight of his regret pressing down on him.

Artemis moved so that her arms were even tighter around him, her head rested on his shoulder. "I know, you've mentioned Polly." She muttered, then they didn't say anything for a long time, but when she spoke again, her voice was barely above a whisper. “You know, I think you love him. More than you ever realized. More than Hycanthithus, Dio agrees as well.”

Apollo’s heart skipped. “I... I did.” The words were simple but hard to say. He looked at Artemis, finally meeting her gaze. “I think he might have been the one person I could never protect. Not with all my power. And I didn’t even see it until it was too late.”

"You do... not did. He's alive." Artemis gave a small nod of confirmation to herself, though it seemed like she, too, had been carrying a weight of her own. The silence stretched on, but it no longer felt quite so oppressive.

And for the first time in a long while, Apollo felt his sister’s presence against him, not just as a fellow god, but as someone who truly understood him. As family. She wasn’t here to lecture him. She wasn’t here to push him. She was simply here, as his sibling, to share in the pain, in the loss, in the regret. She was here to stand in the silence with him.

Even if that silence never truly went away.

She was the cooling shadows in the blistering heat, she would provide comfort until his moon came home. In life or in death.

Her posture shifted, and Apollo could feel the subtle shift in her energy, the way the air around them seemed to tense, as though it too had become aware of something. Artemis’s posture changed—her shoulders tensing slightly, her chin lifting as if she were listening to a far-off sound. Apollo’s heart quickened, and without meaning to, he held his breath. He knew this shift in his sister well. Artemis was listening. She was attuned to something far beyond his reach, beyond the bounds of his sun-drenched palace.

Her brow furrowed, and Apollo could see the focus in her eyes. She was hearing something—something that tugged at her very essence. A prayer. He knew it instantly. Gods didn’t need words to communicate, not truly. They could sense one another across vast distances, as if the thoughts, feelings, and desires of mortals reached them on invisible threads that crossed the realms. But this wasn’t just any prayer. No, this was different. This was urgent. She pulled out of the hug.

"A prayer?" Apollo asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if speaking any louder might shatter the fragile stillness that had settled over them.

Artemis nodded, her gaze distant, her lips moving soundlessly as she listened. Apollo could see the slight movements of her mouth, but he couldn’t hear the words. Her expression remained unreadable, but there was an intensity behind her eyes that Apollo knew meant something was terribly wrong.

Her aura was shifting. The familiar pulse of her divine power, once calm and steady, now hummed with an almost frantic energy. It was subtle, but Apollo could sense it. The air in the throne room seemed to thrum with her presence as if the divine energy that coursed through her was a lifeline being stretched thin, pulling at something—someone—far away.

"Apollo," Artemis’s voice broke the silence, sharp and urgent. The calm that usually enveloped her was gone, replaced by a flicker of panic that Apollo knew was rare for his sister. "It’s Thalia."

"Thalia?" Apollo’s heart jolted in his chest. Thalia Grace—daughter of Zeus, Hunter of Artemis, and a demigod he had known since she was a child. He knew her well, respected her strength and determination. But this—this was different. Thalia didn’t often reach out for help unless it was dire. She had always been strong, fiercely independent, and capable. The very fact that she was calling for aid made Apollo’s pulse quicken. He straightened in his throne, a sense of dread creeping up his spine. "What does she want?"

Artemis met his eyes, and in that fleeting moment, Apollo saw something he hadn’t expected: vulnerability. For the first time in what felt like eons, his sister’s gaze softened, and Apollo saw a glimpse of the weight she carried, a weight that was almost too much to bear. She wasn’t just worried about Thalia—there was something deeper at play here, something that had shaken even Artemis, the steadfast goddess of the moon.

"She’s reaching out. Apollo—" Artemis’s voice softened, and for a brief moment, Apollo thought she might say something more. But what came out of her mouth next was chilling in its simplicity, and yet it was more than enough to send a jolt of fear through his body. "She says she needs us down at the house of hades in greece."

Apollo stood frozen, his breath caught in his throat. The room seemed to close in around him, the weight of his sister’s words pressing down on him. Thalia’s plea echoed in his mind, and he could feel the urgency of it in every fiber of his being. She needed them—needed Artemis and him. The words rang like a call to action, a summons he could not ignore.

"What do you mean she needs us? What happened to Percy?" Apollo’s voice was rough, desperate, his mind racing to the worst possible scenarios. He hadn’t received any word from any of the,, and after everything that had happened, the silence was unsettling. Had something happened to the boy who had once been his greatest joy, his brightest star? Had it been confirmed that he didn't make it. The thought made Apollo’s chest tighten, his divine heart aching at the mere possibility.

Artemis’s eyes clouded with uncertainty, her usually impassive face now betraying a flicker of concern. She didn’t answer immediately, but Apollo could see the same worry reflected in her gaze. She too felt the weight of the unknown, the fear of the unexpected.

But there was one thing Artemis knew better than anyone—when a god’s call rang out, when a plea from another came through the divine channels, it was never to be ignored. The urgency in Thalia’s voice left no room for doubt. Thalia would not have asked for help unless the situation was truly dire.

Without a word, Apollo’s divine light flared in the room, an eruption of golden brilliance that flooded the space, wrapping him in a cocoon of warmth and power. The air crackled with energy as the sun god rose from his throne, the sheer force of his presence filling the room, casting long shadows that danced along the walls. He was ready—he had to be.

"Apollo," Artemis’s voice rang out sharply, and for a brief moment, Apollo thought he saw something in her eyes—hesitation? Fear? It was fleeting, gone before he could fully grasp it.

"What are you waiting for?" Apollo’s voice was fierce, a sharp edge of anger cutting through the rising tide of his emotions. The feeling that had gnawed at him for so long—fear, frustration, a desperate need to act—now surged through him like a tidal wave. His mind raced as he thought of Percy, of Thalia, of the unknown that awaited them. The hesitation had no place in this moment. "We need to move. Now."

Artemis took a long, steadying breath, her gaze meeting his for the briefest moment. It was as if the weight of the situation had settled upon her too, and she could no longer stand by in silence. Without a word, she stepped forward, her silver aura flashing with a determination that matched his own. A fleeting look passed between them—one of mutual understanding—and, in that moment, Apollo knew his sister had already made her decision. She would follow him, and together, they would face whatever lay ahead.

The silence of the throne room was shattered as they moved in unison, the divine power that bound them together coursing through the air like a crackling storm. And with that, they were gone—leaving the quiet, empty palace behind, and stepping into the unknown where answers, and perhaps more questions, awaited.

Where they appeared could be described in one word, mayhem.

The battle had ended, or at least it seemed to have. Pasiphae, the terrifying and monstrous giantess, had just disappeared in a swirl of dust, vanishing from existence as if she had never been there at all. The air had thickened with the remnants of battle, the heat of destruction slowly fading as the world around Apollo became quieter. Blood was all over the floor, a giant stood in front of some doors and a bunch of demigods stood in armour of various degrees of tackiness.

But then came the sound. A soft, mechanical chime. The elevator doors.

The doors.

The escape.

Apollo barely registered the sound as his mind was still caught on the chaos that had just unfolded. Leo, Hazel, Thalia, and the rest of their group stood near him, but Apollo's focus was elsewhere. His eyes had snapped to the elevator doors, his heart still thundering in his chest as he tried to shake off the shock of what had just transpired.

The moment the doors shudder trying to open, Apollo's attention was drawn to the giant in the room. He loomed before them, blocking the doorway—Clytius, a giant born to oppose Hecate. His ugly form flickered as magic radiated off him.

Apollo clenched his fists.

The doors couldn’t open, not as long as the giant stood there, blocking the only escape they had. They had to let whoever was in there out by pressing the button. The others, exhausted but still standing strong, seemed to recognize the urgency in the situation. Leo’s eyes were wide, his sword in hand, ready for another strike. Hazel stood beside him, her breath heavy but her stance unwavering. And Thalia, her piercing eyes sharp as ever, was already calculating their next move.

But none of them could act. Not with Clytius in the way.

Apollo’s rage began to burn inside of him, a fire that matched his ancient days. After all he had never been known for his restraint—certainly not when his loved ones were in danger.

"Move," Apollo muttered, mostly to himself. "Move, or I’ll make you."

Thalia’s voice snapped him back to reality. "Apollo, wait—"

But Apollo couldn’t wait. Not anymore. Not when Percy was still behind them, somewhere in the rickety shaft, struggling to hold himself together. No more waiting. No more hesitation.

In a blur of golden light, Apollo’s body radiated power, his divine form flashing with the light of the sun. His heart hammered in his chest, his anger feeding the burst of energy that erupted from him like a tidal wave.

The ground trembled beneath his feet as he extended his hand toward the giant, his fingers glowing like molten metal. Without a word, Apollo summoned his wrath. A blast of radiant sunlight exploded from his palm, more intense than any light he had summoned before. The fiery pulse streaked across the room, striking Clytius square in the chest, and the giant’s body buckled as if he had been hit with a bolt of pure force. The giant screamed as the golden light cut through his form like a hot knife through butter.

For a moment, the giant’s molten body flickered, struggling to stay intact under the weight of Apollo’s fury, but in the end, it wasn’t enough. Clytius collapsed, his massive form crumbling into ash and smoke, his magic essence disappearing into nothingness as if he had never been there at all.

And with the giant gone, he ran over and pushed the button, the space beyond them now clear. The doors slowly opened. But Apollo wasn’t thinking about the escape. Not yet. His heart was still too focused on one thing.

One person.

Apollo’s gaze snapped to the far corner of the room. There, crumpled on the floor, was Percy.

His seashell.

Percy Jackson, the son of Poseidon, was collapsed in the corner, his body trembling uncontrollably. Apollo felt his breath catch in his throat as his heart leaped into his throat. Percy’s face was pale, slick with sweat, his eyes wide with panic. His hands were shaking, clutching at his chest as if trying to stop the terror from tearing him apart.

Apollo took a step toward him, the rest of the world fading away as he focused entirely on the boy he had come to care for so deeply.

