[500 years from the proceedings of the Heroes of Olympus]
A soft breeze rolled through Death Valley, Nevada, making the man shudder involuntarily. He reflected upon his decision to wear chainmail while off of duty, yet decided it was for the best. No telling what he'd find in these rough, spacious lands.
Pulling his wool cowl over his head, he headed toward the distress signal. A signal that could have only been made by one of his soldiers.
As he approached where he thought the signal had come from, he found a small overhang, under which was an artificial shelter. It couldn't have taken long, yet it felt spacious and comfortable.
The man half-smiled, proud of his men, yet wary of what could happen. Only now did the thought that a man posing as a legionnare could have made the signal crossed his mind.
No, he thought. Better not to dwell on such things. Yet his mind continued to dwell.
A moment later, he made his way into the shelter. A fire lie exposed in the center of the dwelling, bringing warmth and light to the four men huddled beside it. One was stoking the fire with a long stick, and he glanced at the newcomer, smiling somewhat sadly.
"Well, where the hell have you been, Iratus?" He used his friend's adopted name, brought on by his condescending attitude and coldness. The newcomer glanced down his nose at him, yet couldn't resist a slight smile.
"Busy, but looks like I'm in time to save your sorry asses." He pulled his cowl off his head and let his eyes wander.
Several wooden planks supported the shelter's ceiling from collapsing, which, the newcomer decided, would be fatal for its occupants. Besides the one stoking the fire, named Dustin, two men lie wounded, one seeming to be in critical condition, being treated by their second-in-command medic. Walking over to greet the medic, and the wounded, he stopped short when he noticed that one of the wounded, whom he had no prior knowledge of, bore resemblence to... someone from his old life. She coughed, and opened one eye lazily. "Couldn't have asked for better timing. If it isn't the commander himself."
The commander raised an eyebrow, and the girl, who he assumed was either hopped up on fumes, or delirious, chuckled. Her greasy blonde hair fell in a ponytail down her shoulder, bearing even more resemblence to the commander's past. He knelt down and looked to the medic, Keeler.
He shrugged. "Sorry, man, no can do. Unless we can get her back to headquarters pronto, she's done for." The other patient was unconscious, and Keeler checked his pulse. Sighing in relief as he felt a slight knobbing, he turned impatiently back to the chainmail-clad man. "Well?"
The commander, without a real answer, asked his own question. "What happened to them?" His voice was ragged and deep, which gave him an unapproachable aura, even if you get past all of the other qualities. Keeler exhaled, and recalled the story.
According to the battle-worn medic, the team had been escorting a new recruit across Death Valley in search of a land-rip, as the land was a prime area for one to occur.
They certainly found one.
Gaea's Earthborn soldiers had taken refuge in this particular rip, and, sure enough, some unaware soldiers stumbled upon it. "Those soldiers being us, mind you", in case the commander could forget. He nodded.
As they were ambushed, the recruit took a beating, being out of training. One of them, Keeler said, gesturing to the wounded on the floor next to him, a man named Aaron, had attempted to save her life by diving in front of what would have been a fatal blow. "It worked", Keeler recalled, detailing how only Aaron's heavy plate armor saved their lives. After the ambush was finished, they formed this refuge, in hopes of saving the wounded's lives.
"Unluckily for us, the girlie here is dying. Unless you got yerself' sum' sort of SUPER-medic, she ain't got a chance." Keeler gazed into her eyes, and then back to the newcomer. "So? What'll it be?"
The commander gazed into his eyes with a steely gaze, forcing him to look away.
Sheepishly, Keeler apologized for his impatience. The commander dismissed this, and instead walked out of the refuge to signal to some spare medics up in the Domain.
Some minute or two later, he walked back into the refuge, assuring their safety. Dustin sighed in evident relief, and Keeler prayed to every deity he knew that they'd be in time to save this recruit's life. There was no worse feeling, he thought, than losing a patient when you could have helped them.
As they awaited the medics, the commander pretended to nod off on the opposite wall from where the wounded were. He steadied his breathing, and, whipping his cowl up over his short brown hair, he finalized the illusion.
After all, he thought solemnly, someone's got to keep watch, lest a rip open up right next to their shelter.
Nothing as extreme as a rip, but intense nonetheless, the medics rushed in an hour or so later, snatching Aaron and the blonde girl up from their position at the back wall. Dustin and Keeler made no effort to stem their relief as they rushed out of the makeshift shelter, and the commander followed right after them.
The next several hours passed in a blur, from the announcement that the recruit would live, to the hospital closing for the night, though the commander couldn't get that image out of his head...
Blonde hair, ponytail, sarcastic attitude, for a moment the commander couldn't remember her. Then, as he remembered, he forced himself to forget again.
She was a mistake, he thought angrily, I should NEVER have wasted my time!
[498 years before the current proceedings]
After Gaea was defeated, the two camps were finally at peace together. With the help of Jason, Reyna, Piper, and Thalia, the Hunters, the Romans, and the Greeks were finally at peace. Nobody believed that anything bad could happen now.
Nobody except for the Greeks' camp leader, Perseus Jackson.
He would tell Chiron and Lupa of his doubts, yet always get the same reply: "The campers WANT this. Should we deny them rest from their efforts in the war?" What peeved Percy was that he, too, participated in the war, relieving countless foes, including the king of the giants, of their heads.
He boded his time, and found relief in his training. Years passed, Percy is the age of 21, hopefully to propose to Annabeth, nothing could be better, he reflected.
Was he wrong.
He came upon the news that his mother had died of a heart attack, and that Paul was extremely saddened, and wouldn't contact Percy even if he knew how. Though extremely set back by this, Percy yet again found Solace in his training, arguably on par with several minor gods in sword fighting, possibly even Ares!
