"Battle not with monsters, lest ye be a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes into you."
-Friedrich Nietzsche
oO0Oo
The first thing that hit him was the pain. It was as if all the bones in his body had been broken through a thousand beatings with a club. He had never felt physical pain like that before.
As the pain started to numb into something more tolerable, he noticed an eerie silence. It was a nearly complete silence, the sound being what was carried on the wind, which should not have been there, considering where he was. As he lifted his head from the ground upon which he lay, he saw the bodies of young heroes. Not just any heroes either, but the heroes of Camp Half-Blood. In front of him lay the corpses of a hundred slaughtered youths, his sons Pollux and Castor, the annoyance Peter Johnson, that Annabelle girl, Clarisse La Rue, Beckendorf, Lee, Silena and many others. All those years of training them, though forced, had been for nothing.
It was then that he heard the voices; the voices of the dead who were supposed to have been brought to Hades Kingdom by his brother Hermes, yet for some reason had been abandoned or cursed to wander the Earth. The voices started at a whisper, carried on the wind and barely audible, but quickly turned into screams that were both agonized and clear, loud and fragile.
"Save us!"
"Help us, Mr. D!"
"Father, please answer my prayers! Have mercy upon us."
"Fight with us!"
As they grew louder, the screams became more desperate. Soon, the spirits of the dead started to grow clear and take shape. Even in death, they were mutilated. The souls were twisted, crippled and injured, forced to wander the Earth in pain, to never find peace, never rest. They were asking him for deliverance, to take away the pain in volumes, almost deafeningly loud now.
Overwhelmed with the noise, Mr. D started to run through the camp, away from the restless spirits. He ran past building after building. Each one lay in ruins, most almost completely leveled like someone had decided to obliterate the entire camp but had been cut short. Then he found Chiron.
The centaur lay on the ground, body twisted into an unnatural position and the butts of his own arrows sticking out of his chest and front legs. This sight probably touched him the most, not that he would admit it. Though he had never considered Chiron his friend, Dionysus had reluctantly formed a bond with the man after "working" with him for as long as he had.
Dionysus sank to his knees, the physical pain and mental anguish starting to catch up with him. He closed his eyes, as if he concentrated enough, the pain would go away. When he opened his eyes, he saw that he was in the throne room of Olympus. The problem was, it was wrong, completely wrong.
First off, the walls were missing their shine. Even in its darkest hour, the walls of the throne room in Olympus would had a shine to it. Second, the thrones themselves were gone. To Dionysus, that did not seem possible. For as long as he had lived there, there had been the thrones, it being sacrilegious to so much as touch one that was not one's own without very explicit instructions to, treason to actually move one. Thirdly, the hearth was cold. For the first time in eons, the hearth was cold. Finally, and most disturbing, was the fact that the titan lord Cronos and his disciples were in the middle of the room, seemingly waiting for something.
"Finally, the last Olympian has joined us," Cronos said, "Wine god, I will be kind and give you a choice. You may join us or be cast down into Tartarus."
"No," said Dionysus said, almost stammering. He could not believe that Cronos could be asking him this.
"Why?" Cronos asked with a twinkle of amusement in his voice.
"I am an Olympian. My loyalties lie with my family," he said.
"We're all one big family, if you really think about it. You must end now," Cronos stated.
With that, everything went black.
oO0Oo
He woke up in a sweat, breathing heavily. The nightmare had started a few months after the end of the Second Titans War.
He practically shuddered at remembering the images of the twisted bodies of those who died in battle. They had fought and died not just for him, but for the west, for Olympus, and for what? It was not like they treated them right. In fact, they were barely acknowledged. They prayed, they offered sacrifices, and they trained daily for what? To be claimed, possibly some help on a quest, which more than often never came if the child in mention was not a favorite of their omnipotent parent.
They had gone into the field in hope that if they weren't strong enough for the enemy they must face, that they at least go in a sparkling blaze of glory or receive acknowledgment from their Olympian parent. Instead they had died young, they had died gallant, they had died angry, violent and desperate. They had gone to fight for Olympus in the valley in the shadow of death, and would have walked out of that valley alive if Olympus had gone in with them.
In the end, the deaths of the uncounted and the unnamed half-bloods would have been in vain, if not for their fellow half-bloods. It is taught to them that the gods are all powerful and only the titans even come close to being able to overthrow them, but anything could be farther from the truth. It was the demigods, mortal children of the gods, who were most powerful.
Though fated to die (often gruesomely), the demigods are quite possibly the most powerful creatures in the universe. They are unpredictable, unstoppable, barely contained forces of nature. Every advancement in human and culture since they received their gift from the Fire Thief Prometheus was brought on by them. If they were ever to organize themselves properly, they would be able to raze Olympus and rebuild the west in whatever way they see fit.
Olympus is lucky to have them on their side. They stand as Olympus' honor guard, valiant sentries that guard from the watchtower known as Camp Half-Blood. They are the eternal city's greatest asset. For the half-bloods, it is a true tragedy. They are doomed to die protecting the west, protect Olympus and those who live upon it until the end.
Dionysus simply wishes that he could atone for his sins. For the sins of hubris and arrogance and the decadence desired that lead to the death of his sons and charges. For the pain he caused and the chaos that led from it. He knows that he will never have enough time to, until the rest are long gone, and they are the rust of stardust.