"Seashell," Apollo whispered, a soft, almost desperate sound. He couldn’t understand it—he had seen Percy through so many battles, so many challenges—but this... this was something else. Something darker.

Percy’s breath was coming in short, gasping hiccups, his chest rising and falling in a rapid rhythm that was more panic than anything else. Apollo’s stomach twisted with dread. This wasn’t something he could fix with music, or even with healing powers. This was a kind of pain that cut deeper than flesh, deeper than any physical wound.

"Percy, hey, look at me," Apollo called, his voice softer now, trying to calm him. He had to reach him, had to bring him back from whatever nightmare was overtaking his mind.

But Percy didn’t respond. His eyes flickered up to meet Apollo’s for a second, but they were clouded, unfocused. The boy’s entire body was shaking now, trembling with the force of his panic attack. It was as if he was drowning in his own mind, caught in a tide of fear he couldn’t escape. Apollo’s breath caught in his throat as he watched Percy struggle to breathe, his body tensing with every gasping breath.

"No, no, no," Apollo muttered, his voice thick with anguish. "Not like this. Not again."

Before Apollo could take another step, Percy’s body gave out entirely. He collapsed forward, his arms falling limp to his sides as he toppled toward the cold floor.

“Percy!” Apollo shouted as he lunged forward, his hands catching Percy’s form before he could hit the ground.

His heart pounded in his chest, and for a second, he was frozen. The boy—this boy who had already sacrificed so much, this boy who had fought the impossible time and time again—was slipping away from him.

Apollo pulled him into his arms, cradling him gently against his chest. “Percy, hey, breathe. Come on, breathe for me,” he said, his voice a soft plea. He could feel the panic radiating off of him, his chest still rising and falling too rapidly, too erratically.

"Percy, you’re safe. You’re here. You’re with me, okay?" Apollo continued, his words spilling out desperately, trying to anchor Percy to reality.

For a moment, there was no response. No recognition in Percy’s eyes. Just the uncontrollable tremors of his panic attack. Apollo could feel the boy’s heartbeat—faster than it should have been—pounding against his chest. He slowly ran his finger up and down the nose, hoping that this still worked on the demigod.

But then, just as Apollo feared that nothing would break through, Percy’s hand twitched, and his eyes blinked, unfocused at first. His breath was still shallow, but there was a flicker of recognition behind the fear in his gaze.

"'pollo," Percy whispered, his voice barely audible, like a ghost of the boy Apollo knew.

Apollo’s breath hitched, and he couldn’t help but smile—though it was small and sad. “I’m right here, my love,” he said softly, the nickname slipping from his lips without thinking. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Behind them, the others—Leo, Hazel, Thalia, and the rest—were silent, their gazes a mixture of awe and concern. Annabeth looked to be about to interrupt them when Thalia stepped forward but said nothing, her hands still hovering near her bow, ready to protect them if needed. But there was no need for her to act.

Not when Apollo was here.

“Stay with me, Percy,” Apollo whispered, gently pulling him closer. "I’m not going to let you go. Not now."

And though Percy’s body was still trembling, his breath uneven, there was a sense of calm that started to settle between them. Apollo wasn’t sure how long it would last, but for now, it was enough. The panic, at least, seemed to have subsided—just a little.

The door was open now. The escape was there. The light flooded through the darkness.

But Apollo wasn’t thinking about that. Not yet.

For now, he was focused on the boy in his arms—the boy who had come so close to breaking, the boy who was always stronger than anyone realized, but who, at this moment, needed to be held together.

And Apollo would do whatever it took to keep the pieces from falling.

Notes:

5130 words!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Favourite line???

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, I wanted to make up for the late updates so I made it much longer then the past couple of chapters!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Chapter 31: I'm out, I'm home

Notes:

Hi guys!!!!!!!!!!! I hope you enjoyed the last chapter, he's finally out!!!!!!!!

Anyway, thank you soooooooooo much for all the amazing comments and kudos I'm getting. It really does mean a lot to me!!!!!!!!!!

Anyway, a shorter but sweeter chapter today.

The yellow eyes stared back at him from where they were perched. There place behind the primordials giant head made it so Percy had to crank his neck up consistently to keep track of them.

Why were they here of all places?

Why had they followed him here?

Two burning, slitted yellow eyes, glared down at him from the shifting darkness behind Tartarus’s massive, grotesque form. They pulsed like twin suns, molten and ancient, oozing out something much worse than any malice he had seen before. They didn’t just watch him. They pierced through him, peeling away his armor layer by layer until he was raw, exposed, nothing.

He was weak, defenceless to them. A scary feeling to realise that he had no control over what they chose to do; he couldn't fight them, he would just end up... End up what? Dead? Was there any point caring, any point wondering how to stay alive when that wasn't what he really wanted.

It wasn't like he wanted to die. He just didn't particularly want to live. It was an neverending melancholic conundrum that rules his life from twelve years old.

Life was supposed to be filled with joy, kindness and hope; it was supposed to be something that people enjoyed being apart of. The grass would shimmer from the dew drops covering them in the early hours of morning, the birds humming their tunes through the little neighbourhoods. The sun shined down, granting light and warmth to any area it's rays touched, another thing that left people hope.

Percy couldn't truly remember the last time he had felt like that.

Life wasn't filled with joy, or kindness, and any hope had died with his childhood. The grass was drowned in onslaughts of rain, the air burned with the chemicals that others had given it, and the birds tunes turned sorrowful before they were cut of with a shot.

It left him... Numb. Senseless in the darkness that had replaced his light.

The very same darkness that writhed around those blasted eyes, thick and suffocating, twisting like tendrils of liquid shadow. It slithered through the air like smoke, but heavier, denser—something alive and ancient, something with weight and presence. It coiled around Tartarus’s form, but Percy knew it wasn’t just his shadow. It was something separate...

It pulsed, shifting like it was breathing. Watching. Waiting.

Why were things like this always waiting to kill him?

Percy had the horrible feeling that it wasn’t just one thing lurking there. It was many-a multitude of voices, fears, regrets, sins made flesh.

The shadows at first whispered to him, not in words, but in memories, in sensations that made his skin crawl. The weight of Gabe’s meaty fist swinging toward him. The cold, sinking terror of waking up in the Lotus Casino, days lost to oblivion. The suffocating grip of poison in his lungs, filling his throat as he clawed for air at Camp Jupiter.

Next came the screams. His screams. But not just his-others, too. Twisted echoes of the people he had failed. The war cries of monsters, the desperate last breaths of friends.

The darkness remembered. It had never forgotten those lost to it, unlike how people in the light always forgot. It remembered every death, every name, every monster that had ever crossed through it.

It knew him.

It had seen him before, watched from the edges of battlefields, from the depths of Tartarus, as he made choices-some good, some necessary, some that left blood on his hands.

And now, it reached for him, curling around his ankles, slithering toward his throat, hungry.

Percy tried to move, to shake it off, but his body felt sluggish, like he was standing waist-deep in tar. The more he struggled, the deeper he sank.

And then they spoke.

"Percy Jackson."

The voice wasn’t a voice. It was a chorus of whispers, some familiar, some foreign, all slithering into his ears, into his mind, until they became his own thoughts. But no matter how recognisable the voices were, they all held the same tone... Betrayal.

"We trusted you. How many have you killed?"

Percy stumbled back, his breath catching in his throat.

"How many have suffered because of you?"

A face flickered in the corner of his vision. Ethan Nakamura-his singular eye filled with pain, his body falling, falling, falling-his last words an accusation. "There was another way."

Another whisper, sharper this time: Luke Castellan. "Did you even hesitate before letting me kill myself? Did you ever wonder if there was another way? Why couldn't it have been you Percy? Why am I now just not here, out of everyone's routine?" Luke’s body, collapsing into the void, golden ichor spilling from the wound he had taken, the wound that should have been Percy's. The weary, broken look in his eyes before he died.

Percy clenched his fists. "I-" His voice cracked. "I didn’t-"

"What about Bianca di Angelo?"

His heart stopped.

A choked breath left him. He had promised Nico. He had sworn to protect her. But she had gone anyway, and he had failed to stop her.

"And Silena Beauregard?"

Percy squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn’t help. Silena, bleeding out, gasping for air as she whispered, "For Charlie..."

"Zoe Nightshade?"

"Michael Yew?"

"Charlie Beckendorf?"

The voices overlapped, pressing in from all sides. So many names. Too many names. Faces he had failed, people who had died because of him.

His breathing turned ragged. The yellow eyes watched, unblinking, full of knowing.

Everywhere you go, death follows.

He shook his head, gripping Riptide so hard his knuckles turned white.

You bring destruction, just like the gods before you.

"No," he whispered, but his voice was weak.

"You’re a monster, Percy Jackson."

He staggered, his vision swimming. He could feel it-something cracking inside him. The same thing that had been breaking, piece by piece, since he fell into this place.

Maybe it’s good he ended up here.

The darkness swelled, those horrible, golden eyes glowing.

This is where you belonged all along. You should have never escaped.

-------------------

His face felt sticky.

How strange, he couldn't remember anything he had touched to cause that sort of reaction. In fact he couldn't even remember how he had moved from the very comfortable position he had been in, curled tightly in the arms of Apollo, to an almost equally comfortable but less comforting position of a bed.

To be fair, it was unlike anything he had ever seen. The posts were made of what looked like pure gold, shimmering from the beams of light, and they weren't the clunky kind that just screamed tackiness. They held an elegance that reminded Percy of a wedding band, simple and exquisite in the same line yet delicate and strong. He could imagine that the material had been collected from the heart of a fallen star, preserved though time in this bed.

Along the headboard, delicate carvings of constellations, ancient hymns and prophecy's wound their way around the edges, pulsing gently in a rhythm that almost soothed him back to sleep. Along each post, musical notes wrapped around like caressing vines, creating a story through their bearings. The representation of Apollo's history, of his beginnings and life when the world was much more simple, left an almost nostalgic feeling to the entire bed. It showed a time before a person could get in equal trouble for saving someone as for doing something that required someone to be saved. The hypocrisy, the double standards that had plagued this world over years of greed and self-gain were nowhere to be seen in the quiet tale.

