A Voyage Towards The Stars
Disclaimer: I do not own Campione or Percy Jackson
Chapter 2
Hestia discreetly watched the reposed form of the white coated stranger even as she tended the Campfire that was her Domain, her ember like eyes unaffected by the flames she had to look through to see him.
It was now well past sun down and her niece, the Huntress, was riding her deer drawn silver chariot across the sky high above, dancing amongst the pinpricks and sparkles of light that were the stars. It was rather comforting for the goddess of the Hearth to have a degree of normalcy, in as far as the divine world behind the Mist could be said to so, amidst the chaos that had occurred earlier that very day.
Her eyes narrowed slightly in remembrance, giving the fire a more forceful nudge with her poker than was necessary, making a small log crumble and release a swirl of sparks and embers into the still, and slightly crisp, night air. While she was no fighter or strategist, preferring peace to the conflict and bloodshed her bloodthirsty nephew so enjoyed, it by no means meant that she was helpless. If pressed, she had the means to protect herself or get away, even destroy her assailant if pushed too far. Failing that, she knew that the entirety of the Olympian Council would fall upon her attacker like a storm. In addition, there were few out there with enough power to challenge her, a goddess of high Olympus, in the first place.
It was, therefore, a very humbling (and terrifying if she was completely honest with herself) experience to find that her position of power, however little she used it, was not quite as solid as it once seemed. That there were foes in the world that had the ability to fight the entire Council, all at once, and come out on top.
She shivered slightly as she remembered what she had seen of the foe dear Perseus had faced when she had connected with him. The eyes of the goddess, one that had the temerity to take the name of a well respected ally of the Council and a personal friend to many of the seated members, had been utterly deranged even as they were also cunning and calculating. It reminded the Goddess of the Hearth of the times when someone, mainly Ares, foolishly brought up the subject of Rome around Athena and brought the form of Minerva to the fore.
They had been the eyes of someone driven by nothing more than vengeance, basking in it's dark embrace for centuries until it had twisted them into something unrecognisable from what they once had been, and intended to take their time in making those who had crossed them pay in the most dreadful of coin, a death by a thousand cuts as they languished in the poor fool's agony and misery with a fine wine in hand, the fool's screams music to their ears.
It was honestly a frightening thing to witness, more so when on the face of one that was clearly not human, despite their outer form. And even more when the being had the power to carry out their dark desires, no matter the obstacle blocking their path.
She never could have imagined the motherly Lady Thetis to ever have such a twisted expression on her face and, now having seen such a darkness, despite the obvious differences in features, she couldn't seem to shake the small possibility of it happening. And Thetis was no push over in the power stakes.
But that had not been the worst or most foundation rocking event to happen. The aftermath of Perseus' brutal and bloody battle with the false Thetis had been just as numbing in the implications that it had for the future, near and far.
She glanced over at the white hooded warrior, that had managed to block her powerful brother's Trident with seeming ease and was seated on one of the surviving marble benches that encircled the campfire and was looking into the flames under the shadow of the hood, again.
After the man's cryptic little diatribe, the reactions of her immortal family had been varied and confusing to say the least.
Flashback
Hestia looked at the hooded man in front of her ocean ruling brother with slight caution, after his small speech, before glancing at the, impossibly, healing form of the young son of her brother.
What had the man been speaking of? What did these seeming attributes (which she had to admit applied to the now revived son of Poseidon in many ways. His actions over the past few years had been noted by many, her among them, and she could see them applying to the youth. Perseus was nothing if not a rebel, not willing to let anything like Laws and Rules stop him from what he wanted to do, and had set more than a few precedents with these actions, for either good or ill.) have to do with being a 'Campione'?
Her confusion was voiced by the regal, powerful and demanding voice of her youngest brother.
"What do you speak of, stranger?" Zeus growled, an oncoming storm in his voice as he glared with crackling electric blue eyes, his grip on his Master Bolt tight, ready to use it at a moments notice.
The white hood tilted slightly, the face in the shadow of it looking directly at the King of Olympus.
"Things are changing, Lord Zeus," the man said, his voice still having that monotone note to it, as if he was indifferent and uncaring about those around him, but still able to recognise and acknowledge them, giving the same respect one man would show another in the street, "This battle," he gestured with his blade to the destruction around him. Massive holes the ground, destroyed buildings and a forest that looked like it had a hole burnt through it with a powerful acid showed evidence of the mighty battle that had taken place here not minutes before.
It was like a battle between the Gods and their forefathers. She had not seen such varied and unique destruction wrought since the first Titanomachy, so long ago.
"Is merely a taste of what is to come."
Hestia felt a chill run down her spine at the man's words.
"What do you mean?" Zeus said with a scowl as thunderous as the Domain he commanded, "You speak in riddles and your words twist upon each other, sowing naught but confusion. Speak plainly!"
Unconsciously, her short tempered brother began to leak his power, glowing where he stood, towering over the form of the young man from his semi-mortal form of over ten feet. She saw many of the demi-gods that surrounded them turn away with a grunt of pain, hands going over their burning eyes in an attempt to prevent themselves from being immolated by the Olympian King's power.
The stranger, however, was completely unfazed, not even a ruffling of his white coat or hood made by the outburst of power. Unflinchingly, his hooded gaze met that of the King of Olympus. To Hestia, even with the youth's lack of height and visible power compared to Zeus, it seemed like the young man was Zeus' equal. Something that made her more than a little uncomfortable.
"My explanation will have to wait until my Mother has done her work on the boy," stated the young man, gesturing with his blade once more, this time towards the now sleeping and golden glowing form of Perseus Jackson, "and he has regained consciousness. The young man is the focus of my explanation and I would rather only have to do so once, instead of numerous times."
Hestia winced inwardly at the hooded man's statement. Zeus was not one to react well when he was denied.
Though what did the youth mean by his Mother? Was she a goddess of some description?
Zeus' face darkened and lightning crackled and spat from both his eyes and his Symbol, too furious at the hooded man's seeming impertinence at his refusal to answer the Lord of Olympus to register the entirety of the man's statement.
His elder brother didn't have that problem.
"Who is your Mother?" Poseidon demanded of the youth.
The answer that the hooded man gave them sent shock washing through any and all who were in attendance.
"Pandora."
End Flashback
Hestia shook her head, knocking herself from her musings and paid more attention to the flames.
The revelation of the stranger's mother had been a great shock, one that none of them had ever expected. In as far as many of them knew, there had only been one child of Pandora, a daughter named Pyrrha by Epimetheus, who had wed Deucalion, son of Prometheus, and had been responsible for repopulating the lands with people after the Great Deluge.
But both the Mother and Daughter had passed on ages ago, before the Flame of the West had even moved to Rome. So how was it possible that this youth could be what he claimed to be?
More importantly, even if Pandora had managed to somehow find a way to become immortal, something that several heroes in the past had been able to accomplish and thus certainly a possibility, no matter how remote, how was it possible for her to have power enough to be able to completely resurrect -no, a better word would be recreate.- the soul of Perseus Jackson?
Despite her heritage as daughter of Hephaestus and Aphrodite, a closely held secret among the immortals and the only issue from that union, it was not possible for her to have such power and might. And even if it was, a being of such power would have been noticed long before now.
Did it have something to do with Perseus' assailant? Were there other beings in the world that wore the names and faces that did not belong to them? With power that rivalled -nay, exceeded- that of those that ruled Olympus?
Hestia had many questions to ask and few answers had been given by the hooded man.
He had stood before her brothers and others, stalwart and unmoving, after the initial tumult of the revelation of his parentage had died down. They had demanded answers. He had refused to give them, then and there, saying that Perseus would need to be in attendance before he would give up the information they so sought.
'What happens in the future is all dependent on the boy,' the youth had said, undaunted by the threatening displays of power from her brothers, 'it would be best if he got the information of what he was getting into straight from the horse's mouth, don't you think?'
Her brothers had been nothing if not stubborn, but calmer minds had prevailed. Hera, Demeter and herself had managed to calm the three of them down with some difficulty, but they had still managed it. Granted, it probably helped that the stranger had informed them that whatever was happening to Perseus would be done and complete by the coming dawn. They could wait a handful of hours.
But they were still suspicious about the stranger in their midst.
Hestia had to admit to some trepidation as well about the young man. While he had shown no hostility, she knew that all of the immortals sensed enough about him to be very wary, even cautious, of him.
The amount of power that they could sense hidden in that relatively small frame was nothing to sneeze at. It felt of steel, hard and unyielding, but understated, a sword in it's sheath, one that would not be drawn for any frivolous purpose or childish desire. But, at the same time, it felt expansive and unfettered, encompassing everything around him, free to act how and whenever it desired.
Hestia been in the presence of those with a similar aura around them. All of them were warriors true, able to challenge even Ares, Athena or others of their like in battle.
All of them were Great Kings, leaders of the men of old, when the world was a more primal place. Their strength in mind and body was comparable to even the mightiest champions of the Gods and their charisma was such that many felt that they were Gods in the flesh, descended upon the realms of the mortals. They were the very epitome of what it meant to be human.
Iskander of Macedonia, Julius Caesar, The Trojan Prince Hector. Even Genghis Khan and Attila the Hun, despite modern day demonising, could be counted among the number of these proud warrior Kings.
And those crowned beings, from ages past, were but candles to this man's sun in comparison.
And Hestia had a feeling that what they could feel from him was only the tip of the iceberg.
She glanced over at the man again, only, this time, to see the darkness of the hood and a slight smile to be turned in her direction as she did so.
"There is no need to be so nervous," the stranger, who had yet give any of them his name, said, his voice soothing and calm, lacking any intent to harm. Against her better judgement, she felt the slight stiffness in her spine relax as he spoke.
The voice reminders her of her mother, Rhea, albeit with a far more masculine bent. Calm, controlled and designed to soothe any who listened to it, knowing that they were in the hands of someone who would protect them.
It was the voice of a father.
"It is hard not to be around you," she responded to his statement, glancing away and tending her hearth once more, poking a few of the burning logs into just the right position.
"And why is that, Lady Hestia?" He asked, his voice deep and curious, she could practically hear the inquisitive eyebrow he no doubt raised, "I have offered no insult, nor have I attempted any hostile actions. I have sworn to do harm to another before the upcoming discussion is over, save in the name of defence of myself or another." Hestia could feel the weight of his gaze upon her increase with his every word, a sense of slight shame filling her at the blunt truth of his words. "What more do you need of me to accept my integrity?"
Hestia glanced away from the man, her face troubled. He had indeed done all these things, and even more beside, trying to make all of them at ease while also protecting Perseus' rights to the information that the man claimed he would need to know. Were he any other person, it would have made her give a great deal of respect to them. It was easy to take up a sword, but it was harder to put it away once drawn.
But the sheer power in his body made her not trust him.
She could understand how it could be contained within the man's form, not without turning him to ashes and dust within half a moment. She knew that, if he so desired, he could eliminate her existence in mere moments.
As she had thought before, it was humbling experience.
She didn't want to answer the man's question, and instead attempted to ignore him, going back to tending her flame.
The child of Pandora frowned slightly at the small Goddess as she refused to answer his question, poking the flames he sat before harder than she probably should.
He could practically taste the fear coming off of her and the nervousness in her frame that he could see despite the simple brown and large robes that she wore.
She was, even if she didn't admit it, absolutely terrified of him.
He frowned heavier, hunching forward toward the crackling golden flames a bit more, the heat of them not enough to do him harm.
Her terror of him boded ill for the message he was asked to deliver by his beloved Mother as well as the very future of this now changing world. If she remained so, then she would be unable to fulfill the role that now belonged to her due to the circumstances.
He sighed heavily, rubbing a calloused hand over his temples beneath the white hood of his coat. He knew that the life of Campione would be chaotic to say the least. Facing Divine Beasts and Heretic Gods being no small or usual feat for many and that conflict, in some or another, would ever dog his steps, but having to travel to a completely different Universe Cluster?
He was pretty damn sure that even Madame Aisha, who travelled back and forth through the past and the present with startling regularity and was one of the oldest living Campiones, had not done that!
He shrugged briefly beneath his white coat. Ah well, it wasn't like he could've denied the request of his Mother. His frown was washed away by a soft smile that accompanied the thought of Pandora.
Mother.
Even after all these years, the fact that he had a mother, even if she was an adopted one, or because she was an adopted one, to look after and watch over him in what ways that she could still brought a sense of disbelief to his heart and mind.
At the time, he hadn't been worth that much, merely a malnourished pre-teen with a lot of baggage, soul damage and a heart as apathetic as death itself who had killed out of anger and rage. But she had still taken him, healed him up, shown him his true place in the world and had cut the chains and strings that had tied him down and entangled him.
For that alone, she would always have his loyalty, respect and love. And woe betide anyone who dared to raise a hand to her, be they man or woman, Beast or God, for he would show no mercy.
Still, just because he loved her with all his heart, it didn't mean that he couldn't become exasperated with her at times. As maternal as she could be, she still had a childish side to her that suited her preferred form.
Her large appetite for the sweets he had given her that one time when he had slain a Heretic God being a noted example. A week later he had seen on the news, in a small town he was passing through in his wanderings, a report about a shipment of chocolates, exactly the same as the ones he had given his Mother, had been stolen from the factory. With a pile of gold left in its place. And a handwritten note on an old fashioned scroll addressed to the owner of the factory on top.
He didn't know what the contents of that letter were. But he had a feeling he really didn't want to.
But despite her eccentricities, he would be hard pressed to find a more loving Mother, at least in his opinion. He didn't exactly have memories of his birth parents to compare them to her.
He smiled slightly as he glanced into the darkness, his eyesight unimpeded by the cloak of night and the dancing crackling flames, to a large blue farmhouse, from where he could feel a rising power. Where slept a young man who would take a step into a wider world.
And she had seen fit to give him a little brother.
An idle thought crossed his mind and he smiled deeper...
And slowly began to hum.
Hestia halted her tending of the flame as she heard the soft humming, turning towards the source in curiosity.
The stranger had leaned closer to the fire, rocking slightly on the marble seat he had, humming a soft tune. It wasn't one that Hestia was familiar with, deep and slow compared to the light and swift plucking of strings that Apollo was so fond of producing with his lyre. Yet there was a rhythm to it, something stirred her heart as it grew slightly louder.
Then he began to sing, almost intoning the words. The language was strange, not one she had heard before, but, somehow, she was able to understand it.
'O' Beloved child, of mortal blood,
O' Foolish child, of mortal birth,
Alone in a crowd, a hawk amidst kites
Taking thy throne with blood and might.'
The stranger hummed a little more and Hestia couldn't help but stop her duties completely, listening to the soft, almost mournful, cadence. It sounded almost like a lullaby.
'Foolish child, heed my words,
Beloved child, heed your heart,
A dragon amongst wolves, your commands are law,
Ruling your kingdom, that your eyes see near and far.'
He kept humming, just a little louder, but still so quiet that it was barely heard by her over the crackling flames.
'Beloved child, know this well,
Foolish child, know yourself,
A fool with a heart untamed and might unequalled,
Driven by passion, your Light unparalleled.
'Beloved child, the lands are yours,
Foolish child, your paths are yours,
You yourself are your own chain and leash,
Your sword breaks the wheel, your will cuts the thread.'
But Beloved child, remember you this,
Foolish child, listen to the world ,
'Ere it burns, above and below, the Wanderer will walk astride,
Salvation in hand, when the Covenant calls, and Shadow aside.
'Foolish Child, who brought forth the Light,
Beloved Child, who pushed back the Night,
Battle well, when you meet your End,
Then, in mine arms, you will know safety and peace.'
The last words trailed off into silence as the youth finished the song, his slight rocking on the marble seat stilling and stopping. The silence also brought the Goddess of the Hearth out of her daze that the song.
"What was that?" She said in a hushed tone, staring at the hooded stranger, completely flummoxed by the song that reverberated through her very being, etching itself in her psyche. She would never be able to forget those words, as soft spoken as they were.
"A lullaby my Mother made for her children," the stranger responded slowly, his hood shifting to look in her direction, slightly tilted as if to say that she had his interest. "One that was meant to reflect what it meant to be her child, and a warning for what our future will bring."
That statement made Hestia freeze for a moment, a cold ball of ice forming in her stomach.
"You have siblings?" She asked, trying to be casual, even when her voice sounded hoarse and croaky to her own ears. Her mind was spinning at the thought that there were several beings that were so similar to him in power.
"Seven of them in fact," the hooded warrior answered calmly, much to her distress (Seven!? Hestia mentally screamed), "Three older brother, three older sisters and a single younger, and quite troublesome to be honest, brother." For the first time she heard something between a rueful laugh and an exasperated groan come from the hooded man, something that made Hestia inexplicably relax due to having heard it before from her youngest brother, usually after word had reached him about the antics of his more lively sons, Hermes and Apollo.
"I remember Mother mentioning some of his rather lively misadventures he has been through," he chuckled heartily, "Many of them involving quite a few young women." He chuckled again, making her relax even more and smile slightly as her tension ebbed away. His laugh was warm and merry, completely different from the stoic monotone he had been speaking through the course of the day.
His laughter made him seem more approachable, more human she supposed, than when he had been speaking coldly and indifferently when he had first met them. It let her see beyond the threat that his plentiful amount of power posed to any and all that faced him.
"What are they like?" She asked inquisitively, as she glided through the fire, unharmed by the crackling flames, to stand almost directly in front of him.
He didn't show a jot of surprise at her actions as he answered.
"In a word? Unique," he answered bluntly, even as she saw his mouth curl slightly upwards in humour. "But we each have our similar traits. Passionate. Determined. Stubborn. Each of us has our own view of the world and what we want to do in it, all of them vastly different from the rest of our siblings...and all are willing to get physical in defending it." He smiled a bit deeper, "It has lead to quite a few fights between all of us at one point or another." He confided softly, leaning toward her a bit, like he was whispering a great secret.
Hestia frowned slightly in disapproval at the man, not out of fear of his power, but out of distaste for the fights between his family members. It was not something she liked, especially amongst her own, and tried to prevent from happening where she could. She had failed more often than she liked, particularly amongst her own family, but she still tried as best as she was able.
In her opinion, family should never have to fight one another.
Ever.
Her disapproval must have been visible as the stranger was quick to explain further.
"Our family isn't the closest," he explained, "to each other or to our mother. Heck," here he snorted briefly, as if in annoyance, "I am probably the only one amongst us all that calls our Mother by that name."
Hestia frowned sadly, sympathy entering her coal like eyes. To be denied by your own children? It was bitter fruit to swallow and not one she would wish on any loving mother.
And it was clear that the one this man referred to as his Mother, Pandora, was one. Just by listening to the lullaby, the sheer love and adoration, hidden beneath monotone, that entered his voice when he spoke of her, bordering on almost fanaticism, made that clear to her. She had just been too cautious of his power to properly register it before. Now though...
It rang clear as day in every movement he made, little as they were, and word he spoke, few as they were.
She found herself feeling pity for the one this man knew as Pandora, whether it was her true name or not. No mother should be denied love from her child.
"Still," he said thoughtfully, Hestia noting that he turned away from her and looked into the darkness. Her eyes traced to where he was now looking, locking immediately onto the form of the Big House. She could the slowly developing power within those wooden confines, knowing that the source of it lay in rest and coated with aura of pulsing and swirling golden light. She couldn't help but smile.
It was so like young Perseus to fall head first into trouble and some how come out on top, even if it wasn't without consequences. She frowned slightly.
Consequences that none, save perhaps the youth near her, knew about.
"To each their own," he continued with a shrug, "acknowledged by them or not, she is still our mother, and we her children, and thus she loves us all the same."
Hestia smiled again and gently took a seat beside the young man. Her wariness of him had died almost completely, his love and earnest respect for his mother sensed by her now that he had voiced it. With her Domains, she was finally able to see into his heart, at least in part.
She was not threat to her. As long as she didn't attack him, he would cut down anything that would have the temerity of attacking her in his presence. Her fear of him had turned into a sense of security, as if she knew that, while in his arms, nothing would be able to harm her.
It was an odd feeling, one that she had never felt before, but it was far from unwelcome, much to her hidden embarrassment.
It was like she was in the presence of a protective father, one that would be willing to bare steel to any that dared to approach with ill intent.
She knew that it was odd that she would feel this, but she couldn't help but do so, even as her mind tried to find out what it was that was influencing her actions. Surely it was not the youth?
A brief check of herself showed no traces of foreign magic or power, no threads of ethereal power that could possibly manipulate her. Was it just a natural sense of charisma he gave off then? One of those preciously rare and few people who could make another feel safe with just a few short words and their own presence?
She eyed him again as he sat quietly, looking into the flames she had been tending. Even with the coat hiding it, his body language showed none of the subtle signs of tension that would indicate deceit or nervousness. Perhaps he truly was just one of those men.
Still, he now seemed to be talkative, and the hours until dawn were rather long and lonely at times, perhaps she could get a few more questions answered, try to get some more information about this man. Not directly, of course, but perhaps in a bit more of a subtle manner. Often how people perceive those around them could tell others more about said person than the person answering questions about themselves.
"What is your Mother like?" She questioned softly, soothing and calm, as she started her subtle questioning. There was no harm in asking and she had no desire to see this young man come to harm.
That question kicked off a discussion session that lasted all through the night, only the crackling flames hearing the words they traded as the steady march of time was forgotten by them.
By the time Apollo's chariot rose above the horizon, Hestia's mind was awhirl.
She had learned much more than she bargained for that night, and knew about the trials and tribulations that Olympus would face in the coming times, her gentle voice managing to coax at least some of the information that Olympus had been denied from the youth the day before, if not all.
She could only hope and pray that young Perseus would be able to once more show the strength of will and endurance that he had shown only months before. And that she would be able to fulfill her own role in this convoluted mess.
Once more, the fortune and future of Olympus rested heavily on the son of Poseidon's shoulders.
Perseus Jackson woke swiftly from his healing slumber.
One moment he had been unconscious and sleeping, a soft golden glow coming off of him, and then, as the first rays of the steel grey dawn light touched his face, his eyes, a sea green that was more vivid than normal, snapped open, coming to full wakefulness in less than a second.
Unfortunately, while his body had awakened, his mind had still yet to shift gears from the battle he had fought with the overwhelming powerful goddess.
Finding himself in a strange place, on his back, and what he could clearly feel to be a feminine hand on his arm, gripping him semi-tightly, he reacted as any reasonable half-blood would, as his instincts screamed at him to do.
He swiftly gripped the arm that held him tightly, and rolled sideways, pulling his captor along with him with a exclamation of surprise and shock, as if she had suddenly been awakened roughly.
In a swirl of white sheets, short screams and a loud thump, Percy had the woman pinned beneath him on the wooden floor, his left forearm across her throat as he straddled her thighs and both of her hands pinned together above her head by his strong right hand as he loomed over her, his green eyes sparking with determination not to let the red haired bitch do any more damage.
It was unfortunate that he didn't have Anaklusmos on him at that moment for some reason, but he could deal with the insane woman without it if he had to. He wouldn't let her harm his friends, he wouldn't!
He went to press down on the throat of the now struggling woman, making him frown as she seemed to be weaker than before, when he heard his name being spoken, distortedly and as if it was choked out. Despite that, the voice seemed to be familiar...
"P-percy," the feminine voice choked out, making him glare blankly at the woman who dared to speak his preferred name. She had no right to use the name that his friends, his family, used! "P-please stop! Y-you're chok-king me!"
