Hey all! Here's the next installment for you.


A few years ago…

Aeacus looked down upon the creature in disgust.

"What is that thing?" He asked, conveying his displeasure. His tone got the attention of the other two men who were sat beside him.

"Whatever it once was, it isn't human anymore." Replied Minos scornfully.

Rhadamanthus squinted down at it, wrinkling his nose in thought.

"The soul isn't complete. It's just a fragment." He decided. The sight of it made him shudder. Perhaps at one time it had been a man, but now it was pale and shrunken, every inch of it covered in blood. It lay naked, huddled before them, shaking and twitching, moaning in pain. Aeacus jerked away in horror.

"Someone hacked away a piece of their soul?" He choked out. "Who would do such a thing?"

"It doesn't matter. If a soul is not complete, we cannot pass judgment upon it. Send it to the pit." Minos stated dismissively and waved his hand at two nearby ghouls. They lumbered over and grabbed the pitiful creature, dragging it off behind them. The three judges of the dead stared after them, contemplating the odd occurrence. But it was soon forgotten, disappearing into the masses of the dead, waiting in line for judgment.

The three ghostly kings went back to work.

Kronos howled in fury. He had been close, so close to achieving his dream. No, that wasn't right; it wasn't a dream, it was an ambition. And it had been all but reality. There he had stood, amidst the source of their godly power, the thrones of Mt. Olympus. His scythe was in hand, all he had to do was strike down their seat of power, and he would have been rid of his contemptible children and their spawn forever. But no, like a fool he had stood and gloated, unable to resist prolonging his enjoyment after so many years of torment.

Than he had come.

Perseus.

The very name of that wretched sea spawn made him tremble with rage. The thought of a mortal bug such as he getting the better of him in any form was shameful, a disgrace to the title of Titan. It had been his fault! The hero had matched him, blow for blow. A feat none before him could accomplish. And all the while he had whispered in his ear, planted thoughts that took root in the mind of his host, into the brain of that scared and angry, pathetic little child called Luke. It had been enough, just enough for the boy to stop him. And now he was trapped here, back in the pits of Tartarus. He didn't even have his body anymore. One day that scrap of kelp would kneel before him, bowing to the true gods, begging for mercy. But he would not grant it. No, both he and his father had earned the eternal wrath of Kronos, never to secure a reprieve.

Kronos screamed in anger and pain, scrabbling feebly along the ground. He wasn't sure how long he had been here trapped in this form. He existed in a sort of cloud, his body pulverized into millions of tiny pieces, like dust, and every part of him cried out in agony. Here and there he had picked up bits of rocks and debris from the dirt, so his body acquired some definition, but it was obscured and distorted at best. The endless torment made every moment stretch into eons. The gods were cruel. Even the Lord of Time could not bear it.

Slowly he was being driven to insanity.

That was when he came upon the creature.

What have we here? He murmured in interest, observing the figure hunched before him. Someone had been desperate, he mused, noting the jagged edges on the ripped fragment of soul. For only the depths of despair and depravity could have driven a soul to desecrate itself in such a manner. But that is not what Kronos found most interesting. For the soul was still connected to its other half. There before him, clear as day, lead a tiny string of energy from the body of the fragment up and out into the faint glow of the underworld above him. Like Ariadne's string it provided a path for him to follow, a way to escape from the depths of the pit.

Chuckling with glee he quickly took possession of the fragmented soul, his essence seeping through the body as he seized control. Then, hand over hand, he grabbed a hold of the thread of energy and began to pull himself out.

He would be free once more.

With a startled gasp Percy sprang from his bed, muscles tense and ready for action.

What had he just seen?

A half-blood's dream was never simply a dream, what he had witnessed had been real. He slumped to the floor gulping down giant breaths of air. But what did it mean? Had it happened so soon? Surely the titan king could not have managed to slip his binds so easily. It had only been a year since he and his closest friends had risked everything in order to defeat Kronos and save his Olympian family, along with the rest of western civilization.

He would have to contact Chiron immediately, to let him know about his latest vision. Letting out a short huff in frustration, Percy ran his hands through his messy dark hair and sank down the rest of the way to the floor of his family's Manhattan apartment. He didn't want it to be true. Maybe it had been just a dream. But since when had he ever been that lucky? He let his fingers reflexively trace along the outline of a pen resting on the nightstand beside him. Whatever it meant, it could wait until morning. He had school tomorrow. It was way too early for this type of disturbance. Perhaps he would get lucky after all and someone else would have to deal with it this time…


There it is, the beginning of a plot. Next chapter will have Harry, I promise. See ya later!