A/N: Hello, hello. It's been more than 6 years since this story was originally published, and in that time I managed to output four chapters, totalling around 17,000 words. Additionally, the quality of the early chapters was frankly embarrassing compared to the most recent chapter, and when I came back to the story last week with every intention of reviving it, I realized the early chapters badly needed a rewrite. Since The Architect had 1 review, zero favorites, and only a single follower, I decided the best way to resolve this issue would be to just delete it and start over.

This is technically the sequel to my first story, Percy Jackson, Guardian of Tartarus. It contains just over eight thousand words, including an author's note chapter at the end, and considering I started writing it when I was 11 and finished at 13, I really can't recommend you read it. It's not necessary to understand this story, but as a very rough overview - with Annabeth's help, Kronos escapes from Tartarus, wages a second war on Olympus, and this time, he wins.

Chapter One: Beginnings

Verily at first the Architect came to be, but next wide-bosomed Earth, the ever-sure foundations of all the deathless ones who hold the peaks of snowy Olympus, and dim Tartarus in the depth of the wide-pathed Earth, and Love, fairest among all the absolutes...

Her name had been Annabeth once, of that she was sure; from that time, little else remained. There had been others once, some men and some women and one doughty satyr, and one man, outshining the others to such a degree that she barely remembered they were there as well.

One man, who a scant ten years after their first meeting, abandoned her and all those he had professed to care for to summit Olympus as one of their own. Those on Olympus would not have him, and banished him to the deepest pits of Tartarus to forever stand guard over the Lord she now served. He deserved nothing less than the coldest revenge she could conceive, and so, at the height of his triumph, he found himself betrayed by the woman he loved and who he thought loved him in return.

Her Lord escaped the watchful eye of the man she once had loved; aided, of course, by none other than herself, and though the war to see him stricken down once more was long and hard fought, Olympus never stood a chance. Once her Lord, the eldest foe of the gods, King of Titans Kronos, consumed the power of the gods and made it his own, he delivered on his promise, and razed the world to let her forge it anew.

For a time, that was enough. She delighted in the creation of the cosmos, hanging the stars delicately in the sky like baubles on a tree; revelling in the satisfaction of piecing together continents as a child assembles a jigsaw puzzle. For a time, the joy of creation occupied her hands and her mind, and she was content.

All things, however, must come to an end, and in time, the Architect grew restless. Her work dwindled, and no longer satisfied her as it once had. It had taken centuries, millennia in fact, but omnipotence and immortality had at long last lost their succour.

The passage of time changes us all, and long centuries of solitude eroded what little had remained of the Architect's humanity after she had been betrayed. She turned her gaze to humanity to entertain herself.

Though she had ensured the general mythology (and in the absence of deities except herself and Kronos, mythology was all it was) of the world she created would roughly align with that of the world she hailed from - a sentimental gesture, to be sure, but one she had no cause to regret - but, as with the world from whence she came, the mythology slowly petered out. She decided that her ego could do with a bit of stroking, and revealed herself enough to start a few cults. Obsessive worship, animal sacrifice, and even the odd human sacrifice were all well and good, and sated her appetite for stimulus for a time, but they too eventually lost their appeal.

After deciding watching humans kill each other would be rather tasteless, even for her, she decided to recreate the freak shows of circuses past. At last, the Architect found something nearly as delightsome as the creation of the cosmos: distorting the human form to its absolute limits. In the beginning, she stuck to the classics: bearded ladies, conjoined twins, and the like, but she quickly tired of such half hearted grotesqueries. Though her creations were largely harmless at first, she quickly discovered that her tastes fell in more… sadistic directions.

Teasing out the absolute maximum of pain in a human was a hobby that kept her busy for decades. The human body is at once immensely resilient and immensely prone to catastrophic failure. Limbs may be shorn off or organs fail, but the body will continue to make every effort to continue living. The pains of her creations were exquisite. In the midst of her most daring creation yet, however, an errant thought struck her and troubled her as nothing had for centuries.

What would Percy think?