'That's kind of the point!' He thought to her sarcastically, even as he applied just a bit more pressure, pressing his forearm in the soft throat, making the woman try, and fail, to cough as her face turned red with the lack of air and her grey eyes began...
Wait.
Grey eyes?
His mind finally connected with his sight and his instincts stopped raging, allowing him to finally take in what was happening.
The woman he had clenched in his grip had blonde hair, but the previous bloody crimson. Curly blonde hair, as far as he could tell even with the dishevelment. Familiar blonde curly hair...
That hair. The voice. The eyes.
Pieces of the puzzle snapped into place and his eyes widened in shock, shame and dismay.
He was choking Annabeth!
He reeled back, his flying away from their previous positions as if they were suddenly burned, even as he started babble an incomprehensible stream of apologies to the now gasping and wheezing daughter of Athena beneath him.
"I'msorry!I'msorry!I'msorryI'msorry!I'msorry!I'msorry!I'msorry..." He babbled at light speed, even as his mind reeled in horror at what he had done and how he had done it!
He had never choked someone before, never gone straight for the pain and kill. Normally, if he had been in the situation he had been in before, he would have pinned down his foe and demanded answers. This time, he hadn't cared.
It was like a beast had taken a hold of his mind, instincts to fight screamed at him as hot blood pumped through his veins, and he had responded to them. Lacking a weapon, he had instinctively used his own bare hands and arms, seeking to crush the life out of the one he had seen as a foe.
What the hell was that?!
His mental and vocal ramblings were cut short by a loud Crack! and the burning sting on his cheek as his head was twisted to the side by Annabeth's slap.
"Get a hold of yourself, Seaweed Brain!" She snapped at him as his head turned back to her, his mind and tongue rendered mute by her actions. She was now up on one of her elbows, the second one retreating with the rest of the arm as she withdrew from the slap she had administered.
Her face was still flushed red, whether it be because he had been choking her or because she either angry or embarrassed he didn't know, and honestly was too stunned to care.
He absently took note of her disheveled princess curled blonde hair, like she had just risen from bed and had not yet tamed it with brush and comb, and the marks that went down her cheeks from below her puffy eyes, tear streaks if he wanted to guess. He also noted that she was wearing what seemed to yesterday's clothing, the orange camp shirt clearly wrinkled and crinkled on her slim frame.
He felt confused, ashamed and worried. What was going on? Where was he? What had happened to that damned woman?
"Are you calm now?" Annabeth asked, her piercing grey eyes intent on him, worried and sharp, as she pulled herself completely upright, making them almost nose to nose due to him still straddling her thighs with his own.
The fact that he and she ignored that showed how disoriented he was and how serious she was.
"Y-yeah," he said with a slight stutter, his mind still almost all at sea, "I think so."
"Good," she said firmly, then her arms abruptly snapped tight around his torso and pulled herself into his chest and her legs swivelled sideways, making him release a grunt as her legs knocked his supporting legs out from under him and making him land on his rump.
Their positions were reversed now. Annabeth was straddling his hips even as she clenched her arms tightly around him, much to his confusion. Before he could voice it however, the scent of salt entered his nose even as his skin, already sensitive to his father's domain, felt hot water slide down his collarbone and onto his bare chest.
"I was so scared," she whispered, halting and croaky as she wept silent tears on him, the one who had almost choked her to death out of sheer instinct. She wasn't referring to what he had just done or him, however, this he knew. She was referring to something else.
Memories of blood and pain and eventual darkness came flooding back, the last moments of the being that called herself Thetis replaying in his mind in all the gory detail he remembered. The blood spraying and the oblivion that consumed him as his strength gave out. He truly thought that it had been his end, his final thoughts had been of regret. Regret that he would be unable to share a life with beloved.
He clenched her tight as well, revelling in the fact that he had managed to return to her side, to return to her arms and embrace.
Somehow.
"It's alright," he whispered into her hair, his sensitive nose taking the soft scent of peaches, her favourite shampoo, that lingered there for some reason. Perhaps not the best choice for a half-blood to use, due to monsters generally having a very refined sense of smell, but as they were currently in Camp, it was safe enough to use.
The scent made him relax. It was so familiar, so appealing. He felt his muscles unclench, even ones he didn't that had been tight, or that he even had, and his slightly stiff back, straight and upright and ready to move, bowed forward somewhat, leaning over the shorter form of his girlfriend. He felt the war beast beneath his skin, pacing and growling like a caged tiger, stop and lay down and begin to purr, it's desire for battle and blood, that he had barely noticed, also going dormant.
Love and beauty can truly soothe the savage beast.
"I'm here. I'm alive." He whispered in her ear, his hands moving and drawing her deeper in his lap, rocking slightly as he held the one who was most precious to him in his arms.
She just silently wept more tears, even as he just kept a hold of her, taking and giving comfort in equal measure.
He wasn't entirely sure what happened after the duel with the goddess, nor how long he had been out of it, though it was at least a day if the dim light of dawn he could see meant anything, or how exactly he was still alive, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He was alive and Annabeth was safe in his arms, everything else was just gravy.
"Well, isn't this a surprise," a familiar voice drawled, making him and Annabeth snap their heads around in surprise to the source, looking across the ruffled bed to the doorway.
The purple eyes of Mr.D looked at them in amusement, absently sipping a can of his favourite soft drink as he leant against the doorframe.
A strange feeling came over Percy as he looked at the punished Olympian. The beast inside him suddenly sat up and growled, his muscles clenched and his fingers itched and twitched, as if wanting to grasp Anaklusmos. His eyes sharpened and his ears twitched, even as time seemed to slow down. A desire to fight the God surged within him, roaring through his veins, even as he picked out the weaknesses of the God's stance, the places that were vulnerable to attack. His heart beat was like thunder in his ears.
A spin on his back to throw Annabeth out of harm's way and then a double kick to the bed to launch it at the God. While the Lord of Madness distracted, he would then pounce, layering his fist with power of his father, smashing through the bed that veiled his attack and probably smashing into the Olympian's face, hopefully dazing him and knocking him away. That would then give him a chance to get a proper weapon...
His thoughts were interrupted as Annabeth then made her voice heard, the desire fight coming abruptly to a halt.
"Mr.D," Annabeth said in surprise and respect, her soft voice resounding in Percy's soul, as if she hadn't expected him to be there. "Good Morning."
It was like someone had flipped a switch in his head. One moment he was ready to try and tear apart Mr.D (and what the hell was thinking?! The Wine Dude would have turned him into a grape vine before he could have laid a hand on him!) and the next, his desire to fight had almost completely left him, his attention instead focused on Annabeth rather than on the Lord of Madness, just from hearing the sound of her voice.
It was weird to say the least. Not to mention completely freaky.
What the hell was wrong with him?
"What's so good about it?" Dionysus answered back crabbing, obviously irritated, before he smirked a little, a gleam of malicious mischief in his eyes, "at least for me anyway. I can only guess at what you two lovebirds would consider a good morning."
Percy looked at the Olympian in confusion. What exactly did he mean by that remark?
He abruptly felt Annabeth stiffen in his lap, going ramrod straight, before she almost leapt backwards and off of him, making him grunt as she pushed against his gut as she launched away from him, the callused skin of her palms against his stomach making a weird shivering sensation run down his spine, his eyes traced the heavy blush that suffused her cheeks as she stood leaning against the wall, her face turned down and refusing to rise.
"I-it's not what you think!" Annabeth protested, almost yelping, yelping, in denial.
"Indeed?" Dionysus inquired dryly, a mocking eyebrow raised and the glint of savage satisfaction in his purple eyes. "Perhaps there is another reason that I found the pair of you in a passionate embrace?" his smirk deepened even as Percy's stomach felt cold. When ever that expression crossed the face of the God of Wine, it boded ill for whatever camper had managed to piss him off.
And it was directed at he and Annabeth.
"But that doesn't really matter," Mr.D waved off, nudging himself off of the frame of the doorway, a rare trace of seriousness entering his typically disheveled drunk looking features, "the meeting is about to start soon at the Campfire," his purple eyes flicked over to Percy, narrowing into a small glare, "and it wouldn't do for the guest of honour to not appear due to his desires," that damnable grin was back as the deity turned on his heels to leave, still talking, "for some skinship. I'm sure your parents will completely understand." He seemed to chuckle as he kept walking down the small corridor to the entrance of the Big House, one last comment thrown back at them as he exited.
"Next time, find a more private bed to use."
Even Percy, as somewhat obtuse and dense in the heart department as he could sometimes be, didn't miss the connotations of that final statement thrown at them with a gleeful laugh, one that only grew louder as both Annabeth and he sputtered in shock and denial at the ribald humour and mocking.
"It isn't like that!" They both yelled out, the answering laughter only growing a little louder, even as it trailed off.
There was a heavy silence between the two of them, each of them refusing to look at each other, their combined heads turned down so as to not make eye contact. In doing so, Percy saw what seemed to have flustered Annabeth and made it open season for Mr.D's teasing.
From where he sat on the floor of what he recognised as the Camp's infirmary, he could clearly see that he, for some reason, when he had been put in the small cot, he had been stripped of his clothing, and other garments had not been put on in their place. Meaning that, in the course of the last ten minutes, he had been bare arsed naked in front of both Annabeth and Mr.D.
And a certain morning problem for males was quite evident in its existence, standing proud, tall and straight.
A flush hotter than Apollo's chariot ran across the entirety of his body, even as he scrambled for the discarded sheets on the floor to cover himself. Why did these things always happen to him?!
It took but a moment, even if it felt to him like an embarrassing eternity, to wrap the sheet around him in the form of a makeshift toga, leaving him standing in the middle of the infirmary floor, his face down and his skin redder than a cooked lobster. The silence between the two teens was heavy and awkward.
Annabeth was the first to recover, having stopped blushing where she stood and pushed herself away from the wall, her eyes flicking up to look at him, only for a slight blush to return, even as he, somehow, managed to blush darker than he already was, if it was possible.
She coughed slightly, clearing her throat as she tried to speak, "I'll just leave you for a moment to get dressed," she said awkwardly, moving toward the doorway, almost shuffling, "I managed to get some of your clothes from your cabin while you were out of it and place them in the cabinet," she gestured toward the piece of furniture that generally held the bandages and other medical equipment for the infirmary, Percy seeing the stripes of white through the slats of the cabinet door, "you might want to hurry up and dress. The Gods don't like to be kept waiting...not by mortals or half-bloods anyway."
By that time, she was already out the door, stepping aside to be out of the doorway and no doubt resting against the corridor wall next to the doorway. Close by but still giving him a degree of privacy needed for him to change into his clothes.
"Why are they waiting in the first place?" Percy questioned, even as he swiftly opened the cabinet door. His eyes fell on the small and neatly folded bundle of clothing next to the pile of bandages. Classic orange camp shirt, board shorts, a pair of underwear (which made him flush slightly. Annabeth going through his underwear draw was a bit disturbing in someways, and thoroughly embarrassing in plenty more. There are some secrets that a man is meant to keep. Their own answer to the 'boxers or briefs' debate being one of them.) and set of leather sandals that were similar to his father's, something he had picked up in the city a little while back on a whim and a curious desire to see what they felt like that his father obviously found them comfortable.
He shrugged out of the bedsheet turned toga and swiftly began to dress.
There was brief silence from Annabeth, making him slightly nervous. It seemed to be a simple question...Then again, ever since he came into the divine world, nothing had ever been simple.
"After your...battle," she choked slightly at the word, making him wince inwardly. That hadn't been a battle, it was almost a one sided slaughter from the beginning. The only he even had a chance is because, miracle of miracles, the Olympians had decided to back him up for once. Though it did beg the question of how in Hades he was still alive and well?!
His father had made it pretty clear to him that, when he accepted the Council's power into himself, his life had been measured in mere minutes. No one was meant to have that much power in their body, not a mortal anyway.
So why was he still able to greet the dawn and his beloved? Why was he still hale and hearty and fine? He paused a moment as he looked a bit more closely at his sword arm, absently clenching and unclenching his fist, his muscles rippling smoothly and tightly underneath his unmarred skin.
He had had muscles before the fight, it was a necessity in the life of a half-blood, but the sheer definition of the muscles he now had was astounding and something he had never seen outside of a movie or one of those muscle magazines.
More than fine actually, if he was to be honest. He had never felt stronger, more powerful, than he did now, save for, maybe, when he was boosted by contact with water, though it was a very very very close second.
What the hell happened to him?
He focused back on Annabeth, his thoughts taking place in only a split second, as she began speaking again.
"Something weird started to happen," his closest friend, and more, explained, "The body of the bitch," Percy shivered at the sheer venom contained in that last word. He had rarely ever heard Annabeth resort to vulgar language, preferring to use barbs and the milk language of their parents when her ire was roused, but when she did, he knew that she was well and truly angered beyond all reasoning. "began to turn into dust..."
"Like monsters?" He interrupted, raising his voice so his question was heard, even as he frowned slightly as he slipped his board shorts on. He had seen gods die, or Fade, before. Pan most notably, but he had also seen a few of the minor gods' bodies when he had chased after Kronos to prevent him from breaking the Thrones of Olympus. Golden dust had not been part of the decaying process for either scenario.
This hinted at things he didn't understand, not that that was unusual, and had not encountered before.
He had developed a healthy dislike for surprises after he had entered the world of his father's kin.
"...Maybe," she answered, sounding oddly unsure, not something that he generally identified with the confident, sometimes overly so, child of Athena, "But only to a point! That type of dust generally fades into the air almost immediately, becoming part of the Mist in a way. This dust though..." He heard her trail off as he slipped the orange shirt on easily before then slipping into his provided sandals, bobbing down to strap them on tight and proper. He had no desire to look like an ass by tripping in his own sandals.
"This dust?" He encouraged her to continue, finishing one piece of footwear and moving onto the second.
"...it started to swirl around you," she said softly, "making you glow gold, just as it did, and slowly begin to enter your body." She stayed silent a moment as Percy froze in the middle of strapping his second sandal, his green eyes wide. "Many of us thought it was the beginning of a possession of some type."
Percy almost immediately felt ill. Possession was a hard subject for both him and Annabeth, the subject bringing thoughts both sad and terrible to the surface. Both of them had seen the aftermath of the time when a foreign psyche ruled over mind and body of another.
It was not a pretty sight, nor was it one that he ever wanted to experience first hand if he had anything to say about his own life.
The rest of the campers and their parents also had their own issues with the subject, views warped by the twisted appearance of the Titan King in the body of one that they had once called friend, ally or even brother. He could see one of them acting in some way to a possibility of a similar scenario, his royal uncle being high on that list, and rather harshly at that.
"Poseidon was the first to act," his girlfriend continued, her voice now pensive, no doubt reliving memories that she didn't particularly like, "he went to scatter the golden sand, but was immediately stopped by someone who popped out of literal nowhere."
Percy now rose to his feet and slowly began to exit the infirmary, an unsettled frown on his face as he turned toward Annabeth, who was leaning against the wall next to the door. "Your kidding?" He questioned in disbelief. His father was one of the Big Three, there wasn't much out there that could stand up to him.
Annabeth only shook her head in confirmation. "It surprised many of us too," she admitted, referring to the campers in residence, "But it was even more surprising to hear that he was here at his mother's bequest, and that the golden glow that was around you, healing you, was her doing." She cut her grey eyes to him, a slim hand raised and glided down his chest, tracing a part that had been far more painful the day before.
That whatever-it-was from the goddess had hurt like absolute hell, leaving a wound that he knew would have killed him, even if he hadn't literally burnt himself out due to channeling raw divine power through his body. Yet, having looked at his body, he knew that not even a scar or a twinge of pain was left behind to remember it by.
It would have been beyond many there, save for perhaps Apollo or Percy's father, to able to heal that vicious wound, if they even had the inclination to heal him in the first place. Yet, from Annabeth's statement, it would seem that this stranger's divine parent, as he could see no other possibility in the stranger's parentage, was able to work a powerful healing, without even being physically present to do so.
It was not something he expected from a goddess he didn't know. Even 'Bob', the predecessor of Hades and one of the strongest Titans around, had needed close proximity and touch to heal him from the war spirit's wounds some time ago.
And this didn't take into account that his very immortal soul had been saved from absolute destruction and oblivion by methods thus far unknown.
Annabeth's slim hand slipped across his shirt, drifting over to his shoulder and then down his arm to finally meet his callused hand, and gripped it firmly.
"Your father and the stranger traded a few more words," she said with a small frown, "but I wasn't in much of condition to hear them properly," she flushed slightly and tried to looked away from him in embarrassment, only for his free to stop her, catching her chin between his thumb and forefinger, not letting her turn away from him.
"And I don't blame you," he said softly, his green eyes almost burning in their intensity as they gazed upon her. Annabeth felt small in front of those piercing and flaming eyes, as if her soul was about to be consumed by the flames of passion and animal-like ferocity within those depths. It made her feel safe, oddly enough, and made her stomach do flip flops. "I would have been in the same state, had our positions been reversed."
Annabeth couldn't help but flush at his words, pleased with them, but managed to gather herself and gamely continue to speak, Percy's hand and fingers not leaving her chin.
"All that I managed to understand is that, whatever the stranger's mother did to you, had some far reaching consequences. For both yourself and for the world, if what the stranger said was true, and he wouldn't reveal anything more until you were awake and well, despite demands from the Sky Lord and others."
Percy rose an eyebrow, "And the Council just let him get away with that?" He said in disbelief. The Council, and Zeus in particular, didn't take well to being denied what they wanted. He was sure that one of them would have tried to force the issue.
Each and every one of them had done worse for lesser reasons.
Annabeth looked at him, a pale hue crossing her face, making his stomach tighten into an icy ball. He somehow knew that he wouldn't like her answer to his incredulous question.
"They didn't," she said with a shake of denial, "but only because of two things." She licked her lips, a gesture that made him briefly flush, thinking of what other times he could see that gesture happen, her face flushed and hot as she looked up at him...
He shook himself mentally. What the hell was he thinking? Now wasn't the time for such things.
"One: His own power is easily equal to that of your father's and his brothers' own."
Percy felt his jaw go slack, even as his heart skipped a beat in shock. Impossible!
But the biggest shock was the last one, one that made his mind flee to a week in the past, when the sky had blackened, even at high noon, and terror and despair had chained the collective camper's thoughts and minds as a cloud of what could only be described as 'evil and malice and hatred given physical form' had erupted through the Big House, walls turned to dust through decay by coming into contact with the cloud as all before it was consumed or 'melted', before it managed to dissipate and vanish not a few moments later, like a mist burning away from the heat of the sun.
Still, more than a few of the campers had needed counselling in some form or another after being hit with the heavy and frankly vile presence of that dark mist, and no one had a good night sleep for the next couple of days.
"Two: The man claimed that his mother is Pandora."
...Damn.
"They are taking their sweet time," Poseidon's youngest brother growled from where he sat around the flames of the Campfire in the light of dawn.
Poseidon mentally rolled his eyes at Zeus' grouchiness, even if he did agree with the sentiment to a degree, but his true eyes never left the form of the hooded man who had requested this meeting, even if it was in a rather forceful way.
The entirety of the Council, Hestia and Hades included, were seated on the marble benches that surrounded the reddish-gold flames. Their Thrones were absent, remaining on either Olympus or in the Underworld, but each of their Symbols of power were either clutched in hand or worn in the appropriate fashion.
Each of them were very eager to get to bottom of this debacle, Poseidon himself most of all due to his son's unwitting involvement, and were beginning to become impatient at the lack of the 'guest of honour's' presence, which the stranger had unequivocally stated was a requirement before he would begin.
Poseidon hoped the stranger appreciated their actions. It had taken a bit to ensure that no one could interrupt them while this discussion happened, keeping the no doubt curious half-blood campers away while the Council talked. Zeus had taken the extra precaution of commanding Hypnos to keep the campers, minus Annabeth Chase and Perseus Jackson, asleep while the conference was held.
"Be patient, Zeus," his eldest sister said calmly from where she sat on a bench of her own in her usual childish form, close but not overly so, next to the stranger, who had still yet to reveal himself in either face or name, "They should be along shortly. Just give them a little time, both of them have just been through a very trying ordeal."
Poseidon couldn't help but grunt in agreement. Yesterday had been an ordeal and a half for everyone involved. And he had a feeling that yesterday's incident was only the very tip of the iceberg for what would happen in the future.
Dionysus chuckled slightly after taking a swig of his Diet Coke, "They both seemed to be recovering rather well when I last saw them," he said with a small smirk.
Poseidon narrowed his green eyes at his usually drunken nephew. He wasn't sure that he liked that tone of his voice. It reeked of slyness and malicious humour.
Before he could demand his nephew to explain what he had meant, the man of the hour moved abruptly, snapping his head in the direction of the Big House, staring briefly from beneath the folds of the hood, before calmly speaking.
"It won't be long now," the stranger said calmly, his hood never leaving the direction that Poseidon and the others also turned to look at, Ares swivelling completely around on his bench, only for the war God to sneer and spin back, a low growl in his throat. Poseidon rolled his eyes mentally.
He doubted his son or war lusting nephew would ever get along.
"Here they come."
And indeed 'they' were.
Side by side, Annabeth Chase, in slightly rumpled clothes and disheveled hair, with small, fading and barely visible red tear streaks below each of her eyes, and Perseus Jackson, hale and hearty much to Poseidon's profound relief, walked toward them.
Poseidon frowned slightly though as he eyed his son. There was something different about him, something subtle and yet profound, that he couldn't quite place. There was no doubt that it was Perseus, his link to his favoured child was strong and resonated just by being near each other, but there was something...more. Something that had not been there before.
A clue as to what it was came as the couple, now official and something that Poseidon took great glee in watching his Athenian rival's reaction to when it was brought up by chance, glanced up from a small discussion they were having and looked toward the gathered and curious faces of the Council.
Green eyes met green eyes as father and son saw each other. Poseidon, however, was surprised at the reaction he saw, just for a split second.
He saw his son's muscles tense, as if gearing up for a fight, and his eyes took on a steely glint, with shadows of primal aggression hovering just behind those narrowed and slitted orbs. He saw Percy's hand twitch, hard, towards one of his pockets, Poseidon's divine knowledge allowing him to know that it was the pocket that contained Anaklusmos, his son's weapon of choice. There was also a brief feeling in the air, as if death was drawing near, making Poseidon shiver briefly, feeling like he was a mouse before a hungry serpent.
For a split second, a Poseidon didn't see his sarcastic and determined son. He saw a warrior that was looking at him like he wanted to figure out the best way to tear out his throat. In the bloodiest possible way.
Then that moment was gone. His son's face becoming confused and shocked, all aggression leaving his body, and ended up taking a step back as if he was slugged upside the head, before recovering quickly as Annabeth's hand touched his shoulder, concern in her grey eyes. A brief exchange of words and they were then moving again, coming straight towards the assembled Council.
What in the name of Tartarus had just happened?
"Now that we are all assembled," Percy's uncle rumbled from his seat beside his perpetually frown wife, his electric blue piercing the hooded stranger that Percy now knew was the reason for this whole song and dance, "I do believe that some answers are needed. For one," that piercing gaze became even sharper, "Just who are you really, boy?"
The hooded figure seemed to shrug, "Depends on who you ask," he said cryptically, much to Percy's annoyance, the rest of the divine part of his family tree not far behind, "but I mostly go by the name Hadrian or Harry." He sighed slightly, audible to any and all, "It is one of the few gifts that my birth parents left me before they were killed almost two decades ago."
