When will you do it?
He questioned himself everyday, every moment—every living second when he would do the deed he had always wanted to do. The one thing he imagined of trying all the time, because it was so simple.
Why are you escaping the inevitable?
He didn't understand where these thoughts came from, and why they whispered such horrible things to him on a daily basis. He refused to submit to them, but with every moment, they seemed to strike at his sanity.
Every hit knocking down his mental defences with him struggling helplessly against it.
You chose this dark path long ago…
He wasn't scared of the voice—why would he be? Two-time saviour of Olympus wouldn't be afraid of the voice; rather, he was scared of what it said to him.
Stop lying to yourself.
Or maybe he was afraid.
Why wouldn't he be? Every sentence it uttered changed the truth he believed in and filled his head with doubt and unwanted emotions he couldn't control.
All it takes is a pen and a click, the time's ticking…
He could handle many things in life—the stress of leadership, the land of Tartarus, the brutality of the gods and the world of a demigod. It was daily now.
Fate can never be defied, finish the path you set foot on.
One thing he couldn't: his own mind. He was afraid of himself, yet he could never admit it. Every passing day wore down his mind, and it only would last so long before he slipped off the edge.
Off into the abyss of his own mind.
I promise you Perseus, you will achieve the peace…
And it sounded so tempting, so soothing. So close.
...that you yearn for.
Though he knew he had to live; if not for himself, for the sake of his friends, Annabeth, family and the world. Who else would save the world right?
You know the pain will throw you down deep…
It was always him. Him, him, him, him and him. He retrieved Zeus's Master Bolt, he fought Kronos, he defeated Gaea, he traversed Tartarus, he did everything.
...into the realms of insanity.
And this voice served to enlighten him from the blinding loyalty he had. All this saving, all this happiness was for nothing. He was just a pawn of the bigger powers—another tool in the world. All he was needed for was to save the world day by day.
You only have one life, but what use is it like this?
He was used and used and used until he couldn't be used anymore. Used until his mind had cracked, his body was fragile and his life was nothing.
Why do you question me?
And then he would be thrown aside like dirt.
The world never changes. Never.
He tried to think of something to argue that there was hope in the world that something could change. But was there really? The gods still hadn't tried fulfilling their promises and humanity only seemed to fall lower into a world of darkness. His family couldn't even recognise his mind breaking nor him tearing himself apart—they were so ignorant.
Can you blame humanity?
But ignorance is bliss, they say.
So leave while you can—by death.
When he realised who was he even talking to?
I am you, and you are me. We are one.
He couldn't help the empty chuckle that escaped his lips; had he already lost it? Had he already lost the game of the mind? His sanity?
It is your choice, you are the one to control your mind.
All he did was drop the covers over him and ignore the voice within him, and drift off to sleep slowly. Praying to any deity for a peaceful sleep.
Why was he so foolish and ignorant?
Why did you—
His mind let out a scream and wails were heard in the background. Cries of a girl.
"Annabeth?"
He heard nothing.
"Annabeth? Where are you? Please, tell me you are here somewhere Wise Girl?" Desperation seeped into his voice as he felt his throat tighten.
He was wandering blindly through a forest, sweating anxiously, until he stopped frozen.
That's when they were all scattered, littered limp over the ground. Eyes empty of life and bodies still.
He dropped to his knees.
I warned you.
He curled his fingers through his lover's hair. Blood stained every person present, limbs were strewn all around and glorious fires were lit around. He wanted to cry but the tears couldn't come out. He was too hollow to even feel anymore.
I truly did.
A piercing scream tore through the air. He sprinted to the source, the world changing around him. He discovered the most important person in his life standing there, the Minotaur huffing metres away outside of camp like his first day here.
"Mom!"
She gave him one look of helplessness. Desperation.
He tried—he truly did.
But he was already too late.
This could have all been avoided.
Before the blood splattered everywhere and the golden dust settled. His mom was in pieces, dark red staining the ground he walked on. A few strands of hair were what remained.
He didn't know whether to cry or to be strong.
This is only the beginning, dear friend.
He blinked and he was now in the middle of his living room in New York. What was going on? He didn't want to endure anymore of this agonising pain.
Be prepared.
He heard heavy breathing. Was it his own? His heart thumped heavily in his chest.
He didn't know anymore.
He walked through the house into another room when he discovered a little child.
With a barrel to the side of her head…
She was his sister, he could feel it, she may not have been born yet, still in his mother's womb, but the connection was there. The same bond he once felt with his family and friends.
She was flanked by two men. He was silent, thinking of a plan to help her.
You've already lost, and we both know it.
He wanted to tell the voice to leave him alone, and that what it was saying was false. A lie.
Yet he couldn't.
She widened her baby blue eyes when she saw him and cried his name.
"Brother!"
Boom.
The bullet sped through her skull before he could even react. Crimson stained her brown wavy hair.