She was suddenly gripped by a terrible fury and lashed out blindly; her rage on that day left a scar creation would bear for the rest of its days. She seethed and stewed, impotently apoplectic, having seen the terrible mark left on her creation and having no wish to do it further harm. Memories flooded her consciousness unbidden, reminding her of a softer time, when there had been others to stand beside her, to share in joys and triumphs and to commiserate over sadness and hardships. And quests, nearly forgotten, buried under the weight of millennia. To return Zeus' Master Bolts, to rescue the satyr who had been her friend, and in the end, the quest to save the world from the Titan whom she now served.

How she could ever have forgotten those quests, she didn't know, but she ached desperately to forget them again. They were relics only of an era bygone, and could cause her nothing but pain.

Those quests… those quests. Hmm.

With her museum of pain already turned to ashes in her mouth, tainted by the thought of the man who had betrayed her, a new pastime was already on her mind. The quests of her misspent youth were exactly the kind of thing she thought she might enjoy watching now.

Eager once more to resume her work, she found herself a suitable champion - or, to be precise, a foetus that would eventually grow in to a suitable champion - and reached out with a fraction of her immeasurable power to make the necessary alterations.

Lee Yu was an 18 year old man of Chinese descent, though he never knew his parents. He'd been orphaned at a young age by a car crash, or so he was told, and spent many of his formative years running away from one orphanage to another. He wanted nothing to do with the system, and the system eventually decided that he probably had the right of it, and left him well enough alone. From there, he lived life largely on the streets, finding under the table employment with less savoury employers who were happy to have underage workers. The nature of his environment meant that self defense was a valuable skill, and one he cultivated from a young age. He lived in Chicago.

Lee's favourite food was the Cuban sandwich offered by the bar two blocks away from his apartment, his favourite color was green, and he wore size eleven shoes.

Alexis "Don't call me that" Strausser was a 19 year old woman of Germanic descent, although her family had been in America for three generations. Her mother was killed in a home invasion shortly after she turned 18 and her father, blaming himself for not being able to defend his wife, drank himself to death scarcely a month later. As she was legally of age at the time of her parents' deaths, she was not remanded to foster care and was instead allowed to continue her life - such as it was - with her inheritance held in a trust until her 21st birthday. She had, of course, been heartbroken at the deaths of the people she loved most in the world, but with both her parents busily employed (the month long bender culminating in her father's death notwithstanding), she hadn't been as close to them as might be considered normal, and so the impact was somewhat reduced for her. She lived in Manhattan.

Alexis' favourite book was The Magic Strings of Frankie Presto, her hobby was flower pressing, and her favourite vacation had been the family trip to Cozumel to celebrate her father's promotion when she was eight years old.

Derrick Pryce was an 18 year old man who didn't know where his family came from (Wales, six generations back on his father's side), and to whom it had never seemed particularly important. His father was partial to Dutch beer, Irish whiskey, and Kentucky bourbon; it was Derrick's mother who introduced him to the pleasures of Afghan heroin a few months before she overdosed on the same. His father had inherited a garage from some distant relation, providing him with enough income to sit on his ass drunk or high, though he (to Derrick's mind, unfortunately) generally retained enough sense not to mix the two pleasures. Derrick learned from an young age not to come within arms reach of his parents, and to stay well away from their house when he saw strange cars parked outside (on at least one occasion, Derrick avoided being sold for a few ounces only when the prospective buyer backed out). For Derrick, 'home' was a place to sleep with a padlock on the door, but where he at least didn't have to pay rent, the occasional emptying of his wallet when he was careless enough to leave it in the open notwithstanding. He lived outside Jacksonville, Florida.

Derrick's favourite job had been working as a line cook in a local diner, his favourite smell was frying bacon, and he had a birthmark roughly the shape of the Eurasian continent on his left knee.

The Architect decided to reveal herself to her chosen three, one after another, on a pleasant day in mid-May. Appearing suddenly before them with the smile that had started cults in her honour and compelling them to listen calmly with just a touch of her divine favour, she told them that she had chosen them (technically true) to carry out a quest of the utmost importance (depending on how seriously you took the issue of her boredom) that was essential to the survival of the world as they knew it (almost certainly untrue - she'd put a lot of work into this world and wasn't likely to go blowing it up in a fit of pique any time soon).