Yet one thing that really caught his attention was just how soft the bed was. It wasn't anything like the cheap, stained mattress he slept on at home; no back pains to complain about with this one. It wasn't even like the mattresses that were filled with Persian feathers or memory foam, the ones that you could look through a window and have to take out a small loan to afford. The sun god's mattress was woven from clouds of all things with strings from lyre's holding it all together, soft enough to cradle his weight but firm enough to support him as he moved around examining the room.

Now he could literally say that it felt like sleeping on clouds.

"Enjoying yourself?"

The voice startled Percy out of reverie, bringing him back to the present and the annoying feeling on his face. He turned his head to the left, seeing the goddess of the hunt leaning against the doorway, one hand holding her bow down at her side.

"Lady Artemis." His attempt to get up and greet her was cut short when his arms gave out underneath him, making the child of the sea fall back against the pillows behind him.

She snorted slightly, shocking Percy even more, before abandoning the bow on a nearby chair and walking to stand next to him. "No need for that, not after everything. Though I do appreciate the effort, especially when you can't even sit up."

"Where's- What are you doing here?"

Her lip twitched, "Apollo's rising the sun right now, which I think answers your first question. Let me reassure you that he had no plans on leaving, he put up quite the argument against it, believing that the morals could deal with subpar sunlight for one extra day. And yet when our dear stepmother threatened to put you with your father for the remainder of your recovery if he didn't continue his duties, he caved." She sighed, scowling slightly. "My dearest brother didn't want to leave you on your own but almost nobody has access to here, which is why he asked me to watch over you. I believe that answers the second question."

"But, aren't you busy as well?"

"My hunters are scattered currently, my schisms being too dangerous for them, the chariot is not needed right now and at this time I struggle to go anywhere in the mortal realm as I get great migraines and nausea. I am not eager to experience them, I have never been the biggest fan of sickness."

"Your brother's the god of sickness."

"Exactly, I like to keep away from his influence with that. He can get rather overbearing when he can understand and feel every shiver, ache and white blood cell fighting off a disease he technically created." Artemis brushed her hair out of her face before sitting cross legged at the end of the bed, looking directly at him. "Either way, there was no other person to look after you. Only three people are allowed in this room, two of them currently being here; even his sleepover's with Hermes and Dio happen in his second favourite bedroom."

"And you don't mind having to babysit me?" Percy asked, shocked that a goddess who was known to despise men was okay checking in on him , not even throwing a fuss or complaining to him. "I'm sure I would be fine if you had to go..."

"I wouldn't continue that train of thought Gu-Percy, I think there would be a disease that targets my hunters specifically if I left you alone after everything."

"I'm fine!" He yelled, getting slightly agitated that she thought he was someone who was broken. But he was, wasn't he? He had just survived fucking Tartarus both the place and the being. "I don't need- I'm not- I'm here aren't I?!"

He was waiting for her response, curling his arms around his stomach as he ducked his head. He regretted that outburst, anytime he had done that with Gabe around he had quickly got his comeuppance. Sporting a broke rib for a four weeks acted as a good reminder to what happened when he wasn't careful enough. Not that that often stopped him from saying something impertinent, that was sort of his whole thing, but he only did it when he was sure he had a way of defending himself.

Right now? He couldn't even support his weight with his arms let alone try to fight a god.

She was silent for a second, appraising him. "You're right you are here. Against all odds, against all expectations and rules you are here. But have you seen what that cost you Percy?" She stared into his eyes, grey orbs sparkling with stars. "Have you seen exactly what you gave up to get home? Have you realised just how much changed down there? There's nothing wrong with not being okay Percy, there's nothing wrong with needing support. You have just proven yourself in a way that no one should ever have to, don't be stupid now. It's going to be hard, you're going to get frustrated, angry and sad. There will be days where you feel as if everything's back to normal, and then one wrong comment, one glance in the mirror from the wrong angle will send you spiralling. That's when the people you need will be there, helping you through each small feeling, emotion and step. So don't hide your pain Percy, especially when I already know."

His face had grown even more sticky.

How annoying, he would have to ask how to get it off soon, it was really starting to irritate him.

A packet of tissues materialised on his lap; Artemis smiling softly at him, a hint of understanding behind her lips, her smile looked like Apollo's softer one. Percy couldn't understand what the tissues were for until a drop of water splashed against the packet, a rustling sound accompanying it.

When had he started crying?

The tears rolled down his cheeks, one after another, an endless cycle that had no interest in stopping anytime soon. They came quietly at first, slipping past his lashes, trailing down his face in soft, soundless streams. But the more he tried to ignore them, the harder they fell, like something inside him had finally cracked, and there was no stopping the flood.

Percy had spent so long pretending he was fine. For his friends, for the gods, for the world; he had stitched himself together with forced smiles and shaky reassurances, holding himself upright like a crumbling statue that no one had noticed was hollow on the inside. He had told himself it was okay. That he was okay. That as long as everyone else was alright, it didn’t matter how much of himself he had to carve away to keep them safe.

But now, no longer in the suffocating dark of Tartarus, in the comfort, the safety of Apollo's room, with only a goddess around to see, he broke apart for the second time that day.

The sobs built up in his chest, curling in his throat like something desperate, something broken. He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his face into the crook of his arm, trying to hold it in, but the gasping, shuddering breaths betrayed him. His shoulders curled inward, his body folding around the weight of emotions he had shoved aside for so long.

He was not fine.

The thought hit him harder than it should have. He had spent years convincing himself otherwise, brushing past every scar, every sleepless night, every time he felt like he was drowning even when there was no water in sight. But here, alone in the pit of monsters and shadows, there was no one left to believe the lie.

His hands trembled as he gripped his arms, nails digging into his skin as if he could hold himself together through sheer force. The tears didn’t stop. His breath hitched, uneven, the sobs now shaking his ribs, wracking through him in waves.

He wasn’t fine. He didn’t have to be fine. According to Artemis, it was okay to not be fine.

The realization should have been a relief, but it only made the tears come harder, sharper. He had spent so long carrying the weight of the world, the expectations, the burdens, the guilt-and now, with a time to wind down, it was crushing him.

He curled in on himself, his body exhausted, his mind unraveling. His breaths came slower, heavy and shaky, and his vision blurred, darkness creeping in at the edges. His fingers twitched, gripping the torn fabric of his shirt like an anchor. He let out a trembling sigh, eyes slipping shut against the tears still clinging to his lashes. The exhaustion dragged at him, heavier than any monster, heavier than the weight of Tartarus itself.

And finally, when he could fight it no longer, Percy Jackson let himself cry. Not because he had to be strong. Not because he needed to get back up. But because, for once, someone noticed so plainly, with no way around what they had seen, that he no longer had to pretend.

And that, more than anything, scared him.

Notes:

Welp, never mind, not such a short and sweet chapter...

2806 words!!!!!!!!!!!!

Favourite line????

Anyway how did you find this chapter, I honestly was struggling quite a bit with getting it to flow and not be clunky but I think it's okay...

Hope you enjoyed the chapter!!!!!!!!!

Chapter 32: I finally get answers

Notes:

Hi guys!!!!!!!!!!!! Sorry for the late update, it's been busy. I was actually sick for the last two days.

Anyway this chapter is quite sweet I think, I hope you agree though!!!!! Also I am getting to replying to all your comments soon.

Buckle up and enjoy.

Percy woke to warmth.

He hadn't felt warmth like this for a while, it wasn't the blistering heat of Tartarus. Not the oppressive, choking humidity that made his lungs burn and his skin itch. This was different. Gentle, golden - like sunlight filtering through leaves on a perfect summer morning. It reminded him of being under his warm covers, snuggled up in the early hours of the morning whilst he wrestled with his mind to stop procrastinating and get up. It felt nice, simple even.

His eyelids felt like lead, but he forced them open, blinking slowly against the light. His vision was blurry at first, colors bleeding together in a soft haze, a blurry face barely in vision. But as his eyes began to acclimatise to the light, the shape of a person sharpened beside him. A familiar figure, golden-haired, slumped in a chair far too grand to be comfortable.

Apollo.

The god was asleep - or, well, sort of. His chin rested on his hand, elbow propped on the arm of the chair. His other hand was near Percy’s, just a few inches away, as if he had fallen asleep keeping watch. His head tilted slightly, lips parted, hair glowing faintly even in rest. He looked... peaceful. Tired, but peaceful.

Percy’s heart squeezed in his chest. He had a vague memory - prayers whispered into the void when he thought he was dying, thinking he’d never get out. He remembered the feeling of giving up. He remembered thinking of sunlight - of him. Had he heard them? Did those words of confession reach his ears?

Percy shifted, and the slight creak of the bed made Apollo stir. The god blinked, disoriented for a second, before his eyes met Percy’s.

"Oh," Apollo breathed. His face softened into something so tender it made Percy’s chest ache. "You’re awake." His entire body seemed to relax, worry crease visibly easing out.

Percy tried to speak, but his throat was raw. His voice came out rough, hoarse. "Hey."

"Hey," Apollo repeated, a little laugh escaping him, like he couldn’t believe it. He leaned forward, eyes scanning Percy’s face like he was trying to memorize every detail. "Gods, Percy... you scared me."

Percy swallowed, his throat dry and scratchy, but he managed a small smile. "Sorry... I didn’t mean to cause a... divine panic."

Apollo snorted, but his smile was wobbly. "Well, too late. You managed it anyway."

For a moment, they just looked at each other. Percy took in the way Apollo’s eyes shone - not with their usual cocky glow, but with something warmer, something real. Relief. Worry. Affection.

Percy shifted again, his body aching but alive. He felt like he’d been dragged through twelve different versions of hell - because, well, he kind of had but instead of versions it was more twelve different body parts of hell - but the pain was muted now. His heart rate slowed as he let himself relax, taking in the safety of the room, the presence of someone who cared.

"You're back," Percy murmured.

Apollo’s gaze softened. "Of course, I'm back. Where else would I be?"