Percy winced slightly. He knew the feeling of losing a parent, mostly due to his Uncle's little plan during the whole Lightning Thief debacle. Thankfully, it had been a deception, his Uncle wanting to use her as a possible bargaining chip, but it still left a mark on him, thinking that his mother had been dead. Dying to save him.
If he hadn't been in camp at the time, the constant activities and startling revelations not quite giving him time to brood on it, he wasn't sure what might have happened to him.
"Hadrian then," Zeus said, ignoring the other half of the stranger's statement as irrelevant, "Second question: What in the name of Chaos and Order is going on?!" His Uncle thundered the question, his eyes blazing and crackling with lightning, the scent of burning ozone filling the air as Zeus let his power and temper rage, barely held in check by the abrupt hand of Hera at his elbow, stroking it gently in an attempt to quell the Thunderer's anger.
Hadrian's hooded head tilted slightly in question, unfazed by the display of divine might and temper. "Which answer to that do you wish to hear first, Lord of the Aether? The answer to calamities that are even now affecting the world, who is doing it and why? An explanation as to who was the goddess that descended upon this sanctuary for your children, unfamiliar to any of you despite the fact that she bore the name of someone you and many of your kin respect almost above all others? An in depth revelation of what has happened to young Perseus, the reason for his increased power and how it came to be? You will have to be more specific."
Percy grimaced as he saw the flushed and twitching face of his short tempered Uncle. Despite the fact that this entire meeting was about him, in a sense, he wasn't exactly willing to speak up from where he sat next to his stony faced father, who looked at the one revealed to Hadrian with a terrifying glare at the seemingly coy run around that the one named Hadrian was giving them. It would not be wise to speak out of turn when the King of Olympus was in a temper.
Death had been punishment for lesser offences.
Thankfully, Athena, calm and cool, was the one to speak, interjecting before Zeus could do something precipitous.
"I believe the first two questions would be wise to be answered first," she said coolly, her grey eyes as hard as steel as she observed the seated hooded figure of Hadrian. A thousand thoughts rushed through those eyes as Percy eyed her, each of them no doubt about how to take down Hadrian should a fight break out. Percy was betting she would use her spear to pierce his heart after a quick feint to his head, judging by the way she seemingly idly held the instrument of war and her Symbol of Power...
Percy blinked abruptly, his thoughts halting in their tracks as he ran over them again. How did he know that? How did he know how Athena would have fought? He would never have been able to guess that before, his analytical skills were not that good.
The urge to speak out and demand some answers increased, but he managed to leash it, barely. He didn't want to antagonise his girlfriend's mother more than he already did just by existing. But the question still burned in his mind, one that had been with him ever since he had woken up.
He looked down at his unconsciously twitching and clenching hands, as if they itched for a sword to be grasped in them.
What hell was happening to him?
Hadrian nodded in asquiesence to the Goddess of Wisdom and her daughter at her side, a small hidden smile on his face beneath the white hood he wore.
It seemed that wherever he went, on whatever world, Athena is Athena is Athena. It was somewhat comforting, a small slice of something familiar in this, to him, very strange world.
"As you wish," he said with a nod as he hummed to himself in thought inwardly.
'Now how to begin? Perhaps an introduction of the concept of other worlds?'
"The first question, regarding the calamities and their source, is a bit complex and requires a degree of back story, so I ask for a bit of patience." He said calmly as his thoughts twisted around his words, trying to articulate in just the right way so that his answers were not misunderstood. He leant slightly back on the bench, the surrounding audience held captive by their desire for knowledge. "I suppose it all begins with a simple, undeniable but difficult to believe fact: This is not my world."
The bomb was promptly delivered and he smirked slightly as he saw everyone look at him in a dumbfounded kind of way, as if they were unable to process or understand what he had said, like he was speaking gibberish. Backward.
He quickly moved his explanation forward, no need for him to listen the yelled denials and accusations of deceit that he knew would be building up in a few of their throats. Not to mention that the reason for him even being here looked completely out at sea at what he had just said, incomprehension in his eyes.
Not one of life's biggest thinkers obviously. Hopefully, he wouldn't be another Doni. One of that sword wielding idiot was enough for the multiverse. He wasn't sure that it could handle another.
"In the beginning, there was nothing, a void." He intoned, like a bard of old recounting legends of the past in the feast hall of the king. "Complete and utter darkness was what all of existence consisted off." He smiled around at them. They all knew this story. What person doesn't know their own origins?
"But in darkness, all encompassing and enveloping, lies chaos, lies potential. All it needed was just the right time, just the right circumstance, to become something else, something more." His hand abruptly pulsed and glowed, a sharp flash that made them all start and flinch.
"And with that brief spark, Existence was set into motion, pieces of chaotic darkness coming together to create a reality, unshaped and young, unformed and new, but still there, existing, in the darkness of the Void, mirroring the existence of the Void but vastly more changing and with the potential to grow beyond that state." He smiled again. He enjoyed recounting the old tales. Even to beings only slightly younger than it, at least from a metaphysical geological perspective.
"And so it happened once, it could happen again. More realities were born, made, created. Each of them different from each other, hovering in the Void, making new connections. Developing. Changing. Evolving. Becoming what you see around you today, carved by the history you have lived through since your birth and all the way back to that single moment in the Void." He smirked at them all. "This is origin of all realities. Yours. Mine. The little green man's, who is named Timmy, that is a few short hops away through the Void." His face grew slightly somber as he approached the next part of his explanation.
A small gesture with his hand and a flex of his will made the loose sand around the Campfire rise, floating into a the shape of river made of the material in mid-air, with rather large clumps forming here and there, making it look more like a babbling brook. A mere minor magic of Lower Sect, one that would usually require a magical focus with a core catalyst of some variety. Being a Campione, however, had it's perks. Being able to use magic of the Lower Sect without a focus being one of them.
"That is the theory of other worlds, other realties." He continued as he looked around at Council. "Generally, these worlds remain separated, the decision that separated them creating a metaphysical void, a gap, a divide, in the fabric of space and time. What is done, is done, and cannot be taken back. That is reality."
He sighed heavily, dropping his head as the Gods listened to him raptly, mesmerised by this explanation that he was giving.
"On the very rarest of occasions, however, an Event can take place," Hadrian said with foreboding, gesturing to the sand brook he had made, making the 'water' suddenly seem to shake and rattle, roiling like a storm tossed sea, making one of the risen stones fling itself around in the chaos before it met another stone with a loud and decisive click, making both of the stones glow a mix of red and blue.
"An Event is something shakes the very foundation of a reality's existence, a primal and intrinsic part of that place suddenly goes awry, making the reality resonate into the Void. The 'wave' of this resonation, on occasion, hits the bubble of another reality as it travels through the Void, briefly creating a bridge between the two of them, a connection that can allow things to either enter or leave either reality, throwing the very laws of each reality out of whack. Gravity, time, space, even colour and chemical reactions. It distorts them from their previous 'settings'."
Hadrian looked around at his audience again. He saw the faintest shadows of understanding on the faces of Athena and the pale skinned God dressed completely in black, Harry wagered that this man was Hades the Greek Lord of Underworld, followed by the eyes of the small girl seated beside Athena.
"And that doesn't even cover the metaphysical, the magical and divine, portion of things."
The eyes of Pallas Athena were as wide as they had ever been as she listened to this young man's out of this world explanation as to why he was here.
As a goddess of knowledge, despite being part of one of the younger generations of Olympians, she knew at least a little about the existence of other realms. Not as much as she wanted to, unfortunately, but she still knew that they existed. However, she was erred in her assumption that all of these other realms, realities, were similar to her own.
She listened with well disguised eagerness as the youth continued to speak.
"A week ago, your time," young Hadrian spoke, his voice drawing her in, "an Event took place, in this very area," he gestured around him, "one that connected your world to mine. The connection allowed...beings, powerful ones, to enter this reality. It is they who have been causing the trouble amongst your domains currently, if my mother is correct." The hood he wore seemed to look at them all grimly.
"And she has never been wrong in my experience."
"And who is the 'they'?" Her pale uncle rumbled, his eyes as black as the abyss he ruled, almost glaring at Hadrian, being on of the first to regain his wits at the young man's revelations. "I have felt a number of disturbances in my realm over this past few days. Parts of my domain, the far flung corners for the most part, have also begun to change, turning into something else. And I am barely able to halt it in its tracks!" The Lord of the Underworld growled like a feral beast, incensed and furious, his power rising dramatically and his form flickering like it was about to burst into his true form. "My Domain! My Kingdom is being assaulted! Tell me who these perpetrators are so I can rend them apart and send them back to Void that spawned them in one of Cerberus' doggy bags!"
Athena shivered at the sheer fury and demonic rage in Hades' voice. He was a possessive man at the best of times, always doing what he could to keep what he had and considered his, refusing to give them up unless forced, like a miser with his gold. He didn't take anyone trespassing on his domain or taking what was his well, at all.
Many of her generation looked at the King of the Underworld warily and even his siblings looked uncomfortable at the terrifying aura he exuded. He was not a man to cross and his reputation was far from the nicest. The domain he ruled over was also grim and foreboding and granted him a great deal of power. Few would contend with him unless they had no other choice.
Hadrian, however, was seemingly unfazed at the bout of temper that roared around Hades and answered calmly. And bitingly.
"Considering that the entirety of Olympus has thrown their strength at a similar being, even if it was through a Champion, and came within a hair's breadth of losing, I would think it wise for you get more information, and aid, before you mounted any attack against the sources of your aggravation."
His voice was cold as ice and sharp as a drawn blade as he looked at the almost vibrating in anger Lord of the Underworld.
Even she felt chills down her spine at the voice, so unlike his previous amiable tones.
That chill increased sharply as she realised what the man was saying.
The realisation also seemed to hit Hades and knocked him out of his anger, his face slightly stunned. The others of the Council were not far behind in their incredulity.
"You are saying that the cause for these disasters and the resulting chaos in world at this current time," Athena began gravely, her lips suddenly dry with an emotion she had not felt in quite some time, "are Gods?"
"And Goddesses and Divine Beasts and Monsters and other beings of human myth, legend and folklore." Hadrian said with a firm nod.
"Impossible!" Blurted out Artemis, her moon yellow eyes sharp, "That shouldn't be possible! A God is tied to their Domains! If their Domains are weakened, or they are removed from it for a long enough time, so are they!" She shook her head vigorously, "Even if, by some fluke, the Gods of your world arrived in this world, then they would have been cut off from a vital source of their power. They would have Faded the moment they set foot on our world!"
Athena nodded in understanding at her chaste sister's remark. It was more than true. A sad example of such circumstances would be that of Pan. Humanity had almost completely destroyed the Wild in their desire to advance and expand. Such damage had brought Pan to border of Fading, his pain resonating with that of his domain, only kept on this plane by the collective stubbornness and belief of the satyrs. When Grover Underwood had met the old Lord of the Wild, and had vocally released him of his charge, it was the last straw.
And even if they did not Fade upon coming to this world, there should have been no way that a foreign deity could have had the power to impede the entirety of the Council. No God she knew of was that strong!
Hadrian just barked a laugh, one that had little in the way of humour in it, "I only wish that were true," he snorted, "You forget, Lady Huntress, that these Gods and beings are from my world. The very nature of Gods in my world compared to ones such as yourself here...are vastly different."
Zeus narrowed his eyes at the hooded youth.
'Vastly different'. Two simple words had never given him a more foreboding feeling.
What was it that separated his Council from the supposed invading deities from this youth's own world? And what did it have to do with the newest mortal spawn of his ocean dwelling brother?
He, too, had felt disturbances in his own domain for the past week, burning like a second sun in his divine senses for but a moment and then vanishing just as quickly. All up, he had felt just over a handful of these presences. Some were strong and on par with a Council member, some were weak and were barely worth the attention that had attracted him to them.
Frighteningly though, there were a few that had immense power. Power that exceeded his own by orders of magnitude. Maybe even dwarfing that of Typhon.
It was terrifying thought, and he had had true proof of those worries during the debacle the day before. He shivered slightly at the memory.
He had thrown everything he had at that barrier, thunder and lightning pealing across the sky to strike with all its force, further backed up by his Master Bolt. And yet he had not even scratched the dark barrier. Even Typhon had stumbled slightly under the power of his Master Bolt.
He had never felt more helpless in his entire existence than then, even more so when he had found out that he was unable to contribute to the gifting of power onto the sea spawn Perseus. He narrowed his eyes in anger, lightning crackling in his white orbs.
If only the foe was still here, he would have struck her with his full might, divine form and all, for her destruction of his Cabin! As it was, he could only fume in anger. It would take a while to get the materials and manpower to restore it, not to mention the funds for it would have to come directly out of his own pocket rather than the Olympian Treasury as a whole due to it being one of his own personal temples rather than a communal place of worship like Delphi and other places had been in the many centuries passed.
"In what way do you mean?" His wife asked of the hooded man, her face set into a small frown of confusion and apprehension, something that Zeus knew was shared by all of his kinsfolk.
What did it mean to be a God in this stranger's realm compared to their own? Did it have some affect on their strength, which may be what allowed the one that called herself Thetis to be able to overpower them all, despite her counterpart in this realm, while powerful, being nowhere near such a daunting level of strength and might and raw power?
Hadrian grunted, as if in thought for a moment, and his next words came out slowly, as if he carefully picking out each one as he did so, trying to make sure that he was not misunderstood.
"I have spoken of other realities," he said thoughtfully, leaning forward toward the still going fire and almost hunched over, "Sometimes, these realities, while appearing so similar on the surface, with bikes and cars and the same countries and leaders, are quite different when one looks beneath the skin, delving into the spiritual world and the mystical." His hood twitched toward Zeus, letting the darkness within it look directly into the King's face, "Correct me if I am wrong, but am I right in assuming that, in this realm, the existence of the Gods predates the existence of Mankind and Humanity?"
Zeus frowned at the young man's question but none the less answered him, "That is correct," Zeus said with a slow nod even as his mind worked swiftly. The question's unheard implications were daunting to him and he couldn't help but give them voice, "Am I to understand that, in your world, that it is the other way around? That Humanity predates the Gods?"
His question caused more than a few stirs amongst those of his blood or under his rule. Such a concept was completely foreign to them. Zeus remembered the first humans, those created by his now, hopefully, Faded sire, who lived in the very misnamed 'Golden Age'. They were born into a torturous life, where they were merely the cattle for the Titans, playthings and toys. Only the lucky ones of that race died young before experiencing many of the horrors that his forefather's could wreak on them.
Still, they were brought into existence by the Titans, created and made by their hands. It was the Titans that came first, their reign beginning millennia before the first man was crafted from the earth by Kronos and his kin.
Even the men of the current Age, those of Iron, had came along sometime after the Olympians had taken their thrones, the Men of Gold created by Kronos dying or were killed after their creator had been dethroned and cut into pieces before being thrown into the Pit.
In either case, the situation was the same. Gods predated men.
This youth, hooded and cloaked, however, was implying the opposite was true, at least for him and his world.
"More than that, Lord Zeus," Hadrian said calmly. Zeus felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand erect and the bottom of his stomach feel hollow and empty as dread anticipation filled him at the youth's words, somehow knowing that the next statement from the young man would create chaos and confusion once they were spoken aloud.
"In my world, across the Void's endless expanse, Man gave birth to the Gods."
There was nothing but a stunned silence that greeted the man's remark.
The eyes of Hermes widened to the size of silver dollars, even as his jaw dropped and his usually loquacious and silvery tongue turned into lead and became silent as shock filled his mind.
'How was it possible?' His mind asked itself, almost completely disbelieving the young man's almost heretical statement. And yet, he could detect no falsehood, no lie, passing the kid's lips. And he would have detected them, his own domain of Thievery left able to glean the truth amidst lies rather easily, much like Apollo though the God of Messengers could admit that his skill at it was less than his solar brother's.
Despite knowing that it was the truth though, it was still a great shock and was sending him reeling.
Thankfully, the kid continued to talk, explaining to them, and preventing any of his more violent prone siblings or kin from taking umbrage at the very startling revelation.
"In this world, your world, the Gods are part of the natural order of existence," Hadrian explained, "the invisible masters of the cycle of existence," he snorted slightly, "You don't even have a corporeal existence if you don't want one or are forced by other circumstances to do so. In essence, you are your Domains, which grants you nigh absolute control over them. On the flip side, however, due to your ties to your Domains and how close of a connection you have to them, damage that this done to them or large changes to said Domains are reflected upon you." He tilted his head in thought, "And I would take a good guess that what power you have now, while still very significant...is undoubtedly less than what you had back in your motherland all those years ago."
Hermes couldn't help but wince at the comment, even as small scowls and Grumblings were heard amongst the rest of the seated Council. It was harsh truth and a bitter pill to swallow for many of them.
"It is, I believe," the lad continued, his voice not even rising, keeping it the same bland tone that it had been through out the discussion, if it could really be called that due to a large lack of participation on the Council's behalf, "mitigated by your ties to the Heart of the West, the culture that sprung from your own initial one and carries the majority of your original values and views, giving you all an indirect form of worship and, thus, power to be gained through it." He seemed to smile at them all, even if Hermes couldn't see it through the darkness in the hood, something that irked him a little.
"So long as the West still lives, so will you."
The Council collectively nodded in understanding and agreement. While the human mortals may move the Heart of the West as old powers fall and new powers rise, the Gods of Olympus were the Heart of the West and forever will be tied to humanity. It was a great strength as well as weakness for them. Faith, in some ways, could make them stronger but it was a fickle thing and not something that should be relied upon, in Hermes' opinion.
Alas, Olympus had cleaved itself tightly to the mortals. Too tightly to try and separate themselves from them without the consequences to come back and bite them hard on the ass.
"And what of the Gods from your own home?" Asked his grain obsessed aunt, her eyes piercing the form of the hooded boy child, at least in her eyes, "are they so different from us?"
Ahhh, the question of the day. It was one that had been knocking around in the Messenger's head ever since the startling revelation of literal 'alien' deities being among them. Stepping back to the clusterfuck of the day before, Hermes couldn't help but feel unease.
The attacker, one who had called herself Thetis, though Hermes was entirely convinced of the truth on that score, had been horrendously powerful. Powerful enough to stop the entirety of the Council in it's tracks, a feat that he knew had very few equals. There were not many beings out there who could have done it, and many of them had since Faded, were in the deepest slumber, or had been captured and imprisoned in various ways over the years.
It made him more than a little cautious. If she had truly been Thetis' counterpart, a minor sea goddess, then how much more powerful would the other foreign deities be? Ones that matched up with the movers and shakers of this world.
Would there be another Hades, one that could rend his true pale uncle limb from limb at his leisure even as he summoned the legions of the dead to march toward Olympus?
Could another form of his father have appeared in this world, one who could make the very sky shatter in his wake as he strode across the sky?
Worse yet, could another Kronos arise, stronger and more powerful than his grandfather had ever been, with an axe to grind and a temper to match it?
"To put it bluntly? Yes," the hooded fellow answered back promptly.
"In what way?" A curious voice spoke up from beside Athena, the owner of the voice's grey eyes looking intently at Hadrian. Hermes could understand Annabeth's drive for knowledge, especially considering the circumstances.
"As I said before: Man gave birth to the Gods," Hadrian answered slowly. Hermes still had trouble wrapping his mind around the concept but still managed to listen intently. Perhaps there was a reason of the foreign deity's strength in comparison to them? "In the course of history many civilisations created many stories and legends to explain what they cannot comprehend. Why the sun rose, why it set, why storms were formed or certain creatures existed. Ancient man had no explanation for these things and, as such, ascribed them to more powerful and often invisible forces ie Gods and other deities. This perception then spreads out amongst the people of a civilisation, taking root in their minds and hearts, and the people began to believe it. And once this collective belief reached a certain point? A God was born."
...well wasn't that a kick to the gut.
Percy frowned as he listened to the hooded man who had knowledge of what was happening to him...but had yet to reveal it to him.
This talk of new Gods and different realities somewhat confused him, the concepts were not something he had ever thought about before, but he still managed to have at least a small understanding of what he was speaking of. But he wondered; what did it have to do with him?
He kept listening carefully, hoping to hear more, hoping that his own problem would soon be addressed.
"You are implying that your Gods are mere pipe dreams of mortals made real?" Zeus rumbled, his eyes narrowed in glare at the form of Hadrian. Percy couldn't help but wince in pity for Hadrian. He had been on the receiving end of that glare more than a few times. It wasn't a place someone wanted to be if they wanted to keep on living.
He was just lucky enough that he had his father in his corner. He was pretty sure Hadrian didn't have the same luxury.
"If you want to put it that way, I suppose so," Hadrian said with a thoughtful hum in his tone before it sharpened quickly, beating the flushing with rage Zeus' own response to the nonchalant agreement, "But considering that this pipe dream was able to basically challenge the entirety of your Council and nearly win, I would think that you would be more respectful of the power dreams and belief can have."
That response made Zeus snap his mouth shut and Percy noticed the other members of the Council lean forward slightly in interest with hard eyes. They were obviously taking what had been said seriously. Something that Percy wished they had done earlier in his life when the threat of Kronos came knocking. Had they been more serious and accepted the possibility of him rising earlier, a lot of good lives would have been spared either pain or death.
"And it was one of your Gods that has assaulted this place?" Artemis asked rhetorically, her own eyes narrowed, "how powerful are your Gods in comparison to us? Is there any true weakness to them that can be exploited?"
The last two questions made more than a few there look at her askance. But before they could speak, Hadrian began to answer.
"Their power varies greatly," Hadrian responded, "their power is not, contrary to your own, based around age, domain or worship." That comment had even Percy looking at him a little wide-eyed. Ignorant though he may be to the nature of a God's power and their realm at large unless it was practically slapping him in the face, even he knew that God's grew more powerful through sacrifices, worship and other small tokens of acknowledgement, while being forgotten weakened them to the point of Fading, much like Pan had.
"The Gods generally stay in the Domain of Immortality, a dimensional realm beyond the boundaries of life and death, that is similar to your Olympus, watching the world as it turns. As they are not beings of the natural order, and are instead the creations of the thoughts of Man, they have few ways to interact with Humanity unless Mages call upon their powers in order to work their spells."
Percy watched as the man seemed to slump slightly, as if he was carrying a heavy burden.
"It is when they descend upon the mortal plane that everything goes FUBAR."
Many were confused at that comment, Ares' scarred face looking particularly puzzled and the comely face of Aphrodite looking almost blank in incomprehension. Like an air head if Percy were to be honest.
"As they are not beings of the natural order, descending to the mortal plane has...consequences."
Percy frowned. He didn't like the sound of that. It all sounded farfetched and barely believable, at least to him. But somehow, in some fashion, he couldn't bring himself to disbelieve what the man was saying. As if he already knew this information and was simply being reminded.
"What kind of consequences do you speak of?" His girlfriend's mother asked cooly, her grey eyes sharper than his blade.
The man named Hadrian sighed again. "You have to understand, the concept of a deity is fluid thing. What one man can call a saviour, another can call a beast. It is all about perception. This goes double for the Gods.
"Because my Gods are born of human thought, they are also subject to the changing views of humanity," he seemed to look directly into the eyes of the Goddess of Wisdom, an invisible weight seeming to fill the air, creating a tension that made Percy's muscles jump and twitch, as if they needed to move away from danger.
"Much like yourself and Rome."