Yet Annabeth grew more and more detached, and no matter what nice things he would say to her, what he would buy her, nothing seemed to work.
Percy knew what would work. He dug through his dresser to retrieve his newly crafted engagement ring, fired in the forge of Hephaestus, put together as a collaboratory effort from Aphrodite and Athena. It was easily the most beautiful, most elegant thing he'd ever seen, aside from Annabeth, of course.
With her father's blessing, he walked to the Athena cabin.
Readying his nerves, Percy reflected upon all the amazing times he'd had with Annabeth. He would give his life for her, and she knew that. Hell, she was his mortal anchor point to the Styx! Percy knew that he would never love anyone as much as he loved her.
As he thought this, he opened the door of the cabin.
On Annabeth's bed, Annabeth lie almost completely naked under Jason, the praetor of the 12th Legion.
As their gazes found Percy, shocked and completely betrayed, Annabeth rolled to the side, falling off of the bed. Jason, getting over his shock, put on his best act, pretending that he wasn't afraid of him, which he, in all truth, was.
"Happy, Jackson? Annabeth was sad that you weren't paying enough attention to her, so she came to me. As, I'm sure, you can see."
Annabeth was gathering her clothes from the floor in various places, stammering reassurances to Percy, who only felt sadness, betrayal, and anger, no sympathy.
"Weren't paying enough attention, Annabeth? I spent every free minute I HAD with you! I even went out of my way to get your parents' blessings!" Percy was beyond hurt. He had always figured breaking your heart was just a phrase, but he was wrong. He felt as if a hole had been opened up in his chest.
"B-blessings? For what?" Annabeth looked up at him, tears filling her eyes.
Percy looked down his nose at her. "Nothing. Or, at least, nothing of any use now." He tossed the ring to her.
Catching it deftly, she opened it and started openly sobbing, looking up at Percy in disbelief. "Percy, I-I... Yes! Yes, I do!" She stood and leaped at Percy, who pushed her off of him and walked from the room.
"Percy, come back!" Annabeth cried from the doorway, still putting on her shirt. Only now did Percy look back. "For what? Do you think I'd marry you after... that?" He started to see red spots in his vision.
Annabeth slowed. "But, t-that's what you w-were doing... right?" Tears once again filled her eyes, and with no sympathy, Percy spoke back softly, but with an underlying threat that she'd do good to notice, "I was. But not anymore. Have fun with Jason, Annabeth." He walked away again, for Jason to attempt a broad blow at Percy's back.
From years of training, Percy expected this sort of thing, and, truthfully, Jason wasn't exactly quiet. He uncapped Riptide and parried the blow, turning in time to execute the perfect counterattack. As Jason's gladius went to the side, Percy slammed the flat of his blade onto the back of Jason's head, making him see black. Stumbling back, he held his head and winced. Even the simplest blow from Percy felt like a giant slamming him to the side, and he knew what that felt like.
Gripping his gladius in a two-handed fighting position, he charged at Percy, who wouldn't let anger rule his swordsmanship. Deftly rolling to one side, he met Jason's initiative strike with Riptide, and sparks glanced off of the two blades. This went on for several minutes.
A few minutes later, Percy had barely broken a sweat, though Jason was almost on the ground, the arrogant bastard. By this time, a large crowd had circled them, and Chiron angrily walked up to Percy and slapped him.
Feeling no pain, Percy lazily glanced at him. "What?"
Chiron, assuming he had assaulted Jason, sent Percy to his cabin, which was still his alone. As Jason was led to the infirmary, Annabeth tried running to Percy, but he ran into the cabin and slept, fighting angry tears.
In a way, Percy Jackson, the chainmail-clad commander of Chaos's army, second only to Chaos himself, was happy for Annabeth cheating on him. Elsewise, he probably wouldn't be in the position he was today.
Heading to Chaos for a briefing of his new mission, he inspected his new weaponry. Riptide was no longer, broken fighting with Mars Ultor only a few centuries ago. Good riddance, he thought, as he fingered his new sword.
Its name was Nox Bipenne, Latin for "Double-Edged Death." And it lived up to its name. With currently 119,000 or so heads cut off by it, he was proud of his improved prowess with it. A golden-hilted sword, with a diamond imbued into its crossguard, the silver-bladed sword simply emanated death. All who came near it trembled, though, Percy thought, the sword was really rather beautiful. On his back lie a large wooden buckler, roughly two-thirds the size of a wagon wheel. Deep scars were etched into its front, which bore a blackish-grey horned helmet on white background. The shield was really rather indestructible.
Though rather adept at archery and projectile weapons, he preferred to use close-combat weapons, enjoying the thrill of defeating an enemy in close quarters over long distance.
As he arrived at Chaos's office, he knelt to him and professed his last mission's success. He had rightfully led a human-dominant plant, Cragglstya, to victory over the rebels.
"Well done", Chaos spoke, but, like Lupa, he seemed to vibrate his sentences, rather than saying them. "Your victory was glorious, as always. But I give you a very special assignment."
Eyebrow raised, Percy Jackson, nicknamed by his colleagues Hawke, learned of his new mission:
On Earth, Gaea and the Titans are once again rising. Tasked with defeating them yet again, Hawke is to work together with Camp Half-blood, as it was still known, to conquer them and their armies.
A lump in his throat, Hawke thought of objecting, but knew that doing such would lead nowhere, and thus accepted. He just hoped that Annabeth and the others were dead, though that might be too good to be true. They were probably made immortal for their parts in the war.
And with this, Hawke left Chaos's Domain to return to Earth.