Percy opened his mouth to answer, but he paused. He’d expected a joke, a playful deflection, but Apollo’s voice was sincere. There was no teasing, no bravado. Just... him.

"You didn’t have to," Percy said, voice quieter.

Apollo leaned in, his hand finally closing the small distance, fingers brushing lightly over Percy’s. His touch was warm - comforting, steady.

"Yes I did," Apollo said. "You’re not just... someone to me, Seashell."

Percy’s heart did that annoying flutter thing again, and he hated how easily this god could undo him with a few words and a gentle touch. "I’m glad," Percy whispered. "Because... I - uh..." He fumbled for words, his brain still foggy. He didn’t know how to say it, not without sounding like an idiot. But he remembered his prayer in Tartarus, those last desperate words. And Apollo had heard them. He knew.

The god squeezed his hand gently, his thumb brushing over Percy’s knuckles. "I know," Apollo said softly.

Percy’s face flushed, but he didn’t look away. There was no response, neither good nor bad, to his confession. He was too tired to hide, and honestly? He didn’t want to.

There was a pause, quite comfortable this time. Percy shifted slightly, wincing as his muscles protested. Apollo immediately noticed.

"Easy," Apollo murmured, his free hand hovering over Percy’s chest. "You’re in for a rough time. I took care of the poison, but Tartarus doesn’t let go easily..."

Percy relaxed into the pillows, letting himself be cared for, which was strange. He wasn’t used to this; someone staying, someone choosing to look after him. Not because they needed him to fight, or to win a war, but because they wanted him safe.

"So... what now?" Percy asked, his voice still rough, but a little steadier.

Apollo’s lips twitched into a small smile. "Well, ideally? You rest. Let me fuss over you for a bit. Maybe let me write a tragic song about your near-death experience and my devastating worry."

Percy groaned. "Gods, please don’t."

Apollo laughed—a real laugh this time, bright and warm like sunlight breaking through clouds. "And then we figure out what we do next."

"Ne-" Yet before Percy could reply, the air shifted. A familiar, cool presence swept into the room. Silver light danced along the edges of the chamber.

Artemis.

She appeared beside them, her silvery gaze landing immediately on her brother. "Apollo."

He stiffened slightly before recognising the vice, though even then he didn’t pull his hand away from Percy’s. "Arty. What brings you here?"

Her eyes softened when they flicked to Percy - an acknowledgment, a brief respect- but her focus returned to Apollo; Percy's face blushed in embarrassment.

"Father has summoned everyone. An emergency council meeting," she said, her voice steady but with a hint of confusion beneath it. "They need you on Olympus. Now."

Apollo’s jaw tightened. He looked back at Percy, hesitation in his eyes.

Percy managed a weak grin. "Go. I'm fine." He refused to make eye contact with Artemis still slightly wary of what she saw recently.

Apollo huffed a laugh, but his eyes lingered. "I doubt you're fine, Seashell." He leaned down, pressing his forehead lightly to Percy’s, a touch so brief and gentle that it sent a shiver down Percy’s spine.

"Well you can continue to play the mother hen 'pollo, Percy's required as well."

--------------------

The air shimmered with divine energy as Apollo, Artemis, and Percy Jackson landed at the foot of the Olympian throne room. The marble beneath their feet pulsed faintly with power, and the grand chamber stretched before them, an awe-inspiring display of celestial craftsmanship, the thrones of the gods towering like monuments to their dominion. Last time he was here, was when he was offered immortality in the summer a year ago.

But Percy barely noticed.

His legs wobbled. The journey had sapped what little strength he had regained. The divine transportation, something that he rarely was subjected to, hit him like a freight train. His vision blurred; his knees buckled. Before he could faceplant onto Mount Olympus in front of literally every god, a warm hand caught him.

Apollo.

It was always Apollo, always there when he was about to fall. Except for when he fell the furthest.

"Whoa there, Seashell," Apollo said softly, his arm sliding around Percy’s back to hold him upright.

Percy would’ve protested the nickname, except he was currently too busy trying not to collapse.

He leaned into the god’s side, chest heaving as his body reminded him, "Hey, remember Tartarus? Yeah, we’re still recovering from that." His pride burned, but Apollo held him without judgment. Just steady, warm, present.

Voices stirred ahead - murmurs from the Olympian council. Their arrival had not gone unnoticed, it never did.

A gust of wind carried the scent of saltwater, and then-

"Percy!" Poseidon’s voice boomed across the chamber, cutting through the divine murmurs like a tidal wave.

Percy barely had time to register the sound before his father was there,crossing the distance in great strides, his sea-green eyes wide with worry. His armor glimmered like the surface of the ocean, but his regal presence faltered the moment he saw his son leaning against Apollo like a rag doll.

"Oh, gods, Percy, I..."

Poseidon’s arms engulfed him before Percy could even attempt a protest. The god was gentle but firm, holding him as though he might shatter. The cool scent of sea spray washed over Percy, and for the first time in what felt like ages, he let himself sag into his father’s embrace.

"Dad," Percy whispered, voice rough with exhaustion.

Poseidon pressed a hand to the back of his head, fingers trembling slightly. He didn’t speak for a moment, just held him close, like he was making sure his son was real.

"You’re here," Poseidon murmured, voice thick with emotion. "You’re safe."

Percy’s chest tightened. His father wasn’t usually like this, not openly at least. But the mask had cracked, and Percy could feel the sheer relief pouring from him. He had seen Poseidon furious, commanding, and stoic. But this - this raw, vulnerable love - it was different.

He closed his eyes, letting himself be a kid in his dad’s arms, just for a moment. The rest of the gods were watching, of course. He could feel their eyes; some curious, others indifferent. But none dared interrupt the Lord of the Sea as he held his son.

Well, almost none.

"Adorable," Hermes whispered to Apollo, earning a half-hearted glare.

Artemis, standing beside her twin, allowed a small smile, brief but sincere.

Eventually, Poseidon seemed to remember they were in the middle of an official council meeting. He reluctantly loosened his grip, though he kept one hand firmly on Percy’s shoulder.

"Let him sit," Artemis suggested gently. "He is still weak."

The throne of Poseidon was not what Percy had expected.

He had seen it before, once or twice during those rare, tension-filled Olympian gatherings. Back then, it had seemed imposing - an untouchable seat made of coral and sea glass, towering like a reef pulled from the depths of the ocean. It had glimmered under the faint blue glow of the sea god’s power, distant and regal, as if it was meant for someone far greater than him.

Last time he had been on it, he had almost got incinerated... Fun times.

But now, as Poseidon gently eased him down onto it, it felt different.

It felt safe.

The cool surface pulsed faintly beneath him, like the slow rhythm of waves against the shore. The coral, which had always looked so rigid, softened against his back, adjusting to his body as though it recognized him. Sea-green light traced along the edges of the throne, flickering softly in response to his presence. It felt less like a seat of power and more like the sea itself was holding him, cradling him with its endless, patient strength.

Percy let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. His body ached, every muscle exhausted, but the tension began to ease. He wasn’t falling apart anymore. He was being held together.

Beside him, Poseidon knelt, his hand resting firmly on Percy’s shoulder. The god’s face, usually calm and steady, was lined with worry. Percy had never seen him like this before. There was something raw in his eyes, something vulnerable. It made Percy’s chest tighten.

"You’re alright," Poseidon said quietly. His voice was gentle, like the sound of waves brushing the sand. "You’re safe. Rest now."

Percy tried to reply, but his throat closed up. The words stuck somewhere behind the lump building in his chest. He wanted to say he was fine, that he was strong, but he couldn’t. Not here. Not in front of his father, who was looking at him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

Poseidon didn’t need words. He brushed a hand through Percy’s hair, careful and slow, the way Sally used to after a nightmare. It was a touch that said everything Percy needed to hear - I’m here. You’re safe. You’re loved.

Percy closed his eyes and let himself sink into it. The throne beneath him hummed softly, the ocean’s presence wrapping around him like a blanket. His father stayed close, his warmth steady beside him.

Percy appreciated it more than he could say.

Zeus cleared his throat, and the murmurs quieted. The King of the Gods surveyed them all from his imposing throne, but his usual thunderous authority was softened by concern - especially when his gaze lingered on Poseidon and Percy.

"We summoned you," Zeus said, "because of troubling reports from the Underworld."

Percy stiffened. Had they heard what he'd done to survive, what he'd done to destroy misery? Were they here to kill him for the monster he was?

Poseidon’s hand tightened slightly on his shoulder.

"Some of the creatures that resurfaced spoke of you," Zeus continued, eyes focusing on Percy. "Of you speaking to a voice while you were down there."

The tension in the room thickened. Gods shifted in their seats - some leaning in with curiosity, others frowning.

Athena’s sharp gaze cut through the crowd like a knife. Ares cracked his neck as he sat back. Demeter seemed distracted by a stalk of wheat sprouting beside her. Hera looked as sour as usual. But it was Artemis who went still. Percy noticed the subtle way her back straightened, the way her silver eyes darted toward her twin.

"Who was this voice?" Zeus pressed. "If it is Gaia, we must know Jackson. If she is manipulating your actions...

Percy’s throat was dry. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling like he was being interrogated. Maybe cause he was. "I... I thought it was in my mind. Though it sounded like, like Apollo," Percy admitted. His eyes flicked toward the sun god beside him, who raised his eyebrows in surprise. "At least, at first. They called me ‘Seashell.’ It... sounded like him."

Apollo blinked. He looked genuinely confused. "I never—wait, what?"

Poseidon’s grip on Percy’s shoulder went rigid. Around the chamber, more gods leaned in, intrigued.

Percy frowned, confused. He had been so certain at the time, but now - seeing Apollo’s reaction - doubt crept in.

Then, Artemis spoke. "It was me," she said confidently, head held high.

The room shifted. Gods murmured. A few heads turned toward her, curious but not shocked.

Except for Apollo. His jaw dropped.

"You?!"

Artemis gave him a look that could’ve turned a mortal into a deer. "Yes."