Percy saw the visible flinch on every face belonging to the Council, all them leaning away from the flames of the Campfire. The reason for it was quite obvious and made Percy want to take the action a step further and bolt for the hills.
The face of Athena had gone blank for a moment, as if her mind had come to screeching halt, before twisting into an ugly snarl, a rictus of hatred and disgust. Her eyes made it plain that she wanted nothing more than rip apart the form of the hooded man limb from bloody limb, slowly and painfully.
In the back of his mind, in that moment, Percy thought that she looked more like the monstrous Gorgon than Medusa had. And it scared the living hell out of him.
"Have a care of what you speak," she hissed at Hadrian, with a venom more toxic than a Drakon coating every word.
Hadrian, much to Percy's disbelief, looked supremely unconcerned, or even relaxed.
"I'm merely making my point, Lady Athena," he said with a shrug, "no offence was meant."
Athena just scowled, even as Percy noticed her hands twitch briefly, like she was holding back from wringing the man's neck, even if only just.
"As the Gods from my home are born from the thoughts of men," he continued, ignoring the maliciously glaring form of Athena, "they can also be changed by the thoughts of men, much more than yourselves when you follow the Heart of the West, to the point that they become entirely different entities all together. Heroes worshipped and becoming true gods. Gods of an enemy people become demonised by another culture until they become demons in truth. Such is the fluidity of human thought.
"Sometimes, however, these changes, the changing myths and legends associated with a God, become a burden to them, making them want to escape it. To become what they once were or to become more than they are. Thus, they rebel and descend upon the mortal plane.
"Becoming what is known as Heretic Gods."
Hades couldn't help but raise an eyebrow even as he lightly scowled at the hooded youngster, his pride still smarting from the pointed verbal lashing the lad had thrown at him, however needed it might have been at the time.
Heretic God? Wasn't that an oxymoron? Despite his slight confusion, he paid rapt attention to this callow youth. One that had information about the reasons that his realm was in such a confused state. And how he could possibly rectify it.
Poseidon spoke then, in slight puzzlement, "How is descending upon the mortal plane such a problem?" He asked, green eyes narrowed in slight thought. "We do it all the time, with little to no consequences."
"It is because of the differing nature's of yourself and my Gods," the hooded man explained, "you are part of the natural order, as I mentioned before, thus nature accepts your presence. My Gods, however, are not so natural, being made of dreams and thoughts rather than the raw essence of the natural world that you are. The earth cannot immediately accept their presence and tries to rebel against it, actively reject them, in some form. The clash between these opposing powers results in a distortion in the God, something in their fundamental nature twisting, making them go berserk in a way."
Hades mused at what was being said. The mechanics behind this was difficult to understand, but the gist of it seemed like something up his sunny nephew's alley. These 'Gods' of the man's realm could be seen as a foreign substance that the earth's 'immune system' tried to fight and destroy. Obviously, considering the way the hooded child spoke, it didn't work completely, the earth's 'antibodies' not being strong enough to do so, but still did a form of damage. It made Hades frown.
He knew the strength of the earth well. Living beneath it and surrounded by it, he knew the sheer might that dwelled within its still form. If brought completely to bare against a single being, they had no chance whatsoever. They would be smothered from existence by the sheer weight of the earth's power.
So how was it that these Gods were able to withstand and its power?
"They are too powerful to reject, too wilful and determined to escape the trappings of their legend and myth, too strong to be denied their desires." the young Hadrian continued to explain, "If a God truly desires to descend, then there is little that can prevent it, not without an immense cost that is almost too horrible to pay.
"And so disaster rides in their wake."
Hades narrowed his eyes. Now they getting somewhere.
"When a Heretic God descends upon the earth, nature goes wild." Hadrian emphasised with harsh and violent gesticulations, "Depending on the nature of the deity that descends, any number of things could happen." The hood turned to Poseidon, "A sea God would bring flooding and storms that have no equal to wrack the world," he looked over to an eager looking Ares, the bloodthirsty fool always delighting in carnage, "a war God would bring conflict and battle and bloodshed," he looked to the unusually grim looking form of Apollo, "a sun God would bring droughts and fires. The list goes on."
Hadrian seemed to slump, his shoulders heavy, as if he were carrying a great burden. "In the Times Before," he said gravely, "people had no defence against them. The Magic wielded by the mortals was completely ineffective, like throwing a lit match at a roaring bonfire; Magic came from the Gods, thus such meagre spells from a mere mortal mage, whatever their apparent strength, could not affect them. Normal mortals were unable to do anything; these Heretic God were of Fantasy and Dreams, mortals weapons made from the earth did no damage whatsoever. It was a time of chaos and darkness and upheaval as the world was twisted and torn by the rampaging aspects of the very beings that humanity worshipped."
Hades shivered, along with his brothers and sisters. The description that the youth gave...it reminded him all too much the true form of the so called 'Golden Age' that his accursed father represented and had preached about. While he could admit that this care for mortals was somewhat...lacking, the Titans of that era had taken it to a completely different level, sinking into depths of depravity that even turned his stomach. And that was saying something considering his job and the duties contained therein.
The administering and creation of the Fields of Punishment was no role for someone without a stout constitution.
Still Hades frowned. From what he was hearing, the men of this enshrouded youth's homeworld were helpless against these Heretic Gods, unable to fight them, hide from their sight or escape their clutches and were forced to nothing but bear the burden of these God's actions, to quietly suffer under their heels.
So what had changed? What had come to pass that these chaotic times were no longer existing? The 'Time Before' what?
"Then a Light amidst the Darkness came. A Fire that kindled a spark of Hope in the hearts of men."
Hades watched as the hooded figure drew himself up from his weary slumped position. There was no longer resignation and tiredness in his frame, but rather pride and fierce belief in every inch of his spine that stood straight and tall. His voice, previously mellow and monotoned even when throwing caustically scathing words at others of the Council, became something more fervent and impassioned. Almost reverent and worshipful.
How interesting.
"At one time, a Heretic God had descended upon a small village. A few houses and farms with a small trading post, nothing much worth of note, was all it was made up of. It was an isolated and idyllic and peaceful place, being one of the few places in the world that had never suffered an attack from beings either mortal or immortal. The Heretic God rampaged there, without reason or mercy, destroying everything around it, leaving nothing but fire and ash in its wake as it laughed in delight at the carnage that it wrought."
Hades grimaced slightly. He would hypocritical in saying that he hadn't done similar things in the past, but he had always had a reason for doing so, as slight as it may seem to some. This God though...
He kept listening intently to the story that this young man wove.
"Amongst the populace of this small village however, was a youth. A young woman who's birth name has been long since forgotten by the annals of Man. She had lived the entirety of her life in that small village, happy amongst kith and kin, and had expected to live out the rest of her days there, old and bent as she watched her grandchildren learn her family's craft at her adult child's knees. There was nothing special about her, just an ordinary, if sometimes strange, little woman in a small isolated place in the world.
"The Heretic God ended that."
Hades was on the edge of his seat, the tingling of anticipation running down his spine, even as he hid it well. The boy was obviously warming up to something, something to do with this debacle and chaos.
"The fires of the Heretic God had descended upon her home, burning through stone and wood and straw with equal ease. She had managed to get out of that burning home, avoiding the flames for the most part, panic lending her strength.
"The rest of her family, however, did not."
Hades heard some of the more sensitive of his estranged family huff and restrain outcries of damnation and cursing. He wasn't exactly pleased about what this Heretic God had done either, but he focused on the fact the story wasn't over, that there was more to it, however tragic it already was.
"She could only watch as her kin became as ash, not even having time to scream before they were utterly consumed by the ever hungry element. Numb, she had stared at the place that once been the centre of her life but was now ash in the hot winds. Then, something began to consume her. Not the flames of the sun that were created and wielded by the mad deity descended upon the earth, but something far hotter and much darker.
"Rage. Wrath. Ire. Anger. Grief. Sorrow. Vengeance. Her hearth boiled with these emotions, making her blood burn with the force of them."
He gave a grim chuckle, the laugh of warrior on the battlefield as he chose his next foe to slay within the chaotic melee. The only part of his face that could be seen in the hood was twisted into a malicious triumphant smirk.
"And she focused all of that seething emotion, all of that hate, against the cause of it."
The smirk became wider, a devil's grin of delight.
"And rashly, foolishly, without a thought for the consequences, disregarding her own survival, ignorant of the reality of what she was facing, charged at her chosen foe, wanting nothing more than to rend him limb from limb, to make him feel the burn of the flames.
"To kill him."
Annabeth listened with her grey eyes, so similar to her mother's, wide.
She could imagine what was going through the woman's mind. With nothing left to lose, consumed by her hatred and grief, she turned it on the object of her ire. It was a uniquely human response, no logic or reason or instinct underpinning her decision, just the emotions of her darkened heart coming to the fore.
She was unsure if she would react the same, logic and reason being a fundamental part of her view of the world, but she could easily see Percy doing it, his impulsive nature and his natural emotionally driven mind would have guaranteed it. He had reacted viciously for a time when Kronos in Luke's body had struck her down for a while. His normally warm sea green eyes becoming hard and hot, like burning gems of emerald wrath.
For a normally laid back kind of guy, it was frightening for her to see the vicious desire to maim and hurt on his face.
Her musing was abruptly ended with a derisive snort from nearby, her eyes automatically tracking to the source. A small scowl crossed her face as it did so.
She had little fondness for the God of War, even less for his bloodthirsty and war-mongering ways. If it had been up to him, the Second Titanomachy would have gone on quite a bit longer and the tolls in blood and death would have been much greater.
It was not something that she could agree with.
"Well she's an idiot," he sneered, referring to the woman in the story that the strange man, Hadrian, was recounting, "a dead one too. A piddly little weak mortal isn't going to hurt a God, no matter who or what they are."
Reluctantly, Annabeth had to admit that Ares was right. People had challenged, and defeated, Gods in the past, her boyfriend being a noted example, but all of them had either had direct divine aid, were of divine descent, or some combination there of. A regular mortal, on the other, had never to her knowledge been able to accomplish such a feat.
And those that tried...their eventual fate made death look more inviting.
Hadrian, however, just seemed to grin even more, making what she could see of his face look like it was splitting in half, a slow chuckle, filled with dark mocking humour, rose from his throat, making Annabeth more than a little uneasy, her instincts screaming at her to be cautious, as the small hairs on the back of her neck stood erect.
"Ah, Lord Ares," Hadrian said with mirth, "for all your understanding of warfare and your desire for bloodshed, for all your ability to drive men into a rage," he chuckled again, "You seem to underestimate the power of conviction, of one's will. You seem to underestimate the power of a righteous man."
Annabeth frowned at the words spoken and mocking laughter directed to the now angered God of War. The war God looked like he was going to rise out of his seat to beat the life out of the hooded man. Only the brief sound of crackling lightning and Zeus' glare kept his butt firmly planted on the bench.
"The two, mortal woman and Heretic God, clashed violently," Hadrian continued his tale, ignoring the God of War as he had never spoken at all, "despite the strength of the God and the roaring flames that surrounded him, despite the relatively frail form of the mortal woman and her complete lack of training in warcraft, they clashed. Again. And again."
The man gestured slightly, a mere flick of hand, towards the almost forgotten pile of floating sand. As he did so, Annabeth felt something ripple through the air, invisible and yet carrying a weight, a presence, that she could feel. Against her prickled skin, it felt like soft hands, the hands of a potter at his wheel, shaping the clay with a simple touch of his hands.
She masterfully hid the flinch that the feeling made her do. A glance around revealed that no other being had reacted in the same manner, their eyes intent on the shifting sand as the river and stones vanished to be replaced two humanoid forms, ones that slowly grew more detailed.
What in the name of Olympus was that she had felt?
She shelved her thoughts for another time, mentally noting to come back and investigate the matter at a more convenient time, and focused back on the now fully formed figures of sand floating in the air.
Her attention was immediately drawn to the larger figure. It towered over the smaller one and was defiantly masculine, with a muscled and sculpted torso bereft of whatever would have passed for clothing and arms that could have rivalled some statues she had seen, creating a build that many man would have desired and woman would have swooned at. Strong thighs and legs could be seen emerging from the ragged loincloth that it wore. Were those features seen on a normal man, it would have attracted the opposite sex like flowers do bees.
However, it's other features were far more off putting and showed the true nature of this being.
Ragged wings emerged from its back, vast and dark as they added terrifying height to the already immense being. Eyes like blood leered out of a comely face, almost impossibly beautiful, in stark contrast to the rest of the creatures twisted form, an arrogant and superior smirk adorning it's perfect lips. A set of massive goat horns emerging from the creatures forehead and extended up and backward, looking unreasonably sharp and dangerous, both weapons and a crown for the cruelly regal monster. Its hands were tipped in cruel hooked talons and its wrists were enclosed in shackles, a short length of broken chain extending from them. A tail, with a spade tip like a serpent's head, swayed in the air behind the demonic creature.
It was, paradoxically, both a frightening and alluring image, something would both attract and repulse any that saw it, but made all the more disturbing due to the wreath of flame, dark and foreboding and silently roaring, that enshrouded it like armour, the tongues of the ferocious element caressing the skin of the creature like a lover or a master.
It was a creature of nightmare and destruction, of lust and blood, of flame and death and darkness, of seduction and pain, that would have sent her into fits of terrified arousal had she met it in real life instead of as a small puppet of sand.
She couldn't help but admire the detail that Hadrian had made in the small sculpture, even as it moved forward along the sandy platform with inhuman grace toward the other, much smaller figure, a sneer on its face and claws filled flames extended.
Annabeth looked at the smaller figure. Compared to the behemoth beast, it was much smaller, barely reaching the middle of the beast's chest. The small one stood fiercely, defiantly, upright, a feminine face twisted into a mask of hatred and rage, pure fury in every line of her frame as she practically shook where she stood. Not in fear or terror, but in pure unadulterated rage.
Were it not for mask of monstrous rage and the shroud of hatred that surrounded her, she would have been rather beautiful. Not to the same inhuman and impossible extent as the face of her opponent, her face, even as twisted as it was, still had the small imperfections that came with being of human stock, but still a beauty worthy of the title.
She was dressed in ancient clothing, a sheet rough spun cloth with holes sliced into it, for the head and arms, and stitching up both sides that didn't reach further than her knees, never mind her bare ankles and feet. It was like a primitive version of a Greek chiton.
However, it was her hair that stood out amongst all of her features. Long and loose, it whipped about like a battle flag behind her, a banner of war. A banner that was dyed crimson with blood and flame, creating a shade of red that was almost unnatural.
The disparity between these two beings was clear. The one who was powerful was also clear to them all. In a normal world, the victor between the forces about to clash would have easy to discern. There was no way the girl would be able to face, to fight, to defeat, the demon that stalked toward her.
Yet Annabeth knew, in her heart of hearts, that the world is never simple, that nothing is ever so cut and dried.
She watched as, with a wordless and soundless roar, the girl charged her foe, long hair flying in her wake. Her foe let out a soundless bellow of its own and his stalk became a charge, flames rising around it.
They both met in the middle of the sandy platform. The woman ducking a burning swipe of the beast's claws and barreling through the flame that surrounded it. That should have been game over for the woman, in Annabeth's opinion, the flames that surrounded the beast were obviously more than mortal, burning far hotter than the simple campfires and mundane conflagrations she was used to. The woman should have been turned to ash upon contact with those writhing flames.
Instead, much to her shock, the sculpture of the woman burst through the flames, small burns on her cheeks and her hair singed or even alight, and rammed her shoulder, with her full weight behind it, into the hollow of the creature's knee, just below the knee cap. On a human, it was vulnerable spot, one where someone would strike if they wanted to do major damage or cripple their opponent.
And it seemed that the creature was humanoid enough for the strike to at least some effect.
The creature seemed to grunt, expression mystified and shocked, as it was forced to take a knee as its leg collapsed out from under it, bringing its head closer to the ground, and within the range of the woman's striking limbs.
The woman didn't give the monster a chance to rise back to its feet, her arms and legs flailed wild and struck harshly. Blows like thunder rained down upon the monster, hitting anything within reach, with every limb available. A punch to the stomach, an elbow to the knee, a knee to the inner thigh, even a blow to what resided beneath the loincloth that it wore (which, incidentally, made all of the males watching cringe openly in sympathy and Artemis smile widely. Girl power go!.). Any chance that was given, every opening that the creature, was viciously and ruthlessly exploited, no matter how small or fleeting.
It was, however, less than completely effective. The damage done was almost negligible, barely even creating a mark on the skin of the demon. In fact, it was all that the woman could do to keep the creature on a bent knee, let alone do something more critical. It was more than obvious to all that watched the performance that the first blow had been a fluke, a one in a million shot that had managed to pay off against all odds.
But it was still a blow and she had managed to keep the creature down...for now.
But the creature had not been idle on its knees, not simply weathering the featherlight blows. That was not in its nature. Claws raked the air and plumes of flame erupted around it as the bestial being tried to either get to its feet or destroy its annoying foe. It even spread its wings and flapped them violently in an attempt to buffet the smaller foe, to no avail as the woman had moved swiftly, having seen the subtle movements the creature made in preparation for the move. A duck to the side and a roll forward to avoid the flailing claw had her directly behind the creature's leg that had almost risen straight.
Another shoulder charge, this time to the back of the knee, had it falling down once more, unprepared again for the woman's sly and fierce attack.
Hadrian's voice touched the air again as one and all watched the strange melee between the two figures, mesmerised by the brutal beauty of it.
"The two of them fought, neither of them giving an inch. The woman with nothing left to lose fighting for her vengeance, the descended deity refusing to back down from the insect that had dared to challenge it."
A blast of flame came within an inch of striking the woman, but she had managed to dodge it, if only barely, her rough spun cloth set alight. She ignored it and followed up her dodge with another blow to the beast's scarred gut.
"In her heart of hearts the woman knew that this was a fool's endeavour, that she stood no chance at winning, at surviving. But she did not care. The creature had taken away everything from her."
Annabeth saw when the balancing scales of the battle tipped. A claw swipe that the woman wasn't able to completely dodge in time coming down to crush her. She leapt into a roll, trying to get out of the way, only for the sharp talons to flay her back in mid-air, gouged flesh sent flying and a gout of the ruby liquid of life bursting out of the wound. Her mouth opened in a silent scream of agony from the undoubtedly fatal wound, but Annabeth could still see the fires of hatred and fury in her eyes as she fell into an awkward roll, sent tumbling away by the glancing blow, the colour red staining the sand, before coming to a halt on her back, staring upward.
The demonic being seemed to smile, a gentle charm, that failed to hide the sadistic and malicious gleeful contempt in its eyes. It was finally able to rise to its feet fully, stretching languidly as if it had just arisen from bed, and slowly prowled forward toward the fallen girl, the vicious and sharp spade-tipped tail swaying behind it like a deadly serpent. Menace was in every line of the creature as it moved toward its prey and its eyes held no concept of mercy.
The woman's passing would not be easy, the creature would make sure of that.
The woman was merely corpse that still drew breath, it was just a matter of time until her time in life drew to a close.
"Ahhh!" Whined the war God, his scarred face twisted in disappointment as he watched the creature grasp the woman's bloody form by her vivid ruby red hair, making her weakly flail and shout soundlessly, in one of its claws and raise her to its face, smiling and leering at her in amusement even as it insulting caressed the side of her face with the sharp tip of its tail, a bloody groove carved into one cheek in an odd design, that was quickly cauterised by the flame atop it, before moving to the other cheek with identical intent. Marking and branding her like cattle. "No more blood?"
Annabeth looked venomously at the God of War, joined by many of the others there. Whining about the cessation of blood when a brave woman was practically tortured by a monster? There were limits to what someone could enjoy in battle. Successfully protecting one's home, defeating the enemy, surviving another day. Glorying in bloodshed of ally and enemy alike? To Annabeth, that was beyond the pale. Even the children of the war God would draw the line there.
And the musclebound moron wondered why so few enjoyed his company...
The creature had finished its branding and was now insulting waving the sharp tip of the tail in the captured woman's face, tormenting her with her inability to fight back. Her eyes just blazed with a fire hotter than even the creature's at her captor, snarking weakly as her lifeblood poured out of the wound on her back.
The creature finally had enough of tormenting the helpless woman, a sneer of disgust crossing its face, and the tail, the tip sharp and gleaming like the point of a bloody spear, rose high above it and the woman, hovering for a moment above the woman like the sword of Damocles of the headsman's axe.
Annabeth felt her mouth choke at what she knew would happen, but couldn't turn away. To turn away from this, even if it was but a scene from a play, would disrespect the woman who had fought with her all against a force she didn't have at winning against. It was a foolish type of bravery, of courage, and didn't accomplish anything in either the long or short run. But it was still an act that deserved respect, acknowledgement, and remembrance and to be witnessed and recorded.
The tail descended swiftly, like a spear thrown from a God, eldritch fire burning brightly upon it, a falling star. It was a mockery of divine punishment given form and its victim was helpless against it, even as she weakly raised her hands in an attempt to block it.
She would not look away.
Hadrian's voice then spoke again, however, not full of grim acceptance and sorrow. But full of exultant reverence and happiness.
"So she would take away everything from it."
Athena's eyes widened to size of small plates as she watched the moving sculptures react to the young man's words.
Somehow, impossibly, the red-haired girl dangling in the foul being's hold managed to sway out of the way of the burning spear that the tail of the monstrous beast had become, the burning tip just passing by her exposed ribs.
She shouldn't have been able to do that. The sheer pain of being held by one's hair, in her painful experience, should have rendered her unable to respond to anything more than trying to get the weight off of her hair. The fact that she was able to even use her hands in a makeshift and fruitless attempt to block the burning tail tip instead was a credit to the woman and a surprise to Athena.
Still, Athena could perhaps put it down to adrenaline pumping through her body, numbing the pain in order for the woman to focus on the more immediate threat to her life.
Laying that aside, however, in the condition she was in, the woman should not have been able to sway her body out of the way. The claw wound along her back had surely cut more than few nerves, muscles and tendons that would allow her to do it. Perhaps she was just lucky, in so far as such a term could apply to the girl's current predicament, and the claw strike had managed to miss those vital muscle groups and tendons, no matter how infinitesimally small such a chance was? Or did she take advantage of her long hair that allowed her to move like a weight at the end of rope, like child on swing, due to her weak thrashing?
Her thoughts were cut short as she witnessed the captured woman's next actions.
In a move that was but fluid and jerking, like a skilled gymnast who was recovering from an injury, her legs curled up her body until the soles of her feet were planted on the forearm of the creature that held her, her knees slightly bent as if they were prepared to launch or leap. Her hands, simultaneously, snapped out to grasp the monster's tail just below the tip, gripping it like the hilt of small sword, her face tightened in a snarl of pain and anger as, just by touching the tail, smoke seemed to emit from the point of contact. The exquisite detail of the moving sand sculptures (incidentally showing a degree of fine control and manipulation of magic and geokinesis that she had not seen used for quite a long time. It reinforced her thoughts about the actual power of their guest and mentally increased the danger level the seemingly young man presented a few notches.) allowed Athena to note the bubbling, boiling and seemingly blackening skin on the back of the girl's hands that nonetheless clenched the appendage in a vice grip.
Then the girl's legs, coiled with power and strength, violently uncoiled and launched her toward the face of her foe.