Aware that she'd need to set up a decent Big Bad for them to fight towards, she decided that her Lord Kronos would fill the role nicely - he was immensely powerful, and considerably more likely to destroy the world than she was. That there was no conceivable way for them to actually do him any harm should they manage to actually find the slumbering Titan. She wove for them a tale of his villainy (much of it taken from the first war with Olympus, and thus actually true), how he sought to destroy the world that she had so long laboured to create (doubtful, even if he was conscious enough at any point to form an opinion of her world). She told them how she was forbidden to directly interfere with him by laws that even she did not fully comprehend (entirely untrue - she could interfere with anyone and anything she chose, although it would certainly be silly of her to do such a thing to the being to whom her powers were tied). However, she was permitted by the same ancient laws to choose three champions to do her bidding to the best of their ability (no judgement can be passed on this statement, considering the laws in question didn't actually exist). She had selected the three of them because they were the most promising humans she had seen in centuries (true, if only as a result of her tampering - the three were in fact genetically near perfect) and decided to seize the opportunity to turn the tides in her war against Kronos (nearly true, except she was trying to turn the tides against boredom, not Kronos).

Following that bit of almost completely made up exposition, she offered them a choice: they could all go on their ways without consequence, or they could accept the offer and all the help she could give them. However, she cautioned them, their path would not be an easy or painless one should they choose to accept and become her champions.

Of course, 'choice' is a questionable term, considering she employed a compulsion so heavy it was a wonder none of them broke down and started drooling.

After she'd secured their agreement, she reached out once more with her vast cosmic powers to touch their spirits, and everything they knew was pain. Before she left, before they woke up, she gave them instructions to go to Chicago. From there, she would guide them all together, and give the three of them further instructions.

Lee Yu was on his morning run when he very nearly knocked over a young woman in walking in the opposite direction. This was very strange for a few reasons, not least that it happened nowhere near the normal course of his morning run.

Lee had taken up jogging a few years ago, and by now he had a well established route, a five mile loop around his neighborhood. It took him nowhere near Lake Michigan, which was more than four miles from his home one way, but this morning he'd woken up with an inexplicable yearning for the sea breeze. This was, of course, made stranger by the fact that the nearest source of sea breeze was the Atlantic Ocean 800 miles away - somewhat unfeasible for a morning run. If nothing else, it would leave him unimaginably sore the next day.

So, to scratch his olfactory itch, he'd come to the lakefront in hopes that the fresher air blowing off the water would satisfy him. He was almost surprised that to find that it did, but then, why shouldn't his sudden unprecedented craving for a saltwater breeze be satisfied by the Great Lake? Nothing else about this morning made sense. It was while contemplating that that he nearly bowled over the stranger, who was surprisingly understanding and more than willing to laugh about it. She in fact went so far as to invite him to a nearby coffee shop, an invitation which Lee (being a red blooded male in the prime of his youth) was more than happy to accept.

They ordered their drinks and sat down, and much to Lee's surprise they were getting on like a house on fire. The coffee was good, the company was beautiful, and he was for once enjoying himself very much. The only thing that detracted from the experience was a dull throbbing in his left forearm, but that was ignored easily enough.

Easily enough, that is, until he leaned back in his chair during a momentary lull in his conversation with Lexi (somewhere between their third and fourth refills) and caught a glimpse of a sandy haired guy about his own age sitting at a table across the room. A shock of pain ran down his arm, and he heard a cry of pain from the girl sitting across from him.

Derrick Pryce was not having a good time. His father had finally kicked him out of the house permanently, and while that was hardly a great loss it did mean he was going to have to find someplace new to live. He'd called up some friends and asked to crash on couches while he got his feet under him, but the only responder had been an old friend from high school who'd moved to the Midwest halfway through sophomore year.

Gripped by a sudden and inexplicable bout of wanderlust, he accepted the offer, although he'd honestly forgotten where his friend had moved to and was just getting desperate after being turned down by everybody else whose phone number he had. Having remembered only too late where he'd asked to stay, he shrugged, packed what belongings he had worth anything into a backpack, and bought himself a bus ticket.

Of course, he was hardly above complaining out of earshot of his host, and he felt completely justified in doing so. After all, he was in Chicago, of all places! Chicago, the only city in the world with air that was 70% bullet. He'd been in the city barely twenty minutes before seeing a mugging take place in broad daylight on the opposite side of the street. At least in Jacksonville it had only been dead hookers and the odd meth lab.