"You? In Tartarus? Talking to him?" Apollo sputtered, his voice high-pitched with disbelief. "Pretending to be me?"

Artemis raised a single, perfectly arched eyebrow. "I never went down there, the fates didn't let us. And also I wasn't pretending to be you Flame Brain. Imitating you, there is a difference, also it's not that difficult."

Apollo clutched his chest like she’d stabbed him. “Betrayed. By my own twin.”

Poseidon, however, seemed more relieved than anything. His tension eased slightly, his grip softening on Percy.

Zeus, though, was still wanting answers. “Why?” he demanded.

Artemis’s gaze softened - just a little - as it landed on Percy. “He was alone. Sun dummy here could not go to him, and was in no position to think straight. I could offer... comfort. By pretending to be this dork here, I could make sure the saviour of olympus had a chance of staying sane in Tartarus.”

Percy’s heart ached. He hadn’t realized how much those small moments—those voices—had kept him sane. Knowing it was Artemis made it... better. Somehow.

Apollo, still recovering from the betrayal, narrowed his eyes. “But how?"

Artemis exhaled. “Dio owed me a couple of a favours, but I also have a couple tricks you don't know.”

Dionysus, lounging lazily on his throne, raised a hand. “She roped me in, brought the fish boy to.”

Percy blinked. His head spun as he processed this. "You were the ones, helping? You could see, hear- How? Why?"

"Your thoughts invaded my mind at some point, I was - concerned. I'm sure you can guess why..."

Apollo looked between them, then turned to Artemis, betrayal giving way to awe. “You… you did all that? For him?”

Artemis’s gaze softened again. “I am not as heartless as you think, brother." She sighed for a second, "And you need him.”

Apollo smiled - genuine, warm. He nudged her lightly with his elbow. “You’re still my favourite.”

Percy watched them, heart swelling despite his exhaustion. They bickered, teased, but the love between them was undeniable.

Zeus, finally satisfied that this was more “family meddling” than “sinister plot,” dismissed the meeting with a wave of his hand.

Poseidon helped Percy to his feet, but before he could say anything, Artemis appeared beside them.

“If the loud lute loser gets too much for you, I will tolerate your presence.” she said loudly before quieting down at Apollo huff of annoyance. “You're going to have a hard time Guppy, I suggest you find out which friends are willing to stand with you whatever.”

Percy smiled faintly, confused but thoughts scrambled. He mouthed a thanks.

She gave a small nod before stepping aside. Apollo grinned slightly before nodding at Percy's father.

Poseidon chuckled softly. He stepped in, wrapping an arm around Percy, guiding him away from the thrones. “You need sleep,” Poseidon murmured.

Percy didn’t argue. His eyelids were already heavy. He leaned into his father’s side, letting the gentle sway of his steps lull him. By the time they reached the quieter halls of Poseidon’s wing, Percy was half-asleep, his head resting against his father’s chest.

Poseidon’s voice rumbled softly, like the ocean’s lullaby. “You are safe, my son. You are home.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Percy believed it.

He drifted off, wrapped in his father’s arms, the echo of the sea guiding him into sleep.

Notes:

3006 words!!!!!!!!!!!

Fav line guys???

Anyway I hope you enjoyed. I'm pretty sure this answered a couple of questions did it not??? Who guessed right???

Hope you enjoyed the chapter!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Chapter 33: Well this is interesting

Notes:

Hi guys!!!!

So turns out, I did not press send on my chapter from last week and it happened to have deleted so that's always fun... I was wondering why I wasn't getting any comments.... :(

Anway, thank you to everyone who has commented I AM GETTING ROUND TO THEM JUST VERY SLOWLY, and also to everyone else who has supported this story.

This one's from Triton's pov and I hope you enjoy!!!!

The boy lay with his head on the pillow, a small 'o' formed on his lips.

It was rather... cute?

He didn't know how to describe it, but this strange being that currently lay in the bed had somehow gotten through his harsh scales. The water hummed softly through the palace, a constant, gentle pressure that ebbed and flowed like the heartbeat of the sea. Bioluminescent coral cast a dim glow along the walls, dappling the grand chamber in shifting flecks of green and gold. In the center of the room, on an enormous bed fashioned from seashells and sea glass, Percy Jackson slept.

Triton didn’t know why he was still standing there.

He loomed by the doorway, trident in hand, the sharp edges of his armor catching the soft light. His usual scowl was absent, replaced by something unreadable as he studied the boy - no, his sibling? - curled beneath blankets woven from shimmering kelp. Percy’s chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, exhaustion clinging to him like a second skin.

His face was pale, dark circles smudged beneath his eyes, and there was a faint furrow in his brow even in sleep, as if his body didn’t know how to rest without being prepared for the next attack.

It grated on Triton in a way he couldn’t explain.

He shouldn’t care. He didn’t care.

Or at least, that was what he told himself.

Triton had never liked surface dwellers. They were reckless, destructive, treating the sea like their personal dumping ground. They were people he would always avoid, unless it was to drag their ships to the bottom of the ocean. However, half-bloods were even worse; chaotic, unstable, dragging their monstrous problems into realms they didn’t belong. But then you had his supposed siblings, born out of his fathers boredom and unfaithfulness, which he would kill on the spot if there weren't laws against it - laws that may have been created because of him.

Triton found it absolutely preposterous that he was expected to welcome them with open arms, welcome the offspring of his mothers pain into his home. But Perseus...

The son of Poseidon shouldn’t have survived Tartarus. He shouldn’t have come back from the pit of endless nightmares, from a place where even immortals feared to tread. A place he had fallen into willingly, or as willingly as someone could be. But he had. And not for himself. He had fought tooth and nail to get back to his friends, to make sure they survived, as if his life mattered less than anyone else’s.

It was foolish.

It was... familiar.

Triton tightened his grip on his trident, jaw clenching. Maybe that was what annoyed him most - how much Percy reminded him of their father, of himself. That relentless selflessness, the way he carried the weight of everyone else’s pain like it was his birthright.

It made Triton feel... protective.

The realization left a bitter taste in his mouth, but he couldn’t deny it.

He’d seen the way Percy flinched at sudden noises, the way he avoided looking at his own reflection in the oceans as he passed them, as if he couldn’t bear to face whatever he thought he’d become. That was before Tartarus. Triton had watched the way Poseidon knelt by Percy’s bed for hours, fingers brushing through his son’s hair like he was afraid Percy might disappear if he let go.

Triton had never seen his father like that. Not even with him.

And yet, the bitter jealousy he expected never came.

Because he understood.

Percy shifted slightly in his sleep, and Triton stepped closer on instinct, armor clicking faintly with the movement. His eyes swept over the bruises peeking out from under the collar of Percy’s shirt, the thin scars crisscrossing his arms - wounds that hadn’t faded, even under divine healing. Tartarus didn’t just scar the flesh.

Something twisted in Triton’s chest, sharp and unfamiliar.

He carefully placed his trident against the wall, silent as he crossed to the side of the bed. For a moment, he simply stood there, unsure of what to do with himself. He understood where his father came from, that was something he had to resign his mind to. He understood the overbearing need to make sure this small creature was alive, healthy and happy...

That was the harder part. His little brother was not a happy person - that was something all the people in their court could work out within a glance. Unlike the earth dwellers, people of the sea could not be tricked by the clear masks that others flung onto their faces. They could tell the small twitches of guilt, tell the subtle flinches in the eyes when people said the wrong words - they could work it out.

Triton hated how obvious it was.

Even unconscious, Percy radiated misery. It clung to him like barnacles, impossible to scrape away. His body flinched every so often, muscles tensing like he was still on guard, even in sleep. And his face... gods, the way his brow stayed furrowed, the way his mouth pressed into a faint frown, like the mere act of resting brought him pain.

Triton wanted to shake him.

Wanted to grab Percy by the shoulders and tell him to stop. Stop carrying everything like the weight of the world belonged to him alone. Stop sinking beneath burdens that no one had asked him to hold. Stop believing he had to suffer to deserve the love the sea had for him. Tell him to start being a kid, to stop being this all powerful thing that never took a break. At least he would soon be able to have time to try that.

He almost hated how easy it was to care about him.

Triton had spent centuries trying to live up to the title of prince - trying to prove himself to Poseidon, to his mother, to the countless creatures that roamed the depths and whispered about the child of the sea god who wasn’t quite enough. He had fought monsters, quelled uprisings, held back hurricanes, all in the name of being worthy of his father’s throne.

And then Perseus had come along.

A mortal boy. A half-blood. A fragile, fleeting thing who shouldn’t have mattered, shouldn’t have survived. But somehow, against every law of nature and divinity, he had carved his way into Poseidon’s heart. He had won the loyalty of gods and monsters alike. He had bled for a world that never thanked him and had become a living legend by the time he was fifteen.

Triton had resented him for years.

But now, sitting beside his broken little brother, watching the way the Little Prince trembled even in sleep, all Triton could feel was regret.

He regretted every sneer, every cold glance, every dismissive word. He regretted not standing beside Percy in battle, not dragging him to the depths to rest long before Tartarus could sink its claws into him. He regretted only helping Perseus when both of his cousins had asked and not before it had gotten to that point. He regretted not seeing Percy for what he was - not just the child of prophecy or the savior of Olympus, but a lonely kid who had never truly known peace.

And the worst part?

Percy didn’t even know.

He didn’t know how much the sea loved him, how much its creatures mourned when he hurt, how the tides themselves shifted to soothe his pain. He didn’t know how Poseidon had shattered the ocean floor in grief when he fell into Tartarus, or how Amphitrite - the same queen who had once despised Percy’s existence - had taken to patrolling the borders of the palace herself, snapping at anything that dared come near.

He didn’t know that Triton was sitting here now, still keeping vigil, unable to leave because the idea of Percy waking up alone felt fundamentally wrong.

"You never do anything halfway, do you?" Triton muttered, leaning back in the chair. His voice was quieter now, the sharp edges dulled by exhaustion. "You can’t just exist. You have to burn. You have to force everything left out of you, to leave you a hollow container. You have to throw yourself into everything like you don’t care what it takes from you."