The movement was swift, catching the monstrous being completely off guard, its admittedly handsome showing complete surprise and bewilderment, tinged with a large amount of arrogant disbelief, as if it couldn't understand how the fragile female it had in its grasp could have possibly been able to pull off the miraculous feat.
Athena could understand that shock, as she shared it to an extent.
The last action of the woman blew the previous physical feat completely out of the water.
As the woman launched herself toward the creature's face, she spun in a full circle, bringing the still blazing tip of the monster's tail close to her...and cut her hair, freeing herself from the creature's grasp and set her in a crash course for the bestial being's face.
A brief moment of time passed, the woman crossing the small gap between her opponent's face and her leaping point, her newly marked cheeks blazing with an inner fire reflected by the stylised flames that were the marks shape, her eyes full of wrath and rage, and then the woman in the creature's face, practically tackling it head on...
And the spear tip of the creature's tail impaled the creature's own throat.
Athena's eyes widened. A killing blow, delivered by a mere mortal, to the equivalent of a God. Such a thing was unprecedented. It should have been impossible.
The creature began to fall back, knocked off balance by the unexpected move and the devastating injury it had taken, inflicted by its own appendage.
The woman rode it down, grasping her chosen weapon with hands that were slowly turning to ash, and, in a fit of strength, gave a wordless yell as she pulled with all of her might on the tail tip, making it cut through the creature's flesh more and more, until the burning blade met air once more.
And the severed head of the creature detached from the body of the beast, almost tossed aside by the vicious strength of the girl's wrenching blow.
The creature was now, beyond the shadow of a doubt, dead. The gout of lifeblood that followed the strike showed that well. As did the roaring flame of the creature's aura that went out of control, erupting upward with all the force of an exploding volcano.
It seemed, however, the feat had been the girl's last gasp, her final effort against adversity. She had achieved her goal, had seen justice done and taken her revenge. Whatever willpower that had kept her going when she should have been long dead now finally failed. Her charred black hands lost their grip, the strength in her muscles vanished, her body went limp.
But it was her eyes that they could all see that showed them her passing. Even as the flames erupted around her, the creature's final defiance and revenge against the one who had slain it, and began to create her own funeral pyre, those orbs gleamed with empty victory and a dark triumph, a doorway to the void. They stayed glassy and glazed, even as a small smirk was etched onto her face, as her form was then hidden and consumed in a massive blast of fire.
The sand sculptures, floating above the ground, exploded upwards in geyser, reaching high into the air and spreading out, loosing form and figure, and became as mist. It seemed to be the signal to end the small show.
All were quiet after what they were shown, a picture of the past in a world far removed, but still moving and something that rang in the hearts of a few there. Athena couldn't help but respect the woman that the hooded man had shown. What she had accomplished was a feat beyond all that she knew and was worthy of song and praise.
It was typical ending of hero, triumphant and yet sorrowful. A phyrric victory, but still a victory.
But a part of mind, the cold logical part of her, wondered; What was this show in aid of? While a decent recollection of the past, she was unsure how this applied to the current situation. In fact, the only similarities between the scenario that played out before them and the current one that they were all in was...
Athena's sharp grey eyes abruptly narrowed. A piece of the puzzle began to fall into place. But not all of it, just enough to make her look at it from another angle.
A God, Heretic or whatever else, had been slain not even twenty fours ago. The slayer, who should by all rights be worse than dead, had been returned to life and health in a way that was unknown to her knowledge.
The woman had also slain a God. Would she also be brought back? If so, why and how? Did this have something to do with the ramblings of young Hadrian in the aftermath of the attack? He had referred to the fallen form of the sea spawn as something. A Rakshasa Raja?
She frowned slightly as she understood that ominous title. To her knowledge, the words translated roughly from Hindi, the current in vogue language of India, into 'Devil King', rakshasa being a term for a particular race of antagonistic supernatural beings and raja, in the same tongue, meaning either 'king' or 'male ruler'.
It was not a title that she liked, the connotations were dire to say the least. Few were the civilisations that viewed anything connected to the term 'devil' or 'demon' as a positive influence. The hooded stranger had spoken the phrase easily, as if it were something that was regularly used, a common term. It was not just a title that he had come up with, it was one that was in use long before he had done so.
Hadrian's voice then spoke out into the respectful silence that the attendees all gave, Aphrodite making sure that even the bloodthirsty Ares kept his trap shut this time.
"And so the battle was decided. A woman not a warrior had defeated, had killed, had slain, a Heretic God, a feat contrary to all the absolute rules of nature, of existence."
The dispersed sand suddenly began gathering back into the form of a floating platform, creating another flat plane. And slightly above it, it also began to create a human figure that floated above the 'ground' of the platform. One that quickly began to show distinct features.
It was larger than the slain monster from before, but not nearly so horrendous in form. Instead the new being was clearly female, if young, judging by the slight curves. More features swiftly formed.
Long purple hair, a colour that was clearly not found naturally in human hair follicles but was also clearly the normal colour for this apparition, that was arranged into two tails and tied with two white silk ribbons arranged in a bow. Emerald eyes that showed kindness and gentleness, filled a love that was the epitome of maternal, but also where filled with a depth of knowledge eternal unattainable by those of mortal blood, were framed by a delicate seeming pale skinned face, that nonetheless still retained the flush of health. Athena noticed the pointed ears hidden behind her long fringe and the large studded earrings she wore. Her form was complimented by the sleeved but open-shouldered chiton, a traditionally Greek form of clothing for women, that adorned her slender form.
Even Athena couldn't help but be taken back by this girl's beauty. There was something about her that seemed...more. As if she was beyond mortality. Athena's eyes sharpened with realisation.
As if she were a God.
"And it was here that my mother played her part and performed her role."
Percy felt his head throb and vision waver as he saw the coloured sand apparition created by the hooded man.
Upon seeing that face, those emerald eyes and the purple hair, a vision seemed to flash across his mind. He remembered seeing that self same face, down to the last line, elsewhere. In a place that blazed with a pearly white fire, and beyond that was a roiling and boiling ocean of darkness and flickering rainbows, an oily abyss where the pearly fire was a lone island amidst the chaos.
Her remembered her speaking, but the majority of the words that she had spoken kept slipping away, like he was trying to grab the wind itself. However, there were some words that she had spoken that stayed rooted in his mind.
Child. Pandora. Campione. Godslayer.
A fragment of a memory struck him at that word, and his memories recalled the soft, caring but powerful and mighty voice that spoke the words.
"For now I bestow upon my foolish child, who lies shrouded in darkness and the bearing the destiny of becoming the Light of Hope in the Darkness, the Navigator in the Sea of Chaos that will surround him, the title of Devil King, Rakshasa Raja...Campione!"
He frowned heavily and shook his head, trying to get rid of the confusing memory, even as those words rang loudly in his very soul. He knew that it meant something, something important, but he was unsure just what that something was!
He looked up and tried to focus on the sculpted form of the strange/familiar woman, a feat that was strangely easier than it normally would have been, even with somewhat confused and muddled thoughts.
He had a feeling that the answers to his questions would come shortly though.
"My mother, Pandora," the hooded man, Hadrian, continued, working his magic on the sculpture made of sand and colour, "had long seen the chaos wrought by the these descended Gods and the helplessness of humanity against their actions. She disliked it, despised this disparity of strength." He chuckled softly and faintly, "she was big believer in fair play and strength of the Heretic Gods in comparison to that of humans rubbed her the wrong way. So she sought a way to balance the scales, to give humanity a chance, a light of hope in the chaotic darkness that Heretic Gods brought with them."
Percy watched as the purple haired girl that looked around his own age, Pandora as he now knew, flicked a hand towards the floor of the sandy platform, a frown set on her face. A bunch of sand flew up, glowing brightly with a white light, and arranged themselves into strange sigils, incomprehensible marks or letters, in a dome like shape.
Percy didn't need to be told what that meant. He had seen similar, if very different, markings once before, during the Second Titanomachy. On a ship filled with monsters. The markings had lined the hull of the ship and allowed the vessel avoid the worst of the wrath of Olympus before it managed to make harbour and deliver its cargo.
Magic. Powerful magic.
"But such a desire is not so simply accomplished," Hadrian kept talking, his voice melodic, "one cannot simply create something that could challenge a being that belongs to eternity, who's strength is determined by their own will."
From the sand, a figure lying flat began to rise within the dome of spells, as if shaped from clay. A clay that was dyed red, a lustrous crimson, where their head would be.
"Such a working required a sacrifice. A powerful sacrifice."
Above the still forming human figure, but still within the dome of arcane might, a ghostly form appeared. A misty and transparent image with dark wings and long sharp horns, one that shrouded in ghostly flame and orbited by a rotating circle of chain.
"The sacrifice of a God."
The ghost of the monster now floated above the reposing and still form of the red haired woman that had defeated it.
Another gesture of the large Pandora's hand and the floating sigils contracted, attaching themselves to the ghost of the monstrous Heretic God and glowed darkly, radiating a black light instead of the pearl white they had before. The ghost of the God then seemed to lose cohesion, losing form and identity, as it seemed to turn into a cloud of golden sand.
Sand that then fell onto the form of the red haired woman below, the sand sinking into her, fusing with her, becoming one.
Her heard Athena mutter a startled oath, a quick glance revealing her wide eyes and shocked face. Percy was banking on that she understood what the play represented, what it meant. She was not called the goddess of wisdom for nothing.
"The actions of the red haired woman, her killing of a Heretic God against all odds, allowed beloved Pandora to create a ritual, anchoring it to the very bedrock of my reality."
The red haired woman, so still and dead, suddenly snapped her eyes open, revealing eldritch flames, so similar to those belonging the monster she had slain, within them.
"Through the death of a God and the actions of a mortal fool, a black art is set into motion. A rite of usurpation made only possible from the death of a divine entity."
The red haired woman pushed herself off the ground, standing tall and fierce, unabashedly naked, and seemed to roar. And plumes of fire erupted around her, the mirror of her dead adversary.
"The making of a mortal infused with the power, the might, the Authority, of the deity they have slain. A mortal so close to the divine as to be mistaken for such a being."
The sand whirled, spinning and shifting, to create a new scene.
The woman from before, red of hair and with eyes of flame, was now fighting another being, sending plumes of flame from her hands and feet toward the large bipedal creature, a large muscled humanoid with a scythe-like sword in its hand and the head of lion.
Behind her, the walls of ancient town stood, men and women and children lining the top of it, cheering and crying out. Their eyes were filled tears of awe and gratitude, many of them having closed their eyes and were whispering prayers to the heavens, as if thanking this fiery goddess for descending to the earth and protecting them from the predations of the leonine beast.
"The revelation of a protector of humanity. A light of hope in the darkness."
The scene shifted again, wiped clean to show another sculpted vision.
The fiery woman was there again, reclining on an ornate throne with an equally ornate crown adorning upon her head and dressed in lavish robes of brightly dyed silk. A hand bangled with gold stroked the head of a massive golden lion that purred and rubbed against her lap.
Her gaze of consuming flame looked down upon the kneeling people before her, as subjects to their queen. Rows upon rows of them bowed, extending far into the distance, the sun hovering behind them like the hand of a benevolent Queen accepting the adulation of the masses.
Or the sword of a bloody tyrant drinking in the meek fear of her eternal slaves.
"The coronation of a ruler without equal. Their word was Law. Their rule, unquestioned."
The scene shifted once more, the sands dying themselves red, as a new vision was shown.
It was one that made Percy recoil violently, his face paling in utter shock. An action shared with a few of the Council while Ares, instead, groaned heavily in delight.
Carnage. That was all that Percy could see.
The scene was of a battlefield. Armoured bodies, broken and shattered, were piled high with broken weapons beside them. Blood ran from their gaping wounds, creating scarlet rivulets in the mountain of corpses.
Men and horses, peasant and noble. All were accounted for on that bloody field.
Massive craters littered the ruined landscape, like a bomb crater seen in more modern battles, but were distinctly out of place in this medieval field of blood and butchery. Immense bonfires burned eerily amongst the corpses of the fallen, devouring the fuel of flesh around them, slowly spreading.
Massive beasts also prowled through the fields of the dead, immense lions with bloody maws and red-stained paws. Occasionally they stopped to feast upon the dead, tearing out meat from beneath the armour and devouring the tender, vulnerable white flesh beneath, a maddened relish in their bestial red eyes.
Percy even saw one of the massive beasts, thrice the size of a horse, somehow find a cowering survivor among the mounds of rotten flesh. A wordless scream escaped the poor man's lips as he ran from the beast, dropping the broken pike that had been his weapon. Terror and madness was the only thing that could be seen on his pale and dirty features as he fled.
He didn't get far.
In two massive springs across the field dyed crimson with the blood of beasts and men, the lion took down its prey, bearing it to the ground. A single bite finished it off, the terrified warrior's head neatly removed. Then the lion began to feast, its prey's body still twitching violently.
Percy couldn't help but be sickened. This was what Ares so loved? A scene out of hell itself on the mortal plane? The disgust he felt for the War God reached new levels in that moment.
But that wasn't the thing that truly scared him about this picture of horror and depravity.
It was fiery woman that stood atop the highest mound of corpses, surrounded in flames and mounted on lion so massive in size that it rivalled the Nemean Lion that he had faced a few years ago.
Her eyes were still filled with the light of flame and her hair was still that lustrous red. But they were more twisted now, tainted.
Her eyes now represented the inferno of destruction, not the torch of hope, and her face was twisted into a leer of sadistic and malicious amusement, laughing joyfully as she saw the lion eat its kill. The lustrous red hair, a banner of hope, was now the flag of conquerer, dyed red with the blood of those she had slaughtered, had butchered, either in her campaign of conquest or just out of sadistic and bloodthirsty whim.
Percy didn't see a Goddess. He didn't see a Lord. He didn't see a Ruler.
He saw a demon. A devil from the very pits of hell who had unleashed all the terrors of the pit unto the world. The sight should have been repugnant to him.
Instead, with a degree of self-disgust and horror, he seemed to be drawn to the macabre scene. As if it plucked a string in his soul, making his very existence resonate and harmonise with the horrific sight before him. As if, in a fundamental part of his very being, he too could relish in such blood stained depravity. That he too could make such an event take place.
That he too could become this devil with eyes of fire.
His mind and soul felt like they were at war with each other and it was all he could do not to turn aside and vomit at the conflict taking place within his body.
'What is happening to me?!' Perseus practically screamed at himself in true terror, looking at his twitching hands that still seemed to want nothing more than to grab a weapon and cut down his distracted divine father beside him.
So deep in his thoughts was he that he was barely able to register the words of the hooded man who had produced the scenes of both horror and glory.
"The unleashing of a devil. A being that has slipped free from the chains of morality and society and does as it wills. Without consequence or censure. Free to wreak havoc to their heart's content."
A swift slashing motion of Hadrian's hand and the sand fell abruptly to the ground, Gravity once more taking hold it as the will and power channeled into by Hadrian was cut off, the purpose of the material served.
"This," the hooded man enunciated, making his words clear and unforgettable, "is what it means to be a child of Pandora. This...is what it means to be a Campione, the embodiment of humanity that supersedes it and is charged with protecting said race from the predations of Heretic Gods. Championing the cause of humanity's continued survival."
The dark hood then turned to face Perseus, pinning him in place with but a look. He thought he could faintly see pricks of emerald light beneath the darkness of the hood, dully reflected from the light of the fire before them.
"This is what you now are, Perseus Jackson."
And Percy's world was once more turned upside down, just as it had been on that rainy night by Thalia's tree some years ago.
Zeus' hand itched to grab his Master Bolt but he managed to restrain the impulse.
He couldn't afford to make any rash judgements, not at this point in time. If he did, he had no doubt that the war between sea and sky that had been halted not even a handful of years ago would erupt almost immediately afterward.
He had learned at least a little from the entire debacle centred around the 'Great Prophecy'...and the actions that had put it into motion, resulting in the almost cataclysmic chain of events.
Despite this, his paranoia wanted him to strike down the Seaspawn immediately. His senses were not so dulled by his time on the Throne of Olympus that he couldn't sense the increase in power in the child when he had finally arrived at the campfire that morn. An immense increase, but still below that of a Council Member or a minor God, which put the child of Poseidon on a level of his own among half-bloods. And yet, Zeus was sure that what he sensed was merely the surface of the child's power. Much like the domain his father ruled, Zeus was sure that the boy's power now had hidden depths. Deep ones.
His mind immediately registered this increase of power as a threat, a danger to his rule. If the boy was so strong now, how powerful could he become in the future? Could the boy perhaps rival, or even surpass, his own sire, and from there Zeus himself?
Zeus knew there was precious few ways he could leash the child's power. He had turned down immortality, the chance to become a God, which thus placed him out of Zeus' direct authority as King of the Gods and his status as a half-blood allowed him the freedom to do as he wished, so long as he willing to face the consequences.
The boy was neither interested in riches or fame, so bribery was not an option, not that Zeus would stoop so low for a child of his older brother.
Threats to the boy's loved ones would only make a bad situation even worse. If he did so, Zeus had no doubt he would be facing the unlikely duo of Athena and Poseidon facing him down. Poseidon was still fond of the boy's mother and the boy's paramour was Athena's favoured child.
As much as he wanted to nip this possible problem in the bud, he currently lacked an avenue to do so that wouldn't result in something worse.
And all this was before he had learned that the boy had, in some manner, become a 'Campione'.
He frown slightly to himself, his electric blue eyes narrowed in thought. He could read between the lines of what the man named Hadrian spoke. These 'Campione' appeared to be the first and last and only reliable line of defence against these 'Heretic Gods'. That meant that, in order to battle such foes repeatedly, they needed a comparable level of power.
He shivered slightly as he remembered the aura of power that the fake Thetis had given off, even from behind the dark barrier. Privately, he admitted to himself that he wouldn't have stood a chance against that woman, at least not in a one-on-one fight.
Tartarus, even throwing the combined might of Olympus behind one half-blood had failed! It was only after the connection to the Seaspawn was lost that the woman, the goddess, was defeated and killed.
If the majority of 'Heretic Gods' were comparable in power to the winged woman...
Zeus groaned inwardly, cursing himself, the Fates and whatever higher power existed. He wouldn't be able to touch Poseidon's child. Much to his disdain, if his thoughts were correct, then he, and by extension Olympus and this entire world, needed the boy who it now seemed was one of these simultaneously vaunted, dreaded and feared being's known as 'Campione'.
Tartarus damn it!
He glanced at the boy in question, who looked more than a little pale and twitchy, as if he were a nervous wreck, most likely from the final scene that the hooded stranger had shown to all of them.
Zeus supposed the role of 'all-powerful saviour' could have landed in worse hands. The boy was at least unlikely to turn on Olympus as a whole, but would defend his friends to the last breath from whatever one of the divine threw at them. The boy at least knew the concept of loyalty and honour, even if his heart was still a bit soft.
But the boy would still bear watching. Closely. As he did with everyone who had a certain amount of power. Loyalties had been switched before, in less than an eye blink, without warning.
Not to mention a more in depth understanding of the capabilities of a Campione would be necessary. Especially considering the last scene that Hadrian had shown them.
Zeus had no desire to trade one monster for another, possibly more powerful, one.
Zeus sensed that the explanation would soon be forthcoming if he was correct, though young Perseus looked more than a little shaky and shocked, pale and swaying where he sat next to a now very concerned father, who had managed to shake off his own shock at the startling revelations.
"Perseus," said Poseidon in concern, extending a hand toward his pale and twitching son, in a gesture of comfort.
"I wouldn't, Lord Poseidon," the hooded youth said, cutting the God off and freezing him in place with sharpness and seriousness in his tone of voice, as if giving a stern warning. "Let the lad recover a bit before you try to comfort him. It would be better all around if you did."
Poseidon's eyes darkened as they turned to the hooded man, fierce as the stormy seas, a small swelling of power, seething and boiling, emitting from him making Zeus more than little wary.
Considering the shocking revelations and the events of the day before, Zeus knew well that Poseidon wasn't in the most stable of minds and was currently very protective of his favoured half-blooded son. Someone preventing him from giving his son comfort, without an explanation, would no doubt push the buttons linked to the Sea Lord's infamous temper.
Zeus wanted to intervene, but a part of him sensed that it wouldn't be appreciated and the temper may find a new target in the Lord of Olympus. He would let it play out, for now, and interject if it got too out of hand. Besides, he was curious as to why the hooded stranger had halted Poseidon's actions himself.
"And why should I not comfort my son?" The voice of Poseidon spoke coldly, temper boiling and seething beneath his icy words, "Has he not endured enough?"
"Indeed he has," Hadrian said solemnly, "but, unless you think he can handle the burden of having committed the crime of patricide, I would think it wise for you to take your seat again."
Zeus' eyes weren't the only ones to widen in shock at the statement.
Poseidon seemed to freeze in place, looking shocked himself, before his face became like a thundercloud and looked about to throw himself at the hooded man, enraged at the insinuation that his son would harm him.
Zeus could agree with Poseidon's rage. The boy's Fatal Flaw was Personal Loyalty, of putting the welfare of those they knew and loved before themselves and above all else. The chances of him killing his own father was practically nil. The relationship between the two of them was tighter than most Gods had with their half-blooded children, something that made Zeus more than a little annoyed due to what he saw as a violation of Ancient Laws, due to circumstances beyond anyone's, save for the Fates, control.
The accusation that the boy would do something so heinous because Poseidon tried to comfort the boy was beyond the pale and rightly earned the hooded man the Sea God's wrath.
Before Poseidon could unleash his wrath upon strangely unperturbed looking man, the accused boy spoke up, throwing himself into a standing position and glared with piercing green eyes at the hooded and cloaked stranger in their midst, making Poseidon pause in his actions.
"I would never!" snarled the boy, looking angrier than Zeus had ever seen him, not that that was saying much, and his hands were clenched tightly enough to be white and shaking with the suppressed desire to hurt something. "He is my Father! He hasn't done anything to me!"
"And yet your hands itch for a weapon," Hadrian spoke calmly, understandingly, a complete disparity to Perseus. It also seemed to strike a nerve as Perseus flinched, his face paling, "Ever since you have woken up this morn, you have felt anxious, thrumming with barely held in power. A feeling that only got worse when you were in the presence of a God. Your mind instinctively ran through a plan to kill the God in front of you, to destroy them utterly, before you managed to pull back on the instinct." Zeus felt his eyes widen in massive proportions. The shocks just seemed to keep coming. "Even now, with the Gods not showing any hostile intent toward you, your hands itch for a sword in your palm and your muscles shake like they want nothing more than to tear the ichor from their veins. Even your father is not exempt from this."
Perseus seemed to stagger backward, collapsing on the bench behind him, shaking his head wildly as if to disperse errant and unwelcome thoughts.
But everyone noted that he didn't deny the statement.
Hadrian sighed softly in the silence, barely heard over the now low and almost dead flames that the campfire had become, before he continued speaking, talking to all of them.
"Those instincts that you feel now, they are those of a recent Campione. Your mind is adjusting to these new instincts but it is unsure as to what can be classified as a threat or not. Instead, the instant your senses pick up on the 'scent' of divinity, your body enters a 'battle mode' and your mind instantly begins to develop response to what is seen as a threat." Hadrian grunted slightly in annoyance, "This sort of thing is generally not a problem back home, practically anything of divine nature is opposed to a Campione thus making those instincts a boon. In this world however, with your close connection to the local 'divine'..." Hadrian trailed off.