He'd decided to do a bit of sightseeing before showing up at his friend's place. Somehow he'd managed to not get robbed and decided to celebrate with a nice cup of coffee, so he ducked in to a coffee shop with a lovely view of Lake Michigan. If nothing else, it would give him a chance to get his bearings and figure out where he needed to go next.

As he tossed back the dregs of his first cup of coffee and debated the merits of a refill - the coffee there really was quite excellent - he rubbed his right shoulder, suddenly becoming aware of a dull ache in his upper arms. Dismissing it as a consequence of the time spent on the bus, followed by two hours of carrying around a backpack with all his worldly possessions in it, he looked out over the lake again and decided he'd have another cup after all - anything to spend some more time with that gorgeous view, not that he was exactly going to suffer from another cup of the house blend.

As he was getting up to bring his cup back to the counter, he caught sight of another table with two people roughly his own age just as the Asian looking guy looked in his direction. When they saw each other, his world erupted into pain like he hadn't known since his father put him in the hospital on his tenth birthday.

Alexis Strausser decided that, despite the rocky start, today had been a pretty good day. She'd dipped in to her savings to buy herself a plane ticket to Chicago, intending to spend the day there as a tourist before heading to Evanston the next day to have a look around the Northwestern University campus. Despite the bulk of her inheritance being in a trust, she did receive a generous stipend, more than enough to cover her expenses and let her start saving for rainy days.

She'd intended to take the obligatory tourist photo at the Bean, but she must have taken a wrong turn somewhere along the way. She managed to find her way back to the lakeshore, which was a good start, but she'd been so preoccupied with trying to get directions from her phone she hadn't even noticed the jogger she nearly collided with. Although it'd been as much her fault as his, if not more so, he'd gotten adorably flustered and she'd asked him in to a nearby coffee shop before she really registered what she was saying.

Two hours, three cups of what was probably the least terrible coffee of her life, and a million pointed looks from the staff later, she was still marvelling at how well things were going. She'd endured the cramped early morning plane ride, and she was pretty sure she'd pulled something trying to get in to her seat - her right forearm was aching like she was an eighty year old and it was about to rain. All that only to arrive in the city that had desecrated the pizza in ways unforgivable - she was actually pretty sure her wrong turn had been a result of being distracted by a so called 'pizza shop' - and was fully prepared to suffer through a deep dish lasagna that night, just to remind everybody that there was a reason people didn't have to specify 'New York style' pizza. Then, she'd nearly been run over by an undeniably good looking guy, finally found coffee that wasn't completely disgusting, and hit it off with a boy in a way she hadn't done in years.

She was considering whether it would be getting ahead of herself to ask him out, considering she hadn't even decided on Northwestern for sure yet, when all of a sudden things started happening very quickly indeed. There was a lull in the conversation, helped along no doubt by her head being in the clouds, and she noticed Lee lean back and look around the room. His gaze caught somebody, she thought, but didn't have long to think about it before agony went lancing down her arm and didn't stop.

The Architect nodded approvingly. Her three chosen had come close enough together to activate their powers, and she had brought them all back to Lee's apartment. It was difficult for her to restrain her impatience - she had appeared to her champions only a few days ago, true, but her plan had been in the works for nearly two decades. It was fortunate the long centuries had taught her patience; waking the three before they woke naturally would have serious consequences for them, not least of which being their power would never awaken and she'd be forced to go through this whole business all over again.

She could afford to give them a few hours. Better that than sit around for eighteen more years, only to go through all this again.

A/N: So, this is kind of a short chapter objectively, but compared to my previously published writing this is just about average length. I hope to write longer chapters in future, but for now, I'm kind of antsy to get things started again. My intention is for this story to be in a completely league to the old version which, all things considered, will not be that tough.

The italicised passage at the beginning of this chapter is an altered section of Hesiod's Theogony, which is not the definitive source for the Greek creation myth, but it is my personal favorite.

Alright guys, that about wraps it up for the inaugural chapter of this rewrite, so I hope you enjoyed it, I hope it was better than it used to be, and I'll see you next time on Dragon Ball Z! Or here. Probably here.