He dragged a hand down his face, frustrated. "It’s infuriating."

Percy didn’t respond. He didn’t stir, didn’t even twitch. But something in the water shifted - a faint ripple brushing against Triton’s skin, like the sea itself was listening.

Triton exhaled slowly, letting the silence settle. He wasn't sure whose anger ha caused that tsunami in Trinidad & Tobago, but the one that had just hit California was from his annoyance. It was like he was a newborn god again, with no handle on his powers and emotions.

He didn’t know what to do with all of this. Didn’t know what to do with the knot in his chest, the one that had tightened the moment he saw Percy collapse in Poseidon’s arms.

But he knew one thing for certain:

He wasn’t leaving.

Even if Percy never woke up, even if he stayed lost in whatever nightmares plagued his mind, Triton would stay. He would sit in this chair, and he would guard his brother - the brother he had never deserved, but who the sea had given him anyway. His father had given him anyway.

Because Percy Jackson had bled enough for the world.

It was time someone bled for him.

Then Percy whimpered.

The sound was quiet, barely a ripple in the vast expanse of the sea, but it made something in Triton snap. Percy’s hands twitched, fingers curling into the blankets, his breath quickening.

A nightmare.

Triton acted before he could think. He lowered himself to one knee, resting a hand on Percy’s shoulder and giving a gentle shake - gentle, at least, for someone who could summon tsunamis with a wave of his arm.

Percy gasped awake, eyes wide and wild, body tensing like he expected to be attacked. Triton didn’t flinch, before he could even speak, Percy moved.

It was a blur of motion - too fast for someone who had been unconscious for so long. His hand shot out, gripping Triton’s wrist with enough strength to make the prince’s bones creak. In the same motion, Percy twisted, hauling Triton out of the chair and slamming him to the ground with a force that sent a shockwave rippling through the water.

Triton barely caught himself, trident clattering to the marble floor.

“Perseus!” he snapped, struggling not to retaliate. The instinct to fight back screamed in his veins, but he shoved it down, muscles burning as he fought against Percy’s grip. “It’s me! You’re safe!”

Percy didn’t hear him. Or maybe he couldn’t. His eyes were distant, unfocused, pupils blown wide like he was still stuck somewhere else. His chest heaved, muscles twitching, as if every fiber of his being was still in fight-or-die mode.

When Triton tried to sit up, Percy shoved him back down, the weight of his forearm pressing against Triton’s throat.

Strong. Stronger than he should’ve been. The weight of the sea prince's blood had always given Percy power beneath the waves, but this felt... sharper. More refined.

Triton didn’t dwell on it.

Instead, he forced his voice soft. “Percy. It’s okay. You’re not there anymore.”

Percy growled - an actual guttural noise, animalistic in a way that made the hair on Triton’s arms rise. His fingers tightened, fingernails biting into Triton’s skin.

But Triton stayed still. He didn’t summon his trident. Didn’t shove Percy off. Didn’t raise his voice.

Because he understood.

He’d seen war. Seen the way it never really left the soldiers who fought in it. He’d watched great warriors wake up screaming, convinced they were still drowning in battles long over. And Percy...

Percy had been in Tartarus.

Triton didn’t want to imagine the kind of nightmares that would leave behind.

“Percy, you’re not there,” he said again, voice steady and low, like he was trying to soothe a wild creature. “You’re in Atlantis. You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Percy’s grip faltered for half a second, confusion flickering across his face.

Triton seized the moment.

He locked his legs around Perseus's and flipped them over, hand wrapping around the back of Perseus's head. His hand was crushed into the ground with the flinch his brother made at the contact; but at least it wasn't the boy's head. It didn't last long, the peace of his stunned body.

A sharp noise reverberated across the water, a hand imprint on Triton's cheek. Percy was kicking and flailing around, no longer striking with accuracy but with desperation. He was like a cornered animal who had no rhyme or reason, just fighting for his life. He rotated them around again so that Percy was pulled against him in a hug as his arms wrapped around his back tightly.

“You’re safe,” Triton repeated, rubbing slow circles into Percy’s skin, the way Amphitrite used to when Triton would get sick as a child. “Breathe, Little Prince. You’re safe.”

Little Prince.

The word made something in Percy snap.

His strength gave out like a rope fraying to its last thread. The tension in his body collapsed, and he practically crumpled, his weight pressing into Triton as his limbs started to shake.

Triton caught him.

He eased Percy off him, carefully maneuvering the kid so he wouldn’t hit the floor. Percy’s breath hitched, and Triton guided him down onto the bed, steadying him with careful hands. Percy thrashed once, twice, but the fight had drained out of him. All that remained was exhaustion and confusion.

Triton sat on the edge of the mattress, fingers still loosely gripping Percy’s wrist, anchoring him. One hand resting against the back of his neck in a comforting gesture. He stayed silent, watching as Percy’s chest heaved and his eyes flicked wildly around the room, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Waiting, patient as stone, until Percy’s gaze locked onto him and the panic bled into confusion.

Eventually, his breathing slowed.

His eyes began to clear, the feverish haze dimming.

That was when Percy finally rasped, voice raw and broken. “Triton?” Percy rasped, voice raw.

“You were dreaming,” Triton said, voice rough as a jagged shell.

Percy blinked at him, like he couldn’t quite process the words. Then he slumped back against the pillows, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Sorry,” he muttered, throat tight. “Didn’t mean to... wake you. Or whatever.”

Triton almost laughed at the absurdity of it - Percy apologizing for something so out of his control. But instead, he just shook his head.

“You didn’t.”

Percy’s gaze flickered to him, wary, uncertain. Triton didn’t blame him. He hadn’t exactly been the kindest in their previous encounters. But right now, he didn’t care about whatever animosity lingered between them.

Percy was family. And whether Triton liked it or not, that mattered.

“Sleep,” he said, rising to his feet and retrieving his trident. “You’re safe here.”

Percy watched him for a long moment, like he didn’t quite believe it. But eventually, his eyelids grew heavy again, and he drifted back to sleep.

Triton lingered in the doorway, standing guard.

Just in case.

Notes:

2560 words!!!!!!!!

Woooo, I rewrote it lets go!!!!!!!!

Favourite line???

Anyway I hope you enjoyed and please say what you want me to do in later chapters!!!!!!!!

Hope you enjoyed the chapter!!!!!!!!!

Chapter 34: I'm under the sea

Notes:

HI guys, (cough, cough) so like... I'm so happy to see you...

Look I'm really, really sorry about not posting regularly over the past few weeks, life's really tryna knock me down at the minute. I'm determined to make it up to you soon, probably not this week but SOON.

Thank you to everyone who has commented and I promise from everything I have, that I will get to it at some point. I mean it.

Anyway, buckle up!

Percy didn't want to open his eyes. He was quite happy to lie in this half-state of consciousness, allowing the enveloping warmth to lull him back into sleep. Whatever important thing he was needed for could wait. For the last five years he had been at the beck and call for one catastrophe after another; right now, Percy couldn't care less if Gaia herself walked into the room. Everyone could just give him another hour or two.

This feeling was strange parallel to what he might have felt if his life had been normal. What could have happened if he didn't live in a constant state of fear.

Percy Jackson could never be described as a normal boy, but he let his mind entertain that thought. What could his life had been like?

Percy Jackson, a normal boy who woke up in his normal apartment. He was just another sixteen year old kid who grumbled at the sound of their alarm, wacking the snooze to get a couple more hours in. The blankets would end up wrapped around his body as his face found itself smooshed against the pillow, drool hanging from his lips. His mom was calling out to him, reminding the boy that he needed to leave in five minutes. The panic settling in as he rushed to get ready; a kiss on his mom's cheek as he flew out the door.

A life where the most panicked he would get is sleeping through his alarm clock; not causing the destruction of mankind. A life where he said goodbye to his mom, knowing he would see her again in eight hours; not a life where each goodbye could be their last. A life where Percy Jackson was just that - Percy Jackson. He didn't carry round fancy titles that would get muttered in the massive shadow of his burdens. In this life he was just a kid.

Yet entertaining such ideas was pointless. Percy Jackson was not a normal boy, no matter how much he sometimes wished to be.

Stretching his arms above his head, Percy blinked against the soft glow of bioluminescent light; his body aching like he’d been tossed around by a hurricane. Everything felt heavy, like the ocean itself was pressing down on him. He tried to sit up, but his muscles screamed in protest, and his chest tightened like he couldn’t quite catch his breath.

"Easy," a voice said, low and steady.

Percy flinched. His heart jumped into overdrive, and instinctively, he tried to summon Riptide - only to realize his fingers were empty. His pulse pounded like war drums in his ears as he forced himself to focus on the figure sitting beside him.

It took a second, but recognition clicked.

"Triton?" Percy rasped. His throat burned like he’d swallowed glass. "What... what are you doing here?"

Triton tilted his head, watching Percy with those sea-green eyes they unfortunately shared. The sea prince didn’t look annoyed, or smug, or even indifferent - all expressions Percy would’ve expected from him. Instead, he looked... patient.

" I mean technically, you’re in my room," Triton said. His voice didn’t have its usual sharpness. It almost sounded gentle. "You’ve been unconscious for a while."

Percy blinked at him. "I have?"

"You don’t remember?"

Percy racked his brain, but all he found were fragments - shadows of nightmares he didn’t want to examine too closely. He shook his head, wincing as pain ricocheted through his skull.

“No,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "Was I...?"

Triton shifted, something unreadable flickering across his face. "You were safe."

The words rang hollow. Percy knew what he felt like when he was safe, and it wasn’t this. His bones ached with phantom bruises. The skin on his arms felt tight and raw, like he’d been burned and healed over a dozen times.

Still, he didn’t push it.

Instead, he glanced around the room, taking in the towering columns of coral, the swirling seashell mosaics on the walls, the faint hum of distant sea life moving through the water outside the palace.

"Where’s my dad?" he asked.

Triton’s jaw tightened, but his voice stayed soft. “Father's resting. He hasn’t left the palace since you arrived."