Zeus could connect the dots easily enough, and he really didn't like where they lead. Perseus was now more of a threat than he had originally imagined him to be. With the instincts to kill any 'divine' being that approached him and the amount of power the boy had at his disposal, Zeus could make a very good case of the boy being 'too dangerous to exist' amongst the Council. The concept of 'divine' didn't just apply to the gods, after all. With the boy as he was, the entirety of the Camp was in danger.
Zeus had to give credit where it was due however. He knew what it felt like to have to suppress one's own instincts. The boy likely had no desire to do harm to anyone, unless he attacked first, but his instincts, powerful and very new ones, were craving blood. The fact that he had not attacked them upon sight was encouraging. Just turned werewolves, who were out of the fool Lycaon's range of influence, often had similar problems, the newly 'installed' primal bestial mind and instincts pressing on their human conscious one, and made them unpredictable to say the least.
It was a complex and volatile situation and it all came back to the fact that Zeus knew he needed the boy.
"Thankfully for you, those instincts can be tamed, given time and training," Hadrian continued, speaking directly to the morose and horrified boy, making the dark haired child of the sea look up, "and it is one of the reasons I am here." Zeus felt a heavy stare come from beneath the hood and land upon the son of Poseidon, "You are the first Campione to born in this world, Perseus Jackson. You will need a mentor, a teacher and a guide, to show the wonders and pitfalls of the position you now hold."
The man's hands the reached up and grasped the edge of the hood he wore and pulled it back, revealing his face to this world properly for the first time in it.
Gasps and looks of shock greeted the sight of the man's face and Zeus himself barely stopped himself from falling off of his seat in shock. Poseidon looked like a stunned mullet from where he still stood, his eyes wide and mouth opening and closing soundlessly like the fish he ruled.
Green eyes glinting with the shine of steel and kindness met emerald ones swirling like the tidal sea with confusion and surprise.
"And our mother, beloved Pandora, has asked that I take up that mantle," A small smile crossed the face that was similar to that of Perseus'. A familiar crooked quirk of the mouth that the son of Poseidon often emoted.
"Greetings, Brother."
'Ooooh, Mama like,' Aphrodite thought with a wicked grin as she looked at the had some face that that atrocious white hood had hidden from her. Such a crime!
The face was handsome, rugged but not rough, and was slightly sharp and showed him to be perhaps a year or three older than Perseus. It reminded her of a fierce eagle, regal and powerful. His skin was pale, but not unhealthily so, and was without blemish, making those beautiful green eyes stand out more. His hair was unique amongst them all, pure black and made into a neat long pony tail that reached the bottom of his ribcage.
His body, while hidden mostly beneath that dratted loose clothing, was clearly in excellent shape, the muscular but nimble wrists showing that he was one of the warriors of old rather than the body builders that were so prevalent these days. One who's body was made to be used rather than shown off. An excellent quality in itself.
He was quite the specimen of manhood in Aphrodite's opinion.
She was also swift to note the similarities between Hadrian and Perseus. While they were clearly different people and wouldn't be taken for one another usually, save for at a distance, they shared enough of features in common that she could understand the reactions from various quarters, especially considering the veritable bombs of information that had been dropped so far and the state of mind some of her fellow a Council Members were in.
She licked her lips slightly, glancing back and forth between the son of Poseidon and the stranger with hungry mischief. If Perseus could possibly reach Hadrian's potential in looks, then she might have to make a few plans for the future.
It had been quite a while since she had a set of brothers join her in her bed at the same time. Not to mention that Poseidon's child was known for his endurance, a quality that she rather enjoyed in the bedroom. His raw power, which felt like it had increased by an order of magnitude or more, was also a powerful draw, nigh intoxicating, and was obviously a trait shared by the one named Hadrian.
And she did so like powerful men.
(Annabeth suddenly felt a deep and inexplicable desire to torch Cabin Ten to the ground.)
Apollo gaped at the youth that had finally revealed his face.
His eyes, endowed with his power over the Sun and Prophecy, saw more than just the boy's face and features, which admittedly were surprising enough due to their superficial similarity to that of Percy's own.
It was said that 'the eyes were the windows to one's soul'. Poetic though the statement may be, it held more than a grain of truth.
People could control their words, their tone of voice. They could suppress their instinctual reactions to stimuli and change their body language. All in order to deceive society that they fit in, that they were normal and part of the herd, putting on a mask. They did so, unconsciously, at an early age, taking cues off of their parental figures and peers. If someone did it long enough, it stopped being an act and they became the mask they portrayed, their life becoming the role they acted.
However, their eyes showed the truth, their true personality shining out through them.
And what Apollo saw in Hadrian's green eyes made him more than little leery of him.
Whatever the kid showed to them now, a sense of friendship and brotherhood tinged with the sternness of a teacher or strict older brother as he looked at Percy, while sincere in as far as Apollo could sense, failed to convey the man's true nature. A nature that Apollo had only glimpsed.
In the depths of those eyes, Apollo saw a beast. A mighty and powerful beast. A massive panther, with fur as dark as the abyss seeming to drink in the light. It was a beautiful creature, the fur perfect and unblemished save for a slight ruffling or discolouration around its throat, a sign of former captivity. It was reclined at that moment, sprawled out like any other relaxed feline, but it's eyes were watchful, calculating and filled with a cold fire. Apollo instinctively sensed that, despite the almost lazy sprawl, the beast was just waiting for a chance to strike, those feral eyes looking at anyone within reach as a possible threat.
This was a creature that had felt the cracking bite of the whip, the cut of the lash, the cold of iron chains, and had managed to free itself of them, in a way most bloody, and refused to be put under the yoke of another and would fight to its last breath, willing to kill or die first, than forced to do so.
Freedom was its life. Freedom was its only desire. Freedom to move, freedom to act. Morals and rules of society meant nothing to it. Only its own conscience and desires. It would accept advice, but it would never be ruled by another, have their actions dictated by another.
And any who dared to impede its freedom would be met with claws and teeth at their throats.
Apollo had only glimpsed the metaphorical beast within the strange man's soul, but it was enough to tell him to be careful around him. Any attempt to manipulate him, as many the Council were wont to do, would be met with all the violence and force at his disposal.
And considering the raw power that Apollo could feel in the man, that was something he desperately wanted to avoid. He had no desire to make a trip to Tartarus at this point in time. Not with the bullshit that he knew was on the horizon.
A horizon that had become increasingly hazy and indistinct ever since shattering of Pandora's pithos. And was getting worse with every passing day. Darkness was slowly beginning to encompass his Sight. What had been once clear roads, their destinations easy to the see and the path that lead to it predictable, had become closed off, blanking out entirely, as if removed from existence. It had been a surprise to find that out when he had awoken to begin his duties as the Sunrider one day to say the least.
Apollo didn't like surprises.
"You are a Campione yourself?" He heard someone question aloud, snapping Apollo from his thoughts and returning him to the present. He would dwell on his thoughts later, there was still much to accomplish this morn.
"I am," Hadrian nodded to the questioner, Apollo was unsurprised to find that it was his wise half-sister. She had always been the last to lose her composure and the first to regain it if she by some chance slipped. Her question also gave the more befuddled of his family time to regain themselves as they too noticed the differences between Perseus and Hadrian, rather than focus on the coincidental similarities. "The current Seventh, in point of fact."
That comment made Apollo raise an eyebrow in thought. 'The current Seventh'? That was a curious either implied that he was the Seventh Campione to ever exist, something that wouldn't surprise him (People that had managed to slay a God couldn't be common, definitely rarer than once in a generation, or even ten generations.) and that there was a constant fight for ranking among them all. The First would also obviously be the most powerful of them and would have a degree of authority over the rest. The real questions he wanted answered in that scenario is, exactly, how many of these Campione were in existence and how high would the 'Seventh' make him in the hierarchy?
The more disturbing thought, however, made Apollo a little uneasy. Could there have perhaps been predecessors to these Campione? Previous generations of Godslayers that died or been killed in some manner? It sounded feasible. A Godslayer wasn't exactly a safe occupation and Apollo was willing to bet that their had been some morons among the Campiones that had met their end because of a stupid decision in battle. It happened to the best of them. But the words, if taken that way, implied the complete elimination of an entire generation of Campione.
It brought up the daunting question of what had enough power to eliminate an entire generation of Godslayers? That thought would be keeping him up at nights, that was for sure.
"That is something at least," murmured Athena, everyone hearing her somewhat cold words. Apollo noted the slight narrowing of those steely green eyes as they looked at the Goddess of Wisdom. Obviously he had caught the subtle reference to his mother, Pandora, and her decisions in the past. Many would have missed it, but Apollo and Hermes, used to the art of wordplay and subtle insults that were part of their domains, sure didn't.
Apollo sent a subtle warning toward his prideful sister. This wasn't a man that should be antagonised needlessly, if at all. Others would comport themselves to rules of society and the niceties of civilisation in their response to an insult. This man wouldn't.
An absent flicker of acknowledgement was received from her even as she continued speaking to a slightly harder-eyed Hadrian.
"As much as I enjoy a lesson in history, as fascinating, marvellous and intriguing as it is," Athena noted appreciatively, "the current state of affairs forces me to ask more pertinent questions. The least of which is: what are the actual abilities of a Campione?" Her grey eyes, sharp as a well made sword, looked directly into those of green steel, "While you have explained the origins of these beings, how they came to be, and the roles that they take in your society, and even the role you are taking to Perseus and a degree of the dangers that he faces, you have yet to inform us all of what, exactly, it is that a Campione is able to do." She scoffed slightly, "I find it hard to believe that someone, a relatively normal mortal no less, is able to slay a god of any stripe through an act of suicidal foolishness more than once. Not without significant changes having taken place."
Apollo had to agree with his sister's statement. The red-haired woman had only managed to kill that monster through a combination of sheer stupidity, utter foolishness, her opponent's arrogant sadism and pure chance in seizing the moment when it came. Her victory was a one-in-a-billion shot, or even worse. There was no way she would have been able to do it again.
No, clearly the position of 'Campione' came with a decent upgrade package of some kind. Apollo clearly remembered the formerly hooded man saying something about 'the making of a mortal infused with the power, the might, the Authority, of the deity they have slain.' He also wasn't blind to the fact that the red beauty had used fire, a particular attribute of the beast with broken shackles, against the lion headed entity. Perhaps that world's Pandora had found a safe way to create some form of demi-god by artificially infusing divine ichor of a dead or dying God into a mortal form?
He frowned slightly. It was a possibility, such things had taken place in this world, the story of the Dioscuri being of particular note. The divine twin had asked his immortal father, Zeus, to give his mortal twin a part of his own ichor, just to ensure that they could stay together forever. It wasn't exact comparison but it was similar. And it had been proven that one could hold a god's essence in their body, with the correct actions taken before hand, as Luke Castellan had shown most recently. He didn't think it was likely though.
As strong as half-bloods could be or become, even those born of one of the Big Three, they were still a long step, and more often an entire staircase, below that of a true deity. If a Heretic God could be compared to one of Apollo's extended family and colleagues, then the powers of a half-blood would be nothing more than a candle to the raging inferno of a determined, serious and fully powered deity who had no restraints.
No, there was clearly more to it. He leaned forward, his normally cheery face intent and serious, as he awaited the answer of the handsome (he was secure enough in his own sexuality to admit it.) youth.
Much to his surprise, instead of taking umbrage at the harsh words of Athena, Hadrian just chuckled slightly in true mirth, fondness in the suppressed laughter, as he shook his head in amusement. It was not a reaction Apollo had expected from the man.
"You are so much like your counterpart that it is uncanny," the man chuckled softly, making those who understood the meaning behind the statement widen their eyes to size of small plates, Apollo among them.
Athena's own, however, became the size of a pizza base and her jaw dropped open.
Hadrian didn't give any of them time to dwell on the startling revelation of him knowing his own version of Athena as, like flipping a switch, he became serious once more.
"And what will you do with the information if I give it to you?" He inquired, his eyes hard as he looked directly into the eyes of a slightly off-kilter Athena, "Your opinions about the children of Poseidon are quite well known, Athena," he said with a heavy frown, "as are the actions you have taken to ensure Olympus stays on top. No matter how underhanded they are." The frown became deeper and darker, and the air around the man seemed to crackle with power, "Young Perseus," he glanced over to a slowly recovering child of Poseidon, who's eyes were intent on Hadrian, like a man in a desert looking at a bottle of cool water, "by sheer virtue of the power he now wields, could be considered a threat to Olympus, despite not having taken any actions against the establishment as a whole and is unlikely ever to unless provoked." Those green eyes narrowed as he swiftly glanced around at the rest of the Olympians, resting on the stony faced Zeus for a moment longer than the others, and addressed them as a whole, "And none of you have taken challenges to your authority and power well. What guarantee do I have that you won't use the knowledge I might give you to cause harm to my youngest brother?"
...Well damn.
Hadrian made a good point. And worse, a valid one. Apollo, even with his gift of Prophecy dimmed, could see the possible violence ready to break out if the wrong word was spoken or action taken. Hadrian was clearly gearing up for a fight after throwing the problem out into the open. The beast within him was now rising onto its paws, claws unsheathing and tail waving idly behind it, even as the creature's eyes slowly began to fill with a bloodlust that might even put Ares' own to shame.
He also wasn't blind to the fact that Poseidon had tensed and slowly moved his hand towards his Trident and shifted closer to his son, taking a protective position as his green eyes looked around at the rest of the Council with wary and warning eyes.
Things were tense to say the least.
"You don't trust us?" Apollo heard Dionysus, his purple eyes locked on that of the man with a white cloak, say indignantly.
"I don't know you," the man said bluntly, "of course I don't trust you, not fully."
Apollo could appreciate that type of thinking. He was just be cautious and covering all his bases, not being outright hostile. Apollo couldn't help but think that the various mortal recounts of their actions in the past gave them a rather bad rep and was part of the reason that the youth was reacting as he was.
"And what would give you surety? For both you and us." Rumbled Zeus, his eyes narrowed and hand resting lightly on his holstered Master Bolt, ready to use it at moments notice. A visible threat and warning to the young man. "By your own admission, Perseus Jackson has the power to threaten Olympus. Power that he does not have full control over. His mere existence could taken as a threat at this point in time." Those thunderous eyes crackled with lightning as they met those of the elder green eyed semi-mortal. "I, for one, do not wish to have a potential time bomb to be left sitting on our very doorstep ready to go off at a moments notice and without a warning."
Apollo watched apprehensively as he felt the air turn electric, charged with power and energy, between his royal father and the stranger from another world. Neither looked ready to give an inch from their position, power covering them both like cloaks and making those close to them both lean away. Both of them were ready to throw down and Apollo could almost see the devastating damage that would result unless someone managed to break the tension.
The tension was broken from one of the least likely of sources, in Apollo's opinion.
"You said that I was the first," a soft voice interrupted the showdown between Man and God (though Apollo wasn't sure which side was which. The white cloaked man had enough power to be considered a deity in his own right, just shy of trumping Zeus' own.) making them all turn toward the source of the interruption.
The sea green eyes of Perseus were locked onto those of the dimensional traveler, his brow furrowed and in a subtle brood, as he spoke. "That I am the first Campione to be born in this world...does that mean that other Campione could arise?"
That question, and the implications therein, had Apollo more than a little spooked and anxious. By his own admission, Hadrian himself was a Campione and seemed to be as powerful as the Lord of the Sky. Perseus also seemed to have gotten an incredible upgrade in the power stakes after having become one of these godslaying entities.
Having others of similar power, and not having ties of loyalty to Olympus like Perseus or lacking hostile intentions like Hadrian, was a frightening thought. The Olympians, Apollo forced to himself to admit, were not the most moral of beings and had made mistakes in the past, often by giving into, in hindsight, petty anger. These actions had made them enemies, ones that they didn't really care about due to them not having the power to retaliate.
If one of them managed to become a Campione though...
Hadrian, not relaxing his own power for a moment and keeping an eye on Zeus, responded calmly to Percy's question. "In a word, yes. The collision between our worlds has fundamentally and permanently altered them both on many levels, your own more than mine. Even if all the Heretic Gods and other beings that came from my world to yours were to all disappear in the next second, Gods, in the context of my world, native your own world would still start to develop and, as such, Heretic Gods would then periodically descend upon this world. The existence of Campione is necessary to combat such beings and Mother can hardly expect just you to defeat them." His hard green eyes softened slightly as he gazed at the son of Poseidon, "You will just be the First."
Apollo didn't like what the boy had said, but he couldn't deny it either. At least the First of them was someone close to Olympus rather than some random mortal in the middle of nowhere that no one knew about.
"Besides," a rueful look crossed Hadrian's face, a faint strain of fond exasperation, like one would give to a precocious relative they liked, mingling with it, "Even if the only Heretic Gods that would appear on this world are ones from my own, the creation of a Campione is not a small undertaking, even for one as powerful as my Mother, and requires a powerful ritual. One that can't simply be used as a one off circumstance."
Apollo twitched. So they were already screwed either way, Heretic Gods or not. Wonderful. If he ever met this Hadrian's version of Pandora, Apollo would be having...words with her.
The answer seemed to make the son of Poseidon both uneasy and resolved, as if the answer made a difference to what he would do, even if he had some reservations in his chosen course of action. As if had made the hard, but right, choice.
"Tell them then." The young man said flatly, seeming to slump where he sat, even as many rose an eyebrow at his response and the unconscious weight of command in his tone toward Hadrian.
Apollo wasn't sure he could fathom the boy's actions. Any normal person would have went along with Hadrian's reasoning, not exposing a possible weakness to those who perhaps become enemies at some point in the future. Apollo would have certainly done so if he were in Perseus' shoes.
Instead, he had practically demanded that his senior give the information that Athena had initially requested to them all, an action tantamount to yelling to his enemies where his Achilles Point was. Apollo wasn't sure if the boy just wanted peace of he was really that stupidly confident that he wouldn't get hurt by sharing this information.
Apollo wasn't completely sure, even if he was betting it on being the former of the options, and didn't really care at this point. He was more interested in getting said information right then and there.
To the man's credit, Hadrian only widened his eyes slightly and raised an eyebrow at the request that he had been given by the younger black haired and green eyed youth. "Are you absolutely sure?" He enquired, green eyes riveted on the younger and more tired ones of Perseus, "This could come back and bite you in the arse you know?"
Perseus didn't say anything and just gave a firm nod, his eyes showing the resolve and determination that he was known for in the past.
Hadrian just sighed heavily and the frankly frightening, to Apollo at least, aura of power and menace that the man effortlessly brought forth and commanded just winked out, like blowing out a candle, and his power returned to its normal, though still scarily powerful, levels. His frame also relaxed, easing the tension it had when it was making ready to fight. The beast within him also relaxed, falling back into the lazy reclining position that Apollo had first 'seen'.
Apollo was more than a little surprised that Hadrian had given in so quickly, at just the words of Perseus alone. Given what he could read of the man's nature, such an action seemed difficult for him to understand. He seemed to be protective and fond of the son of Poseidon, calling him 'brother', but he had just asquiesenced to the sea child's demand without an argument. It didn't make sense to the Sun Rider.
It was a sentiment shared by several of those in attendance, but only one gave voice to it, as the rest of them weren't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
"That's it?" Ares said, taking off his sunglasses to let his nuclear explosion like eyes look at the form of Hadrian, incredulity in those mushroom clouds for eyes and the lines of his face. "Ya aren't going to make your point to the brat? Just gonna let him order ya around?"
"I'm not going to be here forever, Lord Ares," the man said calmly to the God of War, "This is not my world and I have my own responsibilities back home. When I go back, Perseus will have to stand on his own two feet as a Campione and accept all that comes with the position. The good and the bad. Every actions has consequences and, often, the more powerful the person, the greater the consequences are." His mouth twitched, becoming for a moment a solemn and rueful smile.
"And there is not much that is more powerful than a Campione."
Apollo couldn't help but frown inwardly. Hadrian was imparting a rather harsh lesson to Perseus. Reading between the lines from the scenes the man had shown them, the power wielded by the Campione in Hadrian's had seemingly no equal, no other rivals other than their enemies, the Heretic Gods. Without a check or balance against them, it then followed that the authority they wielded amongst mortals was absolute, whether in the shadows as the Olympians did in modern times, or openly like they had long ago in their original homeland.
'Their word was Law. Their rule, unquestioned.' That was what Hadrian had said. What if that statement was literal? Those that lived under the aegis of a Campione, one that loomed over them like they did above ants, would have to follow the Campione's commands, even unto their own detriment, as they had no real way of fighting back.
But just because a Campione had seemingly supreme power, it didn't mean that they were exempt from making mistakes like every other sentient being, mortal or God or other. And, as Hadrian had said, the more powerful a person was, the greater the consequences of their actions would be.
A General's single mistake on the battlefield could lead to the death of his entire army and the complete loss of a war. The decision of a CEO of a company could see said company rise to new height or collapse completely. The burden of power and authority was a heavy one.
Hadrian was teaching Perseus that lesson through experience, something that would stick. The information regarding Campione was potentially damaging to Perseus, exposing possible weaknesses that some of the Council would not be adverse to using if necessary and the circumstances permit.
And Perseus would soon learn that the hard way.
Apollo snorted softly. The kid always seemed to learn things the hard way. Probably the only way for lessons to get through that dense skull of his.
He then noticed that the man of the hour, the holder of knowledge in this rather lively discussion, was readying himself to talk once more and listened intently.
Artemis narrowed her eyes, intent on the form of the powerful stranger from another world, as she leant slightly forward on the marble bench she was seated upon.
The information that he was going to impart was extremely important and she had no desire to miss a single syllable of the man's words.
If this man was telling the truth, then these Heretic Gods and Campione were going to become permanent fixtures in the world with time. Olympus would need all the information they could get on them both in order to formulate a plan to deal with them in the correct manner. They would need something that could possibly check them or balance them.
Though, as of now, she was coming up blank with a way to deal with another Heretic God, especially one with the power of the one that had attacked the day before.
"The qualities that one gains from becoming a Campione are myriad," Hadrian spoke calmly, his pale face thoughtful, his eyes flickering over to a pensive but, strangely enough, extremely attentive looking Perseus Jackson.
The son of Poseidon, much to Artemis' idle surprise, wasn't fidgeting as much as she expected for a half-blood to be. There was twitching in his hands and unconscious flexing of his fingers but that was about it. Even the daughter of Athena was fidgeting more than he, even if her own grey eyes were locked on the form of Hadrian. She put that observation away for later thought and just continued to listen to Hadrian.
"By becoming Campione, they have a few minor boons and improvements granted to them, along with some major ones. Physically, their bones become harder, just short of unbreakable. An increase in vitality and stamina that renders them almost completely immune to mundane disease and illness. Sharper senses, including night vision comparable to that of a nocturnal predator like an owl." Artemis noticed that Athena looked a bit annoyed at the comparison, a frown crossing her face, but the Goddess of Wisdom didn't interrupt. "An increased healing and recovery rate. A small increase in strength. Just an overall upgrade and, compared to the more mystical and esoteric gifts that they receive, not really impressive."
Artemis couldn't help but disagree with that. Just those improvements would make a formidable foe of a normal human for her Hunters, arguably some of the best fighters that Olympus could bring to the field, their centuries of experience and her blessing and personal training making them a force to reckoned with. A mortal that was properly trained in combat would be even worse to face.
