As the entirety of Western civilisation came to end, the only person alive who could save it was cowering. As the world heaved a sigh and collapsed on itself, its prospective saviour was running away. As the dark regime of the Titans drew ever closer to hold the planet under their thumb of steel, the one half-blood chosen and destined by the Fates to rescue it from destruction was too scared to fight.
Percy Jackson was not usually a coward. He did not think so anyway. He had faced so many monsters and villains, and had triumphed over them, despite their far greater strength and experience.
He remembered Ares' words on the beach at Santa Monica, all those years ago, on that first adventure in this realm of immortals. He remembered them and shuddered over their ominous meaning:
You've only got one talent, kid, running away. You ran from the Chimera. You ran from the Underworld. You don't have what it takes.
His eyes had flamed behind those sunglasses on that day, as if the effect added an extra emphasis to the fact that Perseus Jackson was a coward.
He stumbled along the road, Annabeth's Yankees Cap of Invisibility shoved forcefully down onto his head. He jostled and dodged past monsters, Titans, demigods, Olympians and other spirits caught up in this final battle.
Thunder ravaged the sky, as Lord Zeus struggled to fight against his Titan forefathers. The sea in the harbour of New York was working itself up into a tempestuous ocean. Even the weakening Mist could not disguise the enormous waves snapping at the harbour, sending mortals screaming and running for their lives into the haven of the Metropolis.
The once-opulent palaces of the Olympians and their sub-species were now burning, the marble Corinthian villas roaring with orange-yellow flames. The lightning flashing above only stoked and kindled the flames further, until Mount Olympus, perched directly above the Empire State Building, resembled the inferno of Tartarus.
Percy ran on, invisible, hiding his eyes though nobody could see them anyway. Tears pricked at them and welled up – pins needles of sorrow stabbing repeatedly at his pupils.
He could not get that image out of his head.
Her body – just lying there on the floor, discarded and thrown away like an old, oversized rag doll. Her blonde hair – not one strand out of place, perfectly peaceful in death against the pallor of her skin.
Annabeth Chase was dead.
Nothing could reverse that. Nothing could patch up the irrevocable feelings of loss that travelled within his bodily fluids. Nothing, not even the greatest panacea of nectar and ambrosia, could heal the wounds on the inside.
It all seemed dark now that Annabeth had departed forever, her soul flitting away down into the Underworld. That small light that seemed to radiate from her body and lit up the world – it was gone forever, and now the world could only descend into chaos and destruction.
He bundled himself into the elevator, ignoring the shouts and screams of the battle behind him. He ignored the death and devastation ruling the atmosphere. He needed time and space to think, to recover who he was.
His side could never win the battle, anyway. The strength of Kronos' numbers was too great, without even mentioning the force's strength and power. Monsters, renegade gods, Titans, elder spirits, half-bloods and so much more – the feeble army he had amassed could do nothing to alleviate the increasing desperation of their situation.
He prodded the 'DOWN' button several times, even as the elevator began to descend slowly back into the near-apocalyptic mortal world beneath.
Staring through the glass window of the elevator, he could see that New York too was in chaos. Manhattan, Brooklyn and every other district were feeling the full brunt of the effect of the colossal battle occurring in the sky above them. Explosions rippled across the city, fires breaking out every other minute. The Atlantic Ocean, once gently lapping at the docks, now stormed through the harbour, knocking down anything flimsily built or unattached to the ground. Tremors shook the city, buildings fragmenting and crumbling at the earthquake's command. An enormous volcano was rising from Central Park, lava, ash and volcanic debris spewing into the vicinity.
Percy hid his face, ashamed of what he was trying to escape. But what could he do to stop this frenzy of destruction? What could he do to avert the Doomsday surrounding him at this moment?
Nothing.
He who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day.
But when would another day be? Who would be spared to fight another day under his banner? The answers: never, and nobody.
He had heard that the army of the Titans never took any prisoners – they certainly had not done so with Annabeth. They had used their scythe of Death – they had cut her down without mercy or pity. They would not hesitate to do the same to him.
"Percy?"
Percy almost shrieked to see a spectral presence standing in the elevator behind him. Chiron stood there, fetlocks and all; pallid and transparent – looking like a ghost. He was a ghost, although Percy had never believed them to exist.
"Chiron?" Percy whispered. "What are you doing here? Are you – are you a ghost?"
"Ghost is a very difficult word to use, Perseus Jackson," he frowned. "You could say that I am a ghost, but it would be more correct to say that I am a spectral post-mortem insubstantial life form."
"A ghost?"
"In essence, Percy."
Percy felt the familiar feeling of stupidity and embarrassment. He had not begun to think about how he could explain just what he was doing in elevator going away from the battlefield to Chiron. He noticed that the ancient centaur wore a frown upon his wrinkled brow.
"May I ask why you, of all the heroes I have trained throughout the years, are running away from the people who need you the most at this most critical hour?"
"How long have you been – floating there?"
"Don't try to change the subject." Chiron's voice and eyes flashed with a rare moment of anger. "What are you hoping to achieve in trying to run away?"
"Nothing really," Percy mumbled. "Trying not to get my butt kicked?"
"And when did you ever try to not do that in the past?" Chiron said, attempting a weak, ghostly laugh. When he noticed Percy's serious expression, and the rims of crimson circumventing his eyes, he realised. "It's Annabeth, isn't it?"
Percy nodded, his eyes once again overflowing with suppressed tears. Eventually, he let go, and they bled free. It pained him to cry like this. Every tear that escaped his eyes rolled away in a sear of pain, a streak of white-hot lightning moving along on a trail of emotion.
He sank to the floor, and let the tears break free of the ducts that repressed them. His entire body shook with the effort of their emergence. His mind reminisced on memories of Annabeth Chase. From the first moment he had met her, when her face stared into mine when I first collapsed in the porch of the Big House. To her last moments, when the poison from the sword seared into her body and she collapsed in agony.
"I'm sorry, Annabeth Chase," he whispered through tears. "I'm so sorry."
Percy felt a hoof prod his back, and he rose, a trickling stream still outpouring from his startling sea-green eyes. He sniffed back the running phlegm, and wiped his face clean of the tears.
"Now will you return to fight?" Chiron asked quietly.
Percy took a long time in responding. Torn between the two options, the two lives, the two destinies. The lift stopped at the last mortal floor at the top of the building. The buttons on the console lit up, including two buttons at the top and bottom of the keypad: '600' and 'GROUND'
With a heavy heart, he pressed his thumb against one, and sighed as the elevator continued in its path downwards towards the mortal world, which was now reaching the penultimate phases of Judgement Day.
Chiron sighed, and added:
"You have chosen this route, Perseus Jackson. I can do nothing to help you now."
"Good," Percy muttered bitterly. "I don't want your help."
"There are more chances for redemption, Percy. Three more, in fact. You will be visited – by three spirits like me – and each time you will be given a chance to redeem yourself."
"Three?" Percy gagged. "You're damn persistent!"
"But if, by the third spirit's visit, you still refuse to see the error of your ways – then be prepared, Perseus Jackson. Be prepared."
And with that, Chiron wisped away from the elevator, leaving Percy alone as it reached the next floor down.