The thought made Percy’s throat close up. He swallowed, rubbing his thumb against the edge of the silk sheets, trying to ground himself.

"I didn’t think you’d care," Percy said. He hadn’t meant it to sound bitter, but the words carried their own weight.

Triton sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. For a moment, he looked tired. More exhausted than Percy had ever seen him.

"I didn’t," Triton admitted. "Not at first."

Percy blinked. "Then why are you...?"

Triton looked at him, gaze steady and ancient. "Because you’re my brother," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And I do now."

Percy let out a shaky breath. "That’s... weirdly nice of you."

Triton huffed, something like a tired laugh. “I know. I hate it.”

Percy cracked a smile, even though it hurt. "Are you sure you’re not sick?"

"Positive," Triton said dryly. "Though I might be catching your self-destructive tendencies. It seems contagious, I just hope your luck doesn't follow."

Percy snorted, then winced. "Ow. Don’t make me laugh."

"Then stop making it so easy."

They sat in silence for a moment, the water around them humming with faint magic. Percy ran a hand over his face, rubbing at his eyes like he could wipe away the exhaustion stuck in his bones.

"How long was I out?" he asked.

"Almost three days," Triton said. "You’ve been... restless."

Percy didn’t ask what that meant. He figured he didn’t want to know.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Triton asked, hesitant, like the words felt foreign in his mouth.

Percy shook his head. "Not really. Not now at least."

"Okay." Triton didn’t push, which was shocking enough on its own. He just leaned back in his chair, his trident resting against the armrest, and watched Percy with an intensity that should’ve been unnerving.

It wasn’t.

"Why are you still here?" Percy blurted out.

Triton raised a brow. "Do you want me to leave?"

“No,” Percy said, a little too quickly. He scowled at the smirk forming on Tritons' face, biting his lip. "It’s just... I thought you hated me."

"I thought I did, too," Triton admitted. He studied Percy like he was some impossible puzzle. "But it’s hard to hate someone who fell into literal hell to save his friends. And, as much as it pains me to admit, it's extremely hard to hate someone who is so... you."

Percy rubbed his face. "You realize that sounds like the setup to a bad joke, right?"

Triton tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

Percy cleared his throat, putting on his best dramatic voice. "A son of Poseidon walks into Tartarus. He fights monsters, loses his sanity, becomes said monster, and crawls back out. What’s the worst part?"

Triton blinked. "I don’t know."

Percy grinned weakly. "Knowing that I might have to do it again." Triton immediately sat up straighter, clutching his trident as he glanced around the room as if Percy was about to get snatched right then and there. "Chill, I already have my list of everything I need to see and get signed down there. I'm thinking a 'I survived my Tartarus trip' t-shirt, a punch card for every monster I kill - every ten I get a cookie - and then a signed tour sheet from Nyx."

Triton gave him a long, unimpressed stare. "That wasn’t funny."

"It’s a little funny."

"It was depressing."

"Depressingly funny."

"I’m reconsidering my newfound fondness for you."

Percy grinned wider, even though it made his face hurt. "Too late. You already admitted you care. Can’t take it back now."

Triton groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me."

Percy snorted, coughing through the pain. "You’ve fought Krakens, right?"

"I’d rather do it again."

They both laughed - genuinely laughed - and for a second, the heaviness in Percy’s chest lightened. But the quiet settled back in eventually, pressing down like the weight of the ocean itself.

"I didn’t save them," Percy whispered.

Triton’s gaze sharpened, immediately knowing who he was talking about. "They’re alive, aren’t they?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Then you saved them."

Percy shook his head. "It wasn’t enough."

Triton was quiet for a moment. Then he said, very carefully, "It never is, is it?"

Percy froze.

He glanced at Triton, expecting smugness, or a sneer, or some condescending comment. But all he saw was someone who understood. Not just someone who had gone through the same experience, because that wasn't the solution to everything. Just because they had experienced it too doesn't mean they reacted the same way. Triton wasn't trying to understand it just through his feelings but how Percy felt. And that realization hit Percy harder than he wanted to admit.

"I don’t know how to stop," Percy whispered, throat tight. "can’t just... not try."

Triton nodded, slow and thoughtful. "That’s the problem with being a protector," he said. "You never know when to stop protecting. Never know when it's time to let yourself be protected."

Percy stared at him. "Is that... how you feel?"

Triton’s lips twitched in a humorless smile. "You think it’s easy being the firstborn?" he said. "The heir?" He shook his head. "I spent centuries trying to be the perfect son. The perfect warrior. And none of it mattered, because my father was still the one who saved the world."

Percy swallowed hard. "I’m not trying to take anything from you."

“I know,” Triton said, and this time, his voice was gentle. "That’s why I don’t hate you."

Percy blinked, completely thrown. "But you’ve always-"

"I was jealous," Triton interrupted. "But I get it now. A couple of centuries ago, maybe seven or eight, our father told me something that stuck. It was after I had rushed into battle wildly, in an urge to prove that I was strong enough to fight. The sea creature had waged war against us, thousands had died and the rumour going around was that only the strongest could kill it. As a foolish merman that I was, I ran in with no plan or aid. I ended up being destroyed and in the infirmary for weeks. Father had sat by my bed the entire time, the sea creature no longer an issue-"

"Why?" Percy blurted out, covering his mouth quickly.

"In a fit of anger, father killed it. Revenge for touching his child. And as I was lying there, body still reforming, I realised that I didn't need to always be the protector. I had someone stronger than me, someone older than me. Someone else who could take the burden without it crushing them. Do you want to know what father said?"

Percy nodded his head.

Triton looked out toward the distant shimmer of ocean light filtering through the palace windows. "He said, 'The ocean doesn’t carry its weight alone. Every current, every tide, every creature plays a part. Even the strongest wave needs the pull of the moon to rise.'"

He turned back to Percy, gaze steady. "He told me that bearing the world on your shoulders doesn’t make you powerful. Knowing when to let others share the load does."

Percy swallowed hard, something sharp lodging in his throat. He glanced away, fingers twitching against the bedsheets. "Easier said than done."

"It always is," Triton admitted. "But you’ve carried enough, Perseus. Let someone else hold the weight for a while." He gestured at Percy, who still looked half-dead and barely holding it together. "You carry the weight of the sea like you were born to drown in it."

Percy’s eyes burned.

"I don’t know how to be anything else," he whispered.

"You don’t have to be," Triton said. "Not right now. You just need to be Percy. Just focus on being Percy, and we'll handle the rest."

Percy pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, his breathing shaky. He hated how raw he felt, how exposed. But Triton didn’t move. Didn’t say anything else. He just sat there, watching over him like some silent sentinel.

Like a brother.

And maybe, Percy thought, that wasn’t the worst thing.

"Now little prince, why don't I show you around the palace?"

Notes:

2072 words!!!!!!!!!!

Favourite line???

Well guys what did you think? I was gonna do the whole tour of the palace but I go too invested in sibling bonding time. I also believed you guys needed some fluff in your lives, though I can't give you pure fluff without a tinsy bit of angst. Who do you think I am???

Anyways as always please comment what you wish to see in the next chapters. I don't know how many chapters this book is going to be but I do know there will be a second one (sequel) so don't worry. I still have plenty of time to get all of your ideas in.

Anyway I hope you enjoyed the chapter!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Chapter 35: It's not over

Notes:

Hi guys, chapter 35. The last chapter of this story... I hope you liked it and everything. I just want to say thank you to everyone who has followed this story, whether that is from the beginning where my chapters were crap (at best) or now when I'm quote on quote 'spitting out poetry'. Whilst I will always be grateful to those who stuck with me from the beginning, the people who have joined this story half way through or who are only now reading it deserve all the love as well. I'm just thankful to everyone who has commented, left kudos, bookmarked, subscribed, or simply read. As someone who has never posted a fic before, the support I've gotten has been fundamental into growing my confidence as a writer.

Anyway, let's buckle up for one last ride guys.

Percy knew Triton meant well, that much was clear from his behaviour in the bedroom earlier that day. He knew that his brother simply wanted to show Percy a bit of his childhood, a bit of his own normality.

And Percy was touched. Make no mistake that he really appreciated the act of his big brother, appreciated how he was taking time out of his day to show the demigod this. As a kid who had never really had a routine, constantly changing school or financial situation, to be welcomed into such an integral part of a family that supposedly hated him hours before was a lot.

However, Triton didn't quite understand the limits of the human body.

"I thought you would have healed by now." Triton muttered sheepishly as he hovered anxiously around Percy's hunched over figure. His voice was filled with anxiety, his head swivelling in either direction as if wondering if he should get help or stay.

"Human's heal slower than gods Tri, it's fine though. You didn't know."

Percy had his back pressed against a towering column, one of the many lining the grand corridor they were currently in. The smooth surface was top-notch craftsmanship, swirling patterns to represent seafoam and pieces of coral locked into the marble-like structure. Intricate shells - some shimmering in an iridescent glow whilst others were more somber, deep, stormy blue -were placed between rare pearls, the clusters casting soft reflections across the floor. Percy could feel the coolness of the column through his thin nightshirt, the faint pulse of the sea's heartbeat humming beneath his fingertips where they rested against the floor.

The floor had been polished; the colour shifting slightly every time the currents moved, rippling with the tiny waves. Hues of deep azure and muted gold filled out the ground, a regal look to them. It seemed as if the entire place was alive, breathing with the ocean itself, the walls subtly shifting as if they were trying to eavesdrop better. Schools of those miniscule bioluminescent fish flitted passed him as he caught his breath, their soft glow adding to the ethereal, otherworldly shimmer to this already dazzling space.

And Percy supposed that it was actually otherworldly, the entire ocean was another world. It was a complicated biodiverse system where every fish, coral and merman had their own place and role. Politics in a room of water was very different to the politics of new york, not that Percy ever bothered keeping up with them. One set of political drama's from his uncle was enough for his poor heart as it was. But this ocean's life and community was comforting. The water around was still, held in place by some power, allowing the room to feel open and breathable - yet the water never truly stopped, there was still a thrumming - even as the weight of the sea pressed in from all sides, no claustrophobia followed.