"The arguably most prominent physical ability would be when they first become Campione and happens only once. The body of the Campione is completely healed to the optimal physical state. Detrimental effects like old injuries, scars, missing limbs or organs, ongoing health problems like cancer or even the effects of malnutrition and starvation are completely removed." He grimaced slightly, "I myself, before I became a Campione, had a rather harsh life, which included the effects of extended malnutrition which had stunted my growth. Those lingering effects were completely eradicated and I went from a puny and twiggy runt of a child to a kid that was taller than average with a decent amount of muscle during the process of transformation."
That made Artemis give a hidden glance at Perseus, her moon-like eyes raking over him and inspecting him for any differences. Her sharp eyes quickly noticed the lack of white streak in his dark hair, a legacy of daring to take up the burden of holding the sky for a time. She also noticed the strange lack of calluses on his hands that should have been there from his sword work. She also thought that the boy was a little taller, about a half inch, and a bit more toned than he had been the day before. There was also the fact that she had personally seen the boy's scorched flesh and burnt away fingers restore themselves.
It seemed that Hadrian was speaking the truth so far. Though she frowned slightly as another part of his words registered. 'A puny twiggy runt of a child'? Exactly how old was he when he became a Campione in the first place? He didn't look like he was in more than his late teens to early twenties. And while he carried an aura of power and experience, there wasn't a...weight to it that those who are ageless and have existed for millennia had.
It was something that would bear thinking about at some time in the future.
"Mystically," Hadrian continued, his face still thoughtful, "a Campione has a great many powerful gifts. Ones that any normal mortal would no doubt sell their very soul to obtain."
Those words worried the Goddess of the Hunt. Mortals, greedy as they were, had the unenviable knack of desiring just what was the worst for them to have.
"The first gift is that of Language and Understanding," said Hadrian, "A Campione is able to understand all languages, written and spoken, no matter the origin, in it's entirety. And can also speak and write the same languages with some effort." He smiled slightly, "Sanskrit. Latin. Mandarin. Cantonese. Ancient Greek. Coptic. Navajo. All of these, and more, are able to be understood."
"A useful gift," murmured Athena thoughtfully, a sentiment shared by all of them. Artemis wondered at that particular skill/ability/gift. All divine entities, true gods, had a similar ability in order for them to communicate their will to the mortals, regardless of whatever nationality they were. Perhaps these Campione were closer to divine themselves than she had initially thought.
"As an aside," Hadrian said with a small quirk of his lip towards a frowning Perseus, "Mother has made it known to me that this particular boon should completely eliminate your dyslexia."
Artemis saw the completely flabbergasted look cross the face of Perseus, his green eyes wide, and that of the young maiden Annabeth, those hers quickly shifted into something more pleased and, dare Artemis think, predatory as she looked at her boyfriend. It looked like the young maiden was going to take advantage of that gift in the best way she could. Knowing the children of Athena, Artemis was betting that the girl would use it to force the boy into taking his academical studies more seriously, the boy no longer having the excuse of dyslexia to deflect implications at his ignorance of various subjects.
The man then seemed to grin almost wickedly, a light of mischief gleaming in his green eyes, making Artemis mentally brace herself. She had seen that look many times, mainly on the face of her thief of a half-brother but her twin also sometimes had worn that look. Someone was about to become either exceedingly embarrassed or humiliated.
And judging by the direction in which Hadrian threw the look, she had a good idea just who.
"Meaning that you should be able to enjoy the books your lovely mortal mother sent to you recently." Hadrian grinned, all teeth and playful faux-malice.
Perseus looked blankly at him for a moment, before his eyes widened in understanding and his face abruptly turned a deep scarlet red in complete embarrassed horror. More than a few eyebrows were raised amongst the Council at the reaction, wondering at the cause.
"How did-?!" The son of Poseidon spluttered, his face still deeply flushed and glaring at the now smiling man.
"My Mother has her ways," the man chuckled slightly and his smile became more teasing, "though I am surprised that your mortal mother had a predilection to that kind of thing."
Artemis frowned at what the man was saying, not quite able to divine what he was talking about. She had looked into the mother of Perseus, slightly curious about the past of the boy that had a strong enough heart to be able to bear the weight of the sky. Sally Jackson was a kind hearted woman and strong in her own way, having the will to endure being married to the waste of space make pig for over a decade just to protect her son. She was good woman who had lived a hard life, that was slowly looking up, but there was nothing about her that she knew of about her that could have warranted the boy's reaction.
"Shut up!" Perseus growled, his green eyes flaring with anger. Artemis felt her own eyes widen as a sudden surge of power burst from the boy, powerful and potent. The boy was truly more powerful now than he had been before.
"Easy, easy," the man said with a small smile, "I was just having a joke, trying to lighten the mood a little. Things were getting just a little tense."
Artemis could see his point. The Council had been bombarded with information that threw everything they knew about the cosmos upside down. A bit of levity to help them all accept it would be greatly welcomed. And many of them were smirking at the son of Poseidon, no doubt thinking of what a mother could give their child to embarrass them so. Artemis couldn't help but grit her teeth as she heard the harlot's inane and obscene giggling.
Artemis was positive that the vaunted Lady of Doves was born in a sewer, not an ocean.
"Doesn't mean I have be the butt of the joke." Perseus snapped backed, his energy returning to it's normal levels. His face still showed his irritation and embarrassment, but it had ebbed slightly, leaving him with a small scowl of annoyance.
Hadrian just gave a shrug of his shoulders in response.
"If not you, then who?" The traveller from another world inquired with a smile.
Perseus just grumbled inaudibly, a strangely flushed Poseidon joining his son in his brooding.
"Back on topic," Hadrian said seriously, seeming to flip expressions like a tossed drachma, "One of the most well known of a Campione's mystically inclined gift is that of a massive increase in magical power, equal to that of hundred's of times that of a fully trained normal magi. Nothing except another Campione or Heretic God is even on that level of power. Even if they were not mystically inclined before their transformation into a Campione."
That tallied with what Artemis sensed from Perseus. A half-blood's abilities could be separated into two different categories. Passive and Active.
Passive abilities were those that needed no concentration, being a fundamental part of the half-blood. These included inborn skills, like Apollo's children in the field of archery or Ares' children with weapons in general.
Night vision. Enhanced eyesight. Poseidon's children's ability to heal and gain strength in water. Death sensing for the children of Hades. Boosted intelligence and insight for the children of Athena. All of these, and more besides, could rightly be considered Passive abilities and required no energy or power for a half-blood to use, being as much a part of them as their arms or legs.
Active ones, on the other hand, were a different matter.
Active abilities were generally those that interfered with the course of nature, affecting others outside of oneself, changing the natural flow. Stopping a river in its tracks, creating light, turning weapons into rubber. All of these changed and overwrote the natural laws.
And nature would not let that kind of interference pass without a fight.
When a half-blood used their Active abilities, they were technically wrestling against the natural laws to create an effect, a desired phenomena. They did not naturally have the right to interfere with the natural laws, lacking the authority of their parent, and thus had to work for it, to force what they desired to happen, to draw power/magical energy from the ichor in their veins and the core of their soul and force the world to bend to their will, to create their imagined reality.
For some, the amount of power they had was minimal, barely noticeable. These children were generally unnoticed by the monsters that roamed the lands and were able to live, relatively, safe lives outside of the Camp's borders.
Others were more powerful, able to imprint their will on their parent's domain quite well with a handful of their divine parent's tricks, generally focused around a certain aspect of their parent's domain. Like her nephew, William Solace, who had his father's gift of healing, while her niece, Dawn Summers, had a small gift of photokinesis, enough to render her invisible for a time. These half-bloods were the 'normal' ones of the lot.
There were a rare few born, however, that had power in spades. These children often had a range of their parent's tricks and could almost shape the world, in so far as domains that they were limited to allowed them, to their will if push came to shove. Sometimes, so powerful were they, these children were heralded as either incarnations or avatars of their parent's might or even the parent themselves.
Children of her father and her paternal uncles were almost always in the final grouping, and Perseus had been no exception to the rule.
However, compared to the power she sensed laid within his body now, his previous levels of power may as well have been a mere drop in the ocean. To her knowledge, the amount of power he had now, was completely unrivalled by any other half-blood, past or present. And she wasn't sure that what she sensed was the entirety of his newfound power. Perhaps it was only the tip of the iceberg.
And that frankly made her more than a little uneasy.
It was too much, far too much, power for any mortal to have. He would be changed, or possibly already had been changed, because of this power, whether he wanted to or not, whether he used it or not.
And rarely did those who suddenly have power, any power, let alone what Perseus had just obtained, thrust upon them ever change for the better.
His hydrokinetic abilities were already impressive, if somewhat raw. How far could they extend with his new levels of power? Would they be able to possibly infringe on the domains of other deities just because they shared just the smallest of overlaps with that of Water? The versatility of the aquatic element was rather frightening if one looked at it in the right way.
Could the boy also have obtained an ability towards magic, True Magic like that of sorcereress' and the children of Hecate, rather than being limited by the inborn magic of his father's blood towards that of the sea? Magic, rather than just manipulation of the Mist, was a powerful weapon in the right hands, and a dangerous one in the hands of a fool.
'Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power.' The wise words of the long since passed mortal weighed heavily on her mind as she continued to listen to the powerful youth.
"As part and parcel of the increased power reserves," the man continued to explain, ignoring the small surprised mumblings from the previous startling revelation, "a Campione also has increased sensitivity to magic, able to sense it at work or even if an object has been touched or enchanted by magic. With training, they can also get a rough idea of the type of magic used through the 'feel'" he air quoted word, "of it." He smiled slightly, "One of my older sisters is able to sense the discharge of magic, what spell was performed and who had performed it, if she knew them, from over a mile away."
That was an exceedingly useful ability in Artemis' opinion. She had her own capabilities along those lines, but it was mainly focused within her domains, the Wilds, Forests and Hills. In a city, it would be far more difficult for her to do something like that. If the gift extended to being able to sense passive magical presences, like monsters or other creatures and beings of legend, then the gift became far more useful.
"Another side effect of the massive reserves of a Campione, is that of nigh magical immunity."
That had Artemis' thoughts screech to a halt, the light murmurs around her becoming a suddenly louder in volume due to the Council's collective shock. That she had not been expecting. The Gods, while immensely powerful and durable, were still vulnerable to magic. Granted, the magic would have to be quite powerful to damage them, but they could still be harmed by it. Not to mention many of them used it as a tool for their lesser and basic divine powers, those that every deity had but was not attributed to one of their domains.
Shapeshifting. Transformation of others, whether in punishment or reward. Teleportation. All of those little tricks and perks that came with being a God. All of them were based on magic.
And the man had implied that the son of Poseidon and he were immune to them. Almost.
It was quite unsettling, and almost unheard of, Artemis herself only able to bring two names to mind in regards to that particular ability. One, and the more palatable, of which had been aided by Hermes and a rare and mystical plant that she had not seen growing anywhere for over a century. And she had looked.
The other was not a being that she cared to contemplate. In the deepest pit of his father's realm he lay, and would stay there if Artemis had her way. Though that was up to the fickle Fates, and considering what she knew was coming down the proverbial pike...she wasn't getting her hopes up.
Hope for the best and prepare for the worst was all she could do.
"This is because of the immense sheer amount of power that a Campione has." Hadrian explained to them all, making Artemis pull her thoughts back on track, "The sheer power contained in a such a, relatively, small vessel makes the power extremely dense, the changed properties of a Campione's body able to hold it within. It creates a skintight aura of magic, like a barrier, around them that weakens, if not outright destroys, magic coming into contact with it, like a bonfire destroying a lit match." Artemis noticed he paused for a moment, looking suddenly very reluctant to talk more, glancing over at Perseus with a complex and apologetic look, but still continued "But all barriers have a limit, a threshold that can be crossed... or can be bypassed."
Artemis was suddenly more alert and her eyes pierced the man speaking. This could be just what she needed, that Olympus needed. There was a weakness to these Godslayers after all.
"The barrier a Campione has is, as I said, skintight. Literally." He sighed slightly, giving a tight grimace as the words were almost dragged out of his mouth through his teeth, "It has been proven, in my world, that orally applied magics can effect a Campione, like potions, though their effect is still reduced, for good or ill."
And there it was, a weakness that Artemis could exploit should it come down to it and she have to fight a Campione, one that was not necessarily the steadfastly loyal Perseus Jackson. All sorts of possible strategies she could use against a Campione ran through her nimble mind.
She could fight them face on, if she so chose, in a physical confrontation, striking quick and hard, going directly for the jugular from the beginning. The physical attributes of a Campione, while impressive from a mortal point of view, didn't appear to even close to those of a standard deity's... If the deity were serious. It wasn't a pretty option, but if she struck fast enough, it would be quick and there would be no time for retaliation.
Or she could use a Campione's revealed, if somewhat difficult to exploit, vulnerability. A gas, whether poisonous or other, spread out over a certain location was a viable tactic. Magically enhanced drugs in their food. Maybe even poisoned or cursed weapons used to fight them, a single scratch leading to their defeat as the coating on either blade or the arrow did it's evil work. These were only some of the plans she could think of to combat them, even if she disliked the last methods with great intensity.
She was a Hunter, not an Assassin!
"That is a somewhat welcome revelation, I must admit," Athena said cooly, her eyes reflecting that her mind was creating possible plans. "It alleviates some of our...concerns."
Hadrian twisted his head slightly to look at the Goddess of Wisdom, his face set and looked like it had been carved from stone, his eyes green flint as they glared lightly at Athena. His lips were twisted into a cold smirk.
"It may be that I have revealed a vulnerability of my possible future brothers and sisters," he admitted, "but it is one that you will find rather difficult to use." His smirk became arctic, "Do you recall when I spoke to young Perseus about the new found instincts he has to fight those that are divine, Patron of Athens?" He queried rhetorically, "Those instincts are far more than just a drive to fight and bloodlust. Those instincts make Campione far more in tune with the world. Those little things that humans would otherwise ignore, like the feeling of eyes upon them in the darkness or that small niggling at the back of their mind that something is wrong, are far more potent." His smirk became a small devilish grin while still holding a hint of frost, "Those instincts became something similar to a 'spider sense'."
Artemis heard Hermes and Apollo cough slightly, hiding their smiles behind their hand at the expression of distaste and disgust that briefly crossed Athena's face. Athena was not a large fan of Marvel, unlike the pink floozy.
Because of the literary reference, Artemis was quick to understand what Hadrian meant by his comment. And it would make her no doubt forthcoming father assigned duties all that more difficult.
While she was no comic book devotee, she left that to her flamboyant and artistic twin, she was aware of the abilities of Spiderman. In particular, that of the 'spider sense'. Something that was halfway between precognition and a frankly ridiculous reaction and reflex time with a bit of primal animal instinct thrown in for good measure. It allowed him to determine the danger of an action, like if opening a door would result in a bomb blast that would kill him (though he admittedly wouldn't know what the exact danger was, only that the door itself was somehow dangerous), and warn him of incoming danger, like a sniper's bullet from a grassy knoll or where the next strike from an opponent was coming from.
It wasn't infallible, but it was a very powerful ability, allowing the comic book hero to fight foes that would have otherwise torn him apart if not for that particular gift.
That these Campione had a gift of similar nature, with added instincts to fight and draw blood and a sensory ability attuned to magic, was more than a little daunting. Her previously viable plans suddenly took a sharp dip in effectiveness. They could still be used, but there was no guarantee that they would be truly effective.
She could already feel the headache developing.
"But all that I have spoken of," Hadrian continued, smile vanishing and his face becoming very serious once more. Artemis was almost positive that the man was bipolar in some manner, so quick was he to change his expressions. "All of these boons and gifts are as naught to the true power of a Campione. That which makes them feared above all other beings, save for the Heretic Gods themselves. The Crown and Sword of their rule. The reason they are Kings unquestioned, the champions of the subjects in their kingdoms. The reason they are obliquely worshipped as Gods themselves, looming above the mortals below them." His face darkened and his eyes flashed with a green fire, as if remembering an ill-liked memory that stoked the fire in his blood, "They reason they are seen as Devils risen from the depths of Hell made flesh, making others quiver in fear at they pass."
Artemis felt the tension rise among all of those there, even the quiet and observant Trainer of Heroes, the wise Chiron, who was there for reasons her father had not explained but Artemis could guess at well enough, had his hackles rise. Those words were more than just foreboding. A chill went down the spine of the Goddess of the Hunt.
She had feeling that the next revelation would throw everything into chaos, more than it already was anyway.
"A Campione is a Godslayer," Hadrian reiterated, "one who has defied the laws of the world by some means in order to achieve the impossible; the death of a God. This mortal is then imbued by my Mother with the power a God in their body, thereby creating a Campione. But what is a God?" He queried them all. "What are the qualities and attributes that define a being to qualify as a God in the eyes of humanity?"
Artemis frowned. She didn't like where this was going.
"The answer is in three parts," Hadrian continued, lifting a hand and extending three fingers towards the sky, before almost immediately dropping one again as he spoke, "One: They must have immense raw power. Power that exceeds that of any mortal. A Campione has that with their immense magical reserves."
Artemis nodded in agreement to that, as did the others, even as they were all on the edge of their seats in anticipation.
A second finger fell.
"Two: A God must be, in some form, considered immortal. Beings that have walked the world long enough to see mountains worn down." His eyes swivelled over to the suddenly stiff Perseus and pinned him place with a piercing glare, "A Campione has that due to their vitality. They have an unmeasured extended lifespan, reaching into centuries or possibly millennia, keeping their youthful vigour all the while, seeming to have never aged a day since they first became Campione. The limit of this has never been truly measured." He sighed slightly, his voice turning mournful with soft grief, "All of my historic brothers and sisters fell on the battlefield, against either Heretic Gods...or at the hands of each other. None of them died of natural causes, passing in their deathbed with wrinkled hands and aged features surrounded by friends and family." He looked at the stunned and suddenly stricken form of the son of Poseidon, who himself looked more than a little rocky, part of him celebrating that he wouldn't have to bury another one of his sons due to the endless march of time, one of the most horrid burdens of being immortal, if not the most terrible.
Artemis had been lucky in that aspect. The Hunt, and the blessing she conferred unto them when they took the oath, didn't let her experience the full soul shattering hurt of such a thing, even if she did have to bury some of her Hunters over the years, but that was only because they fell in battle and that made their passing something she could possibly accept, knowing that they had fallen bravely and that Elysium awaited them. A meagre comfort that eased the a fraction of the burden on her soul, but a comfort all the same.
The other part of her aquatic uncle, however, was sorrowful, knowing that his son would have to endure the pains of his semi-immortality. The pain only made worse by the fact that the boy had already turned down an offer for a similar thing not even a year ago, rejecting the tempting reward knowing that it would interfere with what he desired in life. He had turned it down just so Olympus would not be put in such a situation again, their children being forced to battle one another.
And so he could stay on this earth where the one who held his heart lived.
She glanced over at the slumped forward, with her head bowed, daughter of Athena. A slight aura of complete shock and slowly increasing despair emitted from her. The sharp taint of salt drifted to Artemis' sensitive nose as an errant gust of wind in the early morning light blew toward her after ruffling the blonde curls of the scion of Wisdom.
And now, his decision had all been for naught because he had defended himself from a foe that no other could touch. It seemed the Fates truly had it out for the boy. She could almost feel the anguish and angry defiant denial in those green eyes, with his hands curled into fists tight enough to cut his skin, as if it were her own.
The relationship between the children of the two rivals for the patronage of Athens, while only just truly beginning, was still strong enough that the possibility of this separation by inequality evoked powerful negative emotions in both of the parties. There was still a possibility of young Annabeth by some means obtaining immortality in order to match the supposed form of Perseus', but such methods were rare in the extreme. Generally, the gift of immortality was something that could only conferred by the Gods, and only when the possible recipient had achieved great renown and accomplished great tasks in the service to Olympus, and even then it normally had a price attached to it. TINSTAAFL rules always applied. Even the form of immortality she blessed her Hunters with was not without price; turning away from the company of men and serving as her handmaidens. And even that had limits.
Unfortunately for the daughter of Athena, it was unlikely that she would be offered the chance by any of the Council. Many of them would not care about the situation she faced, looked upon it unfavourably, or simply disliked her or her paramour. Poseidon may have done it, if only to ensure he never saw the heartbreak in his son's eyes that many new immortals ended up having after they had fallen for a mortal, only to see them turning to dust in almost a blink of their own time. But the Ruler of the Oceans would be unable to due to the fact that the purpose behind the action, even if it benefitted Annabeth Chase, was to actively safeguard his own son, personally interfering with his life, which was just opening a door for a backlash from the Fates for bending the Ancient Laws to the point of almost breaking.
The slut must be having a field day with the drama between the two's relationship.
"It is a curse as much as a blessing, I will admit," Hadrian said softly to the shaking form of Perseus, his eyes just as gentle, "Though I, myself, have not had the burdensome experience of seeing friends and family turn to dust even as I still linger on the world." He smiled wryly, a crooked twist of the mouth that conveyed his ill humour, "I am a bit too young for that, I haven't even reached the drinking age yet!" He chuffed a small laugh and sigh, even as many of the Council looked at him in surprise. The way he carried himself, one would have thought that he was older than he appeared, having a certain air of true experience, tried and tested, though not to the extent of centuries or millennia like many of the Council. "But I can see the pain that it would cause you. A young man to whom his friends and family means everything."
Artemis started at the very accurate assessment of Perseus Jackson. The man was sharper than he first appeared, and his looked to be no fool or idiot in the first place.
"But all is not lost," Hadrian said as he locked eyes with the younger boy, seeming to ignore the rest of them for a moment. "You still have a chance at a good life with your paramour," he flicked his eyes over to a suddenly slightly hopeful, and heavily flushed with embarrassment at the last word, looking Annabeth Chase. "It would all depend on how the cards fall relating to the last qualification of a God."
Artemis frown to herself as she tried to puzzle out what the man meant. He had said three aspects of divinity. One was their raw power. Another was their long or undying life. But what was the other? What more was there that separated those who ruled from... those...who...
Artemis' eyes shot wide open, sitting abruptly straight as her mind put things together and cursed herself blue mentally for not seeing it before, even when it had been practically staring her in the face.
A girl, the first Campione if the man was to be believed, had faced a monster of flame and was imbued with it's power in order to become a Campione. Her next opponent had been a massive male with a leonine head, which she had fought with flames that were almost identical to those of the first monster. The last scene, the one of blood and slaughter, had been shown to contain lions, massive ones that were clearly not of mortal origin, and the same flames from before.
Hadrian had also implied, if not outright stated, through the very existence of these Campione, that the advent of a Heretic God descending upon the mortal realm was rare, but not so much as to be non-existent, due to the fact that Campione took up their roles in that society. This further implied that a Campione was needed in an almost constant safeguard.
Artemis was not so foolish as to believe that those charged with the protection of a community only saved it the once, had only killed for it the once.
Artemis swallowed in her suddenly dry mouth, looking at the form of Hadrian with a well hidden degree of fear, suddenly seeing him as something worse than even Typhon could be. That massive child of Gaea would only destroy them. If what she assumed was true, then a Campione would do worse, weakening them, degrading them, a fate to he that was worse than even oblivion. Was the true power of a Campione, a Godslayer, that of being able to rob, to steal, a Heretic God of their Domains?
And could he possibly do it to them?
Artemis vaguely noted that Athena had also stiffened in her seat, the light of realisation filling her grey eyes, as she too seemed to understand but was shocked to the point of being rendered mute.