A straight hole was in her head and her eyes dimmed, body dropping soundlessly to the floor.
She was so young, so innocent. Why did it have to be her?
Something cracked inside him, eyes dimming to a murky green, and it only roared inhumanely within him.
It's the cost of living.
He felt a sense of anger and hatred stir inside him.
Why was it always him? Had he not done enough for the world already? Was saving it several times over not enough? Or risking his life to save everyone?
You can never do enough.
No matter how much he tried, his efforts were futile.
Maybe he should just kill everyone—there would be no problems again for years to come since even his enemies would be crushed by him.
It is the power of greed. Forever lasting and eternal.
This cycle of torment against him within his nightmares carried on endlessly, stabbing Percy's will repeatedly with each death, because of his failure.
You should have trusted me and not have slept.
In reality, he was writhing in his bed, twisting and turning.
Sweat poured out like a waterfall and silent screams slipped out of his mouth, no-one able to hear him.
How can they truly be your friends and family…
He knew what it was going to say, and he wanted to just ignore the voice. Push it away into the darkness of his own mind and squash it down like a monster, watching it beg for mercy.
But he couldn't ignore himself. The truth was only a moment away.
...if they do not see the suffering you are in?
The very thought gnawed away at him. Why could they never see his pain? He could see through their façades and aid them with anything they needed. Was it too much to pray for?
He wanted to grab one of them and torture them until they gave him an answer. Why not take their life when he risked his to receive nothing in return?
Isn't that what friends are for, to help?
All this time, his world had been a one way street, help and love only going one way and never the other.
Sadly with truth, comes pain.
Or maybe he was adapting to the pain, letting it control him as he acted better and better by the day. No-one noticed his suffering since maybe he became so good at covering it up.
Or they do not want to see what's truly within you…
Maybe that's why they all avoided him like the plague; once following him and now leaving him. They didn't want to know what happened to him for their sake, their sanity and their own selfishness.
You seem to understand now.
They couldn't be bothered to ask him how his day was, if he enjoyed the food or whether he wanted to rest. What was the point of fighting for them anymore?
He could have been burned to ashes, withering in pain or whipped endlessly by his enemies and they would never notice his disappearance.
Never...
Humans are born to be selfish…
He wanted to deny it, his loyalty coming out but his resentment overtook him.
…you defy fate, is the reason you are not the same.
All he wanted to know was why they avoided him.
Embrace the darkness.
Was it his abnormal power and mood which struck fear into everyone? They didn't want to be on the end of his blade, blood gushing out of their mouth while their friends watched in horror?
Can you feel it?
This power he held—a surge of demonic energy coursed through him and he silently screamed to the heavens.
It's coming.
He couldn't tell the difference between his dream and reality. Where was he anymore?
Nearing the abyss.
Anger, disgust and betrayal warped his very mind, changing it with each passing second.
You don't have much defence against it.
He wanted to tear off every limb of each demigod in the vicinity. Make them scream. Wither. Disappear.
We both know you would eventually submit...
He grabbed his head and roared animalistically. Sweat slid off his forehead and he frantically swept his eyes over his room. He wanted to storm through Olympus, lopping off the head of every god he had ever known, and bathe in their blood.
..time was only ticking.
He imagined ruling the world, everyone beneath him. He would crush people's lives and leave their souls in a state of no repair. Kill everyone opposing him, crushing them into nothing while destroying every last bit of business upon the earth—immortal and mortal.
Are these thoughts good or bad?
He wanted to have people worship him, treat him like God and blindly follow his every command.
His vision then turned into him slaughtering everything in his path with a gleeful and manic expression; blood drenching the very ground he fought on and screams being heard every moment.
And the worst part?
It does not even matter.
They were innocent mortals, his friends, his family and even the dirt of the planet.
And he was enjoying it all.
These thoughts were inevitable.
The power he held surged him to charge and end more innocent lives, this feeling of dominance and superiority motivated him to ruin the lives of more by killing their loved ones without mercy.
Because it's already too late.
A sword through the eye, a fist through the gut, a wave drowning many or feet crushing their very head were ways he caused destruction and massacre.
The sensation horribly rejuvenated him, and he was sick of it, watching the bodies fly, blood staining the world around him and screams across the landscape.
I'm sorry, but this was destiny.
He cried in the real world, trying to block out these horrifying thoughts but his mind only yearned for more.
Make it easier for yourself, and embrace it.
He cried, wailed and let the tears out relentlessly.
Embrace the darkness.
And he didn't know what to do—he was so alone and fragile, and there was nothing for him to hold onto, he was helpless against the attack of his own mind.
It was crumbling, tearing itself apart before even nothing would be left, not even it's remnants.
And he could do nothing but let it happen.
To watch it all while he cried silently.
For you have already started slipping off the edge.
He knew someone had to say it.
Goodbye, my friend.