The hall stretched endlessly before him, grand and empty, the only sound the distant echoes of water moving beyond the pillars. The ceiling was high and domed, encrusted with faintly glowing barnacles and embedded with slivers of mother-of-pearl. Strange, ancient carvings twisted in spirals near the top, depicting forgotten sea gods, swirling waves, and creatures lost to time. A faint greenish-blue light filtered down from somewhere above, like the last flickers of sunlight barely managing to reach the ocean floor.

Triton was still examining him, face turning more confused as Percy's laboured breaths became more pronounced. "But you're not human." He said it with such conviction, a fact and not a thought.

Percy rolled his eyes, "Fine, I may not be fully human but demigods take longer to heal as well. I should be fine, just give me a minute and we can continue. Weren't you about to show me th-" A slow pause as his eyes caught his brothers expression. "Triton what did you do?"

The prince shuffled his feet - a new extremity for him that was acquired to make Percy feel more at home - and slowly glanced back down as if he was waiting for someone.

"Triton, you better not have done."

"What?"

"You know perfectly well what. I swear to the gods that if you did I'm gonna strangle you."

The fish had the nerve to snort at him. "Strangle me when you can't even breathe properly? All it would take me is to step a couple steps away from you and I would be safe."

Percy's mouth opened in betrayal, "How dare you! Just you wait-"

"I'm waiting."

"Don't interrupt me! Just you wait until I get my hands on you and I swear I shall rip that kelp head of your shoulders and-"

"Perseus."

The tension in the room shifted like the sea itself, the atmosphere heavy and crackling with barely-contained power. Percy, Triton, and the water - always present, always alive - seemed to pulse with an unspoken energy. The waves of emotion as both brothers were startled at the voice stirred the ocean, and though the room was calm, the water had begun to answer their internal panic. It swelled subtly at first, as if unsure of which side of the room to go to, rising with a slow, rhythmic pull that seemed to reflect the undercurrent of their frustrations.

Percy’s frustration - raw, bitter, unfiltered - pushed against the water like a hurricane building just below the surface. His hands clenched at his sides, his mind racing with thoughts he didn't know how to control. He was annoyed at Triton, annoyed that his brother didn't trust him. Annoyed that he thought of him as frail, frail after surviving the depths of hell . The air around him grew dense, charged, and he could almost feel the water around him responding, swirling in gentle circles, like it was waiting for him to give it a command. He wanted to be calm, but it was getting harder to hold on. His emotions were too powerful, too tangled.

Triton, standing opposite him, felt it too. The older god was more grounded, his connection to the water firmer, but even he could feel the tension rising. Triton’s presence was steady, but even he couldn’t ignore the subtle ripples that seemed to echo his frustration and worry over the boy. He crossed his arms over his chest, eyes narrowing as he stared at Percy.

"You need to listen to me, Percy," Triton began, his voice low, every word carrying a weight that seemed to push against the water.

"Why? Because you’re always right?" Because I'm just a little kid who doesn't understand?" Percy snapped, his voice sharp, more desperate than he intended. His hand twitched, and the water around them pulsed as if reacting to the tone in his voice. He didn’t want to make it worse, but he couldn't seem to stop it. This anger that had always been tightly kept behind chains and bolts had been unlocked to survive. But now that it had been opened, Percy couldn't wrangle it back into its' container. Sp now even the ocean was always waiting for him to make the wrong move.

Triton’s expression tightened, his own frustration rising. "It’s not about being right, Percy. It’s about understanding that others are allowed to see you struggling. That you are allowed to struggle."

Percy opened his mouth to argue, but the words never came. The water around them seemed to freeze for a split second - something ancient and powerful stirred in the depths of the palace. The tension in the air became almost suffocating, and for a moment, it felt like the entire ocean was holding its breath.

"Enough."

The effect was immediate. The moment the words filled the space, the water seemed to freeze, then move in a sudden, violent rush as though it couldn’t decide which way to go. It surged around them, swirling in a chaotic dance, torn between the powers of the two brothers, each trying to claim dominion over it. The king stood at the end of the corridor, his words having altered the balance, pushing the ocean to the brink of instability. The waves of power in the room crashed against each other, the water uncertain of where it was supposed to belong.

Poseidon didn’t move immediately. His gaze swept over the space, landing on Triton first, his son’s jaw set in determination. Then, his eyes flickered to Percy, who was standing too rigidly, his eyes wide, as if his control over the water was slipping with every breath.

Poseidon took a slow step forward, and the water responded, shifting around him, settling into a stillness that only a god could command. It wasn’t dominance, it was something deeper - a recognition, a balance.

“Enough,” Poseidon repeated, his voice low but commanding. The simple word cut through the tension like a knife, the sound resonating in the air and the water. It wasn’t harsh, but it carried with it the weight of the ocean itself, ancient and unyielding.

Percy flinched, his heart hammering in his chest as the pressure in the room lessened slightly. It wasn’t that Poseidon was angry, but the way the water had calmed when he spoke made Percy feel smaller than he already did. The weight of his father's presence - the sheer force of it - drove the tension from the room, but it also felt like a tightening noose around his chest.

Triton stood straighter, shoulders relaxed for the first time since the argument had begun, his hand no longer clenched in a fist. But there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes - a mix of relief and caution, as though he wasn’t entirely sure how the balance would shift with Poseidon’s arrival. His gaze flickered briefly to Percy, a hint of concern buried under the younger god's defiant posture.

Poseidon’s eyes softened as he turned to Percy. He narrowed his eyes, and slowly walked over to where Percy still sat crumpled on the ground. He knelt to be on the same level as the child before slowly lifting the boy's chin. "You’re holding your breath,” he said gently, the words like a wave breaking against the shore. Percy didn’t know why, but they made his throat tighten. He hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until his dad had pointed it out, and when he finally exhaled, it was as if the air around him had finally returned, warm and full.

"I don’t... I don’t know how to do this, Dad," Percy admitted quietly, voice cracking slightly. His shoulders slumped for the first time in a while, the fight draining from him. “I don't know what's happening, I feel on edge. I feel broken. I just feel... feel like I’m being pulled under."

The silence that followed was thick, but this time, it didn’t carry the weight of unspoken anger or confusion. "You don’t have to do it alone, little one." Poseidon said softly, his voice carrying an understanding Percy struggled to comprehend. He wiped a tear that Percy hadn't realised had fallen off his cheek. The gesture was simple, but it felt like the entire sea was surrounding him with its quiet strength.

Triton looked away for a moment, his side of the argument being made clear now. Percy hadn't understood, couldn't understand why Triton had felt it necessary to inform their dad of Percy's weakness. Yet now, he did. Percy wasn't the only one swimming out of their depth, with their feet miles from the seafloor. Triton didn't know how to support Percy all the time, he didn't understand the mortal concepts that lead Percy to be the way he is. The guy had dedicated his life to the sea, so now found himself flailing in a new place, just trying his best. He had realised that he couldn't help Percy properly and had somehow made sure that instead of leaving him to deal with it on his own, he had someone who could help him there.

And maybe just maybe, it wasn't Percy's weakness but simply a small issue. An expected consequence of his own ordeals, not something to be ashamed of.

So for the first time since waking up, Percy allowed himself to relax, leaning slightly into Poseidon’s touch, the weight of the room finally lifting. The water, once uncertain, swirled gently, settling into a peaceful flow, reflecting the calmness that had come over the room. It didn’t matter who was in control anymore - there was balance, something that Percy had forgotten how to find.

His dad glanced down at the small child currently burrowing himself into his arms. "There we go, just let it happen my child. I don't know why you must always insist on swimming against the current, even when it's path is heading to your own destination. Stop trying holding it all together with all your strength, it's left you tired. I can see that in your eyes, you're tired. Let it go, we will be here to stop those pieces from floating away." Percy felt his hair get brushed slightly out of his eyes - must have been Triton as both of his dad's arms were still wrapped tightly, holding him. "You're my son Percy, you're your father's son. And I shall always be here for you, no matter how hard it will be over time. Just allow it to happen, let go."

And the thing that had been holding itself together by threads, broke. Yet Percy wasn't afraid, he knew that for once nothing would happen to him.

Until the pain filled the space fear had previously held, causing the boy to throw his head back in pain. An agonising scream ripping it's way out of his throat as a tsunami formed in the pacific, the water responding to the call of its' prince.

--------------------

The End.

Notes:

2316 words.

Favourite line???

Well guys it's the end of this journey. I hope my last chapter was a nice finality to all your questions and to the story....

Who am I kidding. There were no questions answered in this chapter and I'm not about to leave you guys without your guarantteed happy ending. Whilst this specific fic is finished, the second one will be coming out very very soon where we shall continue the story of Percy and Apollo. I'm probably going to wait like three weeks before starting on that one though so any and I mean any ideas you want to be included. Write them below. Whilst I have a basic plot for this next one, I don't know if you want me to follow the blood of olympus plot line or completely separate.

Now, this is just something I thought I'd mention at the end of this. Whilst I won't be starting the second one of this for 3 weeks, I am starting a new fic of a different fandom. Now I'm not saying any of you lot need to read it, if Perpollo is your thing and you don't want to switch then that's completely fine. But if any of you lot did like my writing and like 'hunger games fandom' then I shall be writing a new fic from that fandom.

It's called: 'Little Ember' and chapters will be posted on fridays tho i'm gonna post quite a bit over the next few days on it.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64236091/chapters/164868142#workskin

However I would just like to say thank you to everyone for supporting this fic, I am almost caught up on comments which will be nice. I honestly could have not done this entire fic without your support and encouragement so thank you and see you guys in three weeks to find out what's happening to percy.

Chapter 36: This is literally just a notification

BASICALLY THIS IS JUST FOR EVERYONE WAITING OH SO PATIENTLY FOR ME TO DO WRITE THE NEXT FIC BECAUSE...

DUN DUN DUN!!!!!!!

ITS OUT!!!!!!

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE COME AND SUPPORT THE NEXT PART OF THE STORY

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Of Sea and Sun