"A God, by definition, rules over specific aspects of the world." The words of Hadrian as he addressed Perseus ringing hollow in her ears as she valiantly tried to make sense of a world that was suddenly tipped on its ear, "The Sky. The Oceans. The Dead. Love. War. Rainbows. Animals. The Sun and Moon. The kingdoms the Olympians rule are their Domains." His eyes narrowed, as the Goddess of the Hunt noted the widening eyes of the others around her, even the stunned Perseus and Annabeth Chase, as they put the pieces of the puzzle together in their minds.
"And it is a Heretic God's semi-equivalent, known as Authorities, that is infused into the body of the would be Campione."
The mind of Annabeth Chase was an intriguing thing.
Swift and nimble, never stopping in the pursuit of knowledge or the application of said knowledge. Her grey eyes always analysing and calculating whatever was before her. Such was the gift of wisdom that she inherited from her mother.
However, right at this moment, her mind resembled that of a multiple car pile up, it's processes brought to a screeching halt at the sheer impossibility of what she had just heard, knocking her out of the funk she was just in due to the soul shattering revelation of her Seaweed Brain's now seemingly infinite lifespan.
The revelations of that had already taken place that morning, the fact that other worlds actually existed and the existence of these frankly terrifying beings called Campione, not to mention that her boyfriend now seemed to be one, had already left her more than a little confused and off kilter, not that she would admit it to anyone openly.
Yet despite all she had heard, suspending her sense of disbelief and skepticism all the while from the mind blowing knowledge that she had received, she was still thrown into a whirl from the bomb that the strange (if admittedly handsome) man had dropped on them all with all the subtlety of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. And almost as devastating.
'Impossible,' was her first thought. 'Completely impossible.'
Yet despite the denial at the possibility that Hadrian had opened before her, she couldn't help but think that it was the truth. Along with the possibilities of how it was possible.
By his own admission, Hadrian had said that Campione were infused with the power of the God that they had slain, a feat that Annabeth could still barely wrap her mind around (she could, maybe, see a half-blood doing it, Percy had almost done it at twelve against Ares, but, seeing as Hadrian had mentioned the sheer nigh non-existence of half-bloods in his world, she could barely fathom the possibility of a normal mortal, a foolish one no less, managing the self same task.), and went through a transformative process through which their bodies are reshaped to be able to contain such power.
A God is their power. Their power is their Domains. Therefore, a God is their Domain.
If a Campione took a God's power into their very being, then it seemed that it was possible for them to acquire the defeated deity's Domains.
It was a frightening thought to Annabeth, knowing that such a thing was possible. The mere possibility of this threatened the precarious balance of power amongst the Gods and the world. A new player entering the eternal game, with enough power to make even the major movers and shakers of the world wary, had the possibility of tipping the scales too far, resulting in more bloodshed and pain.
No matter who it was and where their loyalties might truly lie.
"What?!" Roared Zeus, exploding to his feet, power crackling around his ten foot tall body like the storms he could command. Annabeth was forced to avert her eyes, burying them in her raised arm, as they began to burn slightly, the raw power that the King of the Gods was emitting too much for her mortal senses to withstand outright.
Her ears were filled with the echoing crash of thunder as, lost in his rage, the King's iron control over his Domain was overwhelmed by his turbulent emotions, the now stormy skies echoing his current state of mind. Had it not been for the spell that kept them asleep, Annabeth had no doubt that every camper would have almost exploded out of their beds at the sudden din.
Even as she kept her eyes covered, she could still feel the similar reactions of the other Olympians, energies bombarding her small, in comparison to the divine entities present, body like waves against a cliff face. Even her mother wasn't exempt from this.
The weight of the power in the air pressed down on her, crushing her, making it difficult to breathe, even as she panted quickly and shallowly, hyperventilating. She struggled desperately against the torrent of energy that pressed against her, her mind working overtime trying to find a solution to her problem. She lacked the breath to voice her agony, and the Gods, judging by what her befuddled mind could only faintly hear, were too caught up in their raging response to the chaos Hadrian's words had unleashed.
Outwardly, she was only breathing heavily with her arm across her eyes, nothing out of the ordinary for those aware enough to their surroundings to see anything completely wrong with her.
Inwardly, she was on the verge of dying.
She struggled against the torrent with all her might, even as she was drowning beneath it. She would not give up. The organism known as humanity instinctively sought to stay alive, no matter what the conscious mind decided. Her body and mind threw everything they had at the power that was crushing them, burning them, to keep her alive. Eventually, the body hit almost rock bottom, nothing left in the tank.
Then the metaphorical shovel that used to mine for more strength, more will, to combat the waves of energy struck something in the deepest parts of her mind, something that had not been there before, a crack appearing where the tool had struck. And from beneath that crack, light exploded.
And suddenly, Annabeth felt her mind open, the power no longer oppressive and suffocating. Instead, she garnered Understanding. At least to a point.
Her mind felt like it was in the middle of a vortex as the invisible waves of energy struck her, thoughts and sensations and images swirling and mixing in her head, some were blurred into a deranged Picasso of colour, indecipherable and incomprehensible but still pressing onto the forefront of her mind, while others stood out clearly like the Mona Lisa amongst finger paintings made by toddlers.
The image of lightning and swirling black thunder clouds roared and broiled, crackling with power. Indignant and angry. And perhaps a sliver of fear.
The picture of the Sun, radiant and gold, now burning a dark red like that of blood. Fatalistic and accepting, though reluctantly.
A scene of shadows, cold and angry, writhed and twisted in her sight. Rage and greed was all that she could feel from that. It would not allow anything to be taken from it.
The seas flitted by, waves riding high and crashing vigorously, turbulent and thrashing. Confusion and turmoil churned within those depths.
More and more images flicked past the front of her mind, all of them blurring together to the point that it was like a long streak of kaleidoscopic colours, making her nauseous.
Then it all stopped. Abruptly. Instantly.
Her body jolted, dropping her arm as she suddenly started gasping for breath, her torso bent forward as she greedily drew in breaths that her lungs had been denied, even as her nimble mind began running at a more normal pace, the sound filling her ears becoming comprehensible once more. All the while wondering what the Tartarus had just happened to her.
"You dare?!" Growled the thunderous voice of Zeus, his tones tight and forced, as if being spoken through gritted teeth, "Your mother, foolish through and through, dares to steal the Domains of those they rightfully belong to?! And give it to mere mortals?!" He nearly snarled and his Master Bolt practically blazed and shook in his hand, eager to be unleashed. "Why should I permit these abominations that you call siblings to exist in my world, when these bastards can take what does not belong to them? Do you expect me to welcome into my home the slayers of my sons and daughters? To let them take the throne that the very Fates and I had bequeathed unto them after committing their murder of those of my house?" He roared then, in accompaniment with the thundering sky, his voice a bellow.
"Tell me why I should not have every one of your despicable kind that dares to walk this earth exterminated like the plague ridden vermin they are?!"
Annabeth, now slightly recovered from her puzzling and mystifying ordeal, that she would think on later, could only blink slightly in confusion and more than little fear and trepidation. She had been thrown into turmoil for at least a few minutes. Surely it hadn't taken that long for the normally impatient and angry Zeus to demand answers.
Had it?
She shivered in slight terror at the sheer ferocity and rage in the Thunderer's voice. An angry God was bad news for any that crossed their path. An angry Zeus, the King of the Gods, was even worse.
She noticed that even the other Gods, the younger ones at any rate, looked warily at their King even as many of faces also showed their agreement with his words and declaration. Poseidon and Hestia were the only dissidents among the Gods, while Chiron looked particularly troubled and worried, but Annabeth doubted the old centaur's worries were about the God's thrones and more about how the changed world would affect his students.
For herself, the fact that a Campione, an already powerful being that had her mind spinning, had the possibility of stealing a God's Domain from them, adding to their already expansive power, was a terrifying thought. What would happen to the mortal descendants of the slain God? How would the world react to the elimination of one of its natural forces? Would chaos be brought forth? Would the already decidedly precarious balance of Olympus be tipped and utterly destroyed?
The Lord of the Oceans, while troubled and seeming to struggle with himself, sat firmly and protectively near her twitching and trembling boyfriend, his green eyes sharp as they watched the entirety of the rest of the Council for any attempt to harm his son. The God of the Seas loved his child dearly if he was willing to face the wrath of the rest of Olympus in order to protect him.
Hestia, on the other hand, looked resigned, as if she had expected the King's erupting temper and was patiently waiting for his rage to die down and let logic take its course. An odd expression for the subject at the time, in Annabeth's view. A small suspicion began to grow in her mind as her sharp grey eyes wandered between the Goddess of the Hearth and the man from another world, noting the subtle closeness of them both.
Hadrian, as he always seemed to, was unperturbed by the nearly raging Zeus, cool green eyes looking calmly into crackling orbs of ball lightning that had momentarily replaced the eyes of the King of Olympus.
"It would seem that I owe my Mother a favour or two," Hadrian said lightly as he stared down the raging God, unmoved by the show of force, power and might, "She had bet that you would jump to conclusions when this part of the discussion was reached," he frowned slightly, even as Zeus stared/glared at him, those crackling orbs slowly reverting to their more natural electric blue eyes as the words were interpreted by the mind behind them, creating a degree of confusion. "And I was so looking forward to getting that tome too."
"What are you talking about?" Growled the King of Olympus, still greatly angered and suspicious, but somewhat nonplussed at the lack of reaction from the dark haired youth in front of him.
"Despite what you may think," Hadrian said with a glower at the King, "my Mother is not foolish. Childish and impulsive perhaps, but she is no idiot, and I do not appreciate any insinuations otherwise." The glower became a glare briefly, his eyes flashing with brief anger and malice, before returning to a neutral expression, albeit with a infinitesimal twitch of his lips, indicating a degree of rueful humour. "My Mother pre-empted your angered reaction to this small fragment of information. Even if it is misplaced."
"And how is it misplaced?" The stern form of Zeus demanded of Hadrian, "It is enough that your mother has, without permission, warped the very foundation of this world, introducing beings that could threaten the world as we know it. Now she has formed, from our own kin no less," he glanced briefly at the shaking form of Perseus before returning his gaze to the outsider, "a being, a creature, a monster," the King pointedly ignored the scowl and growl that came from his elder brother, "that could topple our very thrones. Such a thing that should have never been permitted. How is my anger misplaced?"
"Because a Campione cannot take your Domains."
The answer seemed to take the wind out of Zeus' sails, his eyes surprised, as were many of the Council. Annabeth could understand that. It seemed that Hadrian had deliberately misled them. His answer was completely contradictory to what he had said before. It made her confused and more than a little angry. This speaking in circles was wearing on her last nerve.
Fortunately, for herself and Hadrian's continued good health, the elder Campione was quick to expand on his statement.
"A Campione is charged with the duty to fight Heretic Gods," he emphasised greatly, "and it is through only their defeat that a Campione can acquire Authorities, which themselves are quite different to your own Domains." He looked significantly at Zeus, "Due to your very nature, which is very different to that of a Heretic God's or a God from my world, your pantheon could be considered True Lords, Gods who fulfil the role in life they are given rather than rebelling against it, and are thus exempt from the Circle of Usurpation that governs the conflict between Heretic Gods and Campione or would be Campione." He smiled slightly at a suddenly more relaxed looking Zeus, "Don't get me wrong, a Campione can still fight any of you, if they should chose to do so, and even kill you if they are strong enough, but they cannot usurp your powers and abilities. Your base nature, even if you share the title of 'God', is just too different from those of my world and are developing on their own here. Domains and Authorities are almost completely different, even if they seem the same on the surface."
That made the majority of the Gods relax. Losing and dying in battle is one thing, they would eventually be reborn. Losing and then having your Domains ripped from your weakened body, made to live in a diminished form, was another thing entirely. Much like the Romans had rent and demoted her mother in the form of Minerva all those years ago.
There are things that are worse than death.
"This is what you are now, Perseus Jackson, my brother," Hadrian spoke softly to her slightly shaking boyfriend, readying to end the deep and lengthy discussion, and making one and all, mortal or God, pay very close attention to his words, "A Champion of the Men and Gods. A mortal with powers equal to that of the divine. A protector above all others in the face of the rampant chaos of Heretic Gods." His eyes gained a solemn and sympathetic look to them. "Your life will be filled with conflict, this is certain, just as all your brothers and sisters before you. But I have no doubt, just they did, that you will find gold amongst the dross in this life."
He then gave a small smile, one of soft joy to Percy, one that Annabeth wasn't entirely sure how to interpret, as he rose to his feet and walked calmly and confidently around the crackling flames of the Campfire, ignoring everything else, to approach the form of Percy, looming over him slightly but giving off a feeling of comfort rather than fear.
A hand was extended to Percy, offering him more than could be seen.
"And I have come here to guide you in your firsts steps in this new chapter of your life." The man said, "To teach you about what you have become, but only if you want me to." The smile became a small smirk, "As you have said in the past, have been told in the past, 'the sea cannot be restrained'," he quoted, "Campione are just the same, inherently unwilling to take a knee or bow a head, knowing instinctively that their place in the world is higher than most. It is your choice to accept me as your mentor. Not mine. Not our divine Mother's. Not your paramour, friends or family. Just you."
Annabeth winced slightly. It would be a heavy burden for Percy to bear. Free will always was.
"I have extended my hand, offered my help at my Mother's request. Deny it, turn it down, for whatever reason you can think of, and I will be gone within moments, my purpose here finished and allow you to do as you will, and the consequences will be yours alone to bear, just the same as anyone else. Accept it, and I will teach as much as I can in the time that I have."
Annabeth blinked, "You can't stay?" She questioned, speaking for the first time since the 'summit' had begun, before blushing slightly with embarrassment. At the sudden attention she received from the Gods for her temerity at speaking out in their presence and because of the stupidity of the question she had asked. Of course he wouldn't be able to stay. He no doubt had responsibilities back home. Ones that he was laying aside in order to help her boyfriend, even if it was at his Mother's request.
"Unfortunately, no," a green eye similar to her boyfriend's flicked to her, "The path that I took to get here, to leave my own world and arrive here, is only temporary and the road is crumbling away with every second that passes. If I want to be able to return to my own world, which I do by the way, I will have to leave, at the latest, in a month's time."
One month.
Those two words rang in the mind of Perseus Jackson like a prayer bell from a church tower.
This man, who called himself his 'brother', at least in some fashion, could only give him a month in which to pound information into his head. In all honesty, that was like having no help at all.
Even with years of on-and-off training from the Trainer of Heroes, Chiron the centaur himself, he was only barely scraping the surface of what he could do, what he could learn, though he could blame himself partially for that. He was honestly unsure that a single month could teach him enough about what he was now.
On the other hand, it seemed that this would be one-on-one tutoring, something Chiron, sadly, lacked the ability to do due to the sheer number of half-bloods in the Camp. It wouldn't have been right for the old centaur to just dedicate his time to Percy, the backlash from such blatant favouritism would have been horrendous. Even with that threat, Percy was observant enough to notice that his relationship with the son of Kronos was closer than many of his other students had, save perhaps for the campers that had been here from an early age, like Annabeth.
Perhaps if he had known a bit more in the past, had been able to learn more, and found the drive to do so, many of losses incurred by the recent war with Kronos' groupies could have been avoided. Friends now dead could still be alive. If only he had been just that little bit more than he was.
Private tutoring could just have been a possible solution.
He frowned slightly to himself, his head down in thought, looking at his constantly twitching hands and other muscles. And it wasn't like he could afford to decline the offer. His new instincts had nearly caused him to kill Annabeth, his friend and so much more, just because he had no idea how to control them.
And that was leaving aside the whole new world of danger that had opened up. He had no knowledge of how these Heretic Gods worked. How they thought, how their powers worked in comparison to those of Olympus. He only knew that their powers could outstrip that on the entire Council. Combined.
It was a terrifying thought. And Percy was sure he wouldn't be able to handle it alone. The time with the one called Thetis had been a fluke, taking the tiniest chance that she had given him with her arrogance, and even then it should have been mutual destruction. He would have been dead, worse than dead, were it not for this Campione business.
But it was still his burden to bear, just as he had shouldered the burden of being the Child of Prophecy. There was no one else who take up his mantle as a Campione, not at this point in time. It was, therefore, his duty to do the best he could.
Even if it was only to ensure that he would never harm his friends again.
He looked up into green eyes, so similar and yet vastly different than his own, and reached out with his hand.
In the end, he didn't really have a choice. Too much was happening at too quick a pace. He needed to get ahead of the curve as fast as he could.
The hard slap of flesh on flesh seemed to echo across the valley and into the world as Percy's hand firmly grasped Hadrian's bare forearm, and vice versa, in a clasp of warriors. Of equals.
Of brothers.
"Teach me," Percy spoke lowly, letting his mind and soul fill the type of determination that belonged to the sea his father ruled, the white waves endlessly clashing against the rocky shore, slowly and steadily wearing it away, granule by granule, until it became the sand around it.
"Brother."
Three old woman stared at a broken loom, the threads that it wove lying scattered over the dusty old floor.
The tapestry that they had been weaving, started even before the first Man had set foot upon the world, was now askew. No longer were the threads used to make it, the lives of men and Gods and monsters, tight and close, everything in its proper place.
Large snarls and knots had developed, warping the tapestry and leaving large holes in it, holes that they had no influence over and could only barely see. To those that were use to using everything and anything that they so wished, it was a disconcerting thing to discover that they were as blind as those that were below them...at least to some things.
There were now beings, powerful ones, emerging into the world, born anew into a place not their own. Many of them were disoriented from the forceful travel, and were slowly restoring themselves by slipping into a light slumber, the powers they had creating a low level of chaos in the area where they rested their head.
A sudden and lingering storm out of season. Low key civil unrest in a previously peaceful community. A rainforest suddenly seeming to grow at an astounding rate, unnoticed by humanity. Small droughts. Snow in the middle of one the hottest seasons on record. Such were the events that these new beings, these Heretic Gods, caused with just their mere presence.
And these were only the beginning. The events would grow worse, much worse, when they, the invaders of their world, awakened and were back to full power. They didn't need to be all knowing to divine that.
It couldn't have happened at a worse time. The Prophecy of Seven was still in effect, barely. The heroes from both the descendants of the Achaeans and the Trojans would still meet, band together to face their foes, but the details of that conflict were blurred now, hidden from their sight. They did not know who would be either the victor or the defeated.
The thread of Gaea, who stood above them all as the Great Mother, the first progeny of formless and ever-changing and yet immutable Chaos herself, was hard to see at the best of times, her power trumping their own to an extent, but was now almost completely beyond their perception, fading in and out, like a badly tuned TV.
They knew it was there and could see the effects that it caused to other threads within its reach, but that was it. This indicated that something had happened, something that had placed Gaea beyond the reach of their sight.
The future of this world, as a whole, was now clouded to them.
Chaos help them all.
A young girl, a child really, with hair that was oddly green in shade, like tree leaves, grass or other growing things, looked down at the reposed, and almost serene, veiled face of a slumbering woman. Around them both, the earth shifted and flowed, like a river of loam and soil.
A small smile crossed the face of the girl child, her eyes gleaming with delight and desire as she looked upon the woman. Her chance to rise to power once more was within her grasp. The portal that had thrown her into this world, so different and yet similar to her own one, had delivered unto her the salvation of her power and pride.
"Greetings to thee, Earth Mother," she spoke to the sleeping woman, her voice a heavy thrum, harmonious and deep, as if the earth itself spoke with her voice. The churning walls, floor and ceiling of the cavity within the earth rippled like a pond struck with a pebble.
The serene face of the sleeping woman, shifted minutely, a mere twitch of the facial muscles, the only indication of her surprise, her shock, at her refuge and sanctuary somehow being intruded upon. The walls seemed to close in, the churning and flowing earth slowing to almost a halt as it did so. The green haired child felt like a fist was closing around her. Slowly. Threatening to crush her like a grape.
But she didn't let it deter her. Even as reduced as she was, as powerful as this woman, this goddess, was even while asleep, the Earth was ever her companion and ally.
"This one has a proposition for thee and thine."
The island burned.
It was only a small island in the Black Sea, barely worth of note, with less than two hundred inhabitants. There was nothing of value there, no riches worth fighting over, nor were any of the population wealthy in any shape or form.
But still it burned under the noon day sun.
Golden fire, otherworldly and unnatural, consumed stone and mortar as if it were tinder. Those who dwelled within, screaming and yelling and wailing, were unable to cross the threshold created by the scorching element, lest they be burned to ash. None were sparred the fiery death. Not even the children and babes in the arms of their dying mothers, wives of those who served on the border guard.
All of this happened out side of mortal eyes, an invisible dome of power, encompassing the entire island, cut the islet off from the rest of the world, the events inside left unseen. There would be no help coming for these unfortunate souls.
And over it all, looking down upon the carnage, a man watched, his visage grimly satisfied with the chaos that he had wrought, a massive spear, burning brightly with flames of gold and blood, clenched in a tanned fist.
His red eyes turned away from the sight, the colour of blood leaving his eyes as he did so, and began walking toward a ruin in the distance.
It was not yet time. But soon. Soon.
Vengeance would be his.
Flames crackled and cries rang out as he left, ignoring them all.
The machinations of the enemy were quite subtle in the beginning. The chaos of the collision between the two realms had created a smokescreen for them to hide behind, a veil that hid their activities from the watchful eyes of the True Olympians.
When the forces of Olympus were finally able to divine the nature of the enemy's actions, it was almost too late to stop them. It was only through the actions of the Seven that the plan of the enemy was halted in it's tracks.
Unfortunately, it was not the only plan they had.
And the world was shaped in the image of the enemy.
-Excerpt from 'A New Dawn: The Chronicles of the First Campione, Perseus Jackson'
Author's Notes
Whew! What a chapter! Over Forty Thousand words! This is the biggest chapter that I have ever written!
Sorry for the delay on posting folks, but this chapter just kept going and going. I wanted to get all the lore and history and introduction bullshit out of the way so I can focus on the other parts of the story. Like Percy's torturous training and the effects that Heretic Gods are going to have on Percy-verse.
Also, just so you know, Domains and Authorities are quite different. Domains represent the area, the aspects of existence, which Percy's Gods can effect. They are their Domains, the Domains are them. One affects the other in a semi-symbiotic relationship. Percy-verse Gods have nigh complete control over the manipulation of said Domains, these semi-natural forces. Were it not for the sheer power of Heretic Gods, which is as close to infinite as it gets if they are determined enough, then P-verse Gods might have a shot at destroying them, or at least equalling them. In contrast, the small magics that all of P-verse deities can use, such as Shapeshifting of themselves or others and other such things, would completely fail against Heretic Gods as, despite the P-verse deities' authority (not to be confused with Campione Authorities) over the world, these magics are not backed up by their divine rule over their Domains.
In short, their Domains are bound, limited in a way, by Natural Laws and they cannot step outside them.
Authorities, on the other hand, are aspects of that Heretic God's legend, an extension of themselves. As legends are subject to imagination, which is as boundless and endless as the sea and sky, these Authorities can break the Natural Laws like they were twigs. Hyberbole becomes fact becomes strength becomes power.
It's a bit complex, I know, but just roll with it.
The next chapter...will not really be a chapter. It will be a simple listing of the Authorities that Percy has managed to obtain. This chapter will be updated and changed with every Authority that Perseus acquires.
As always, please review.
See yah later,
Kujikiri21
P.S. A Cyber cookie to anyone who can guess what island went up in flames and what HG it was that did so.
