Mitternacht

Alright, some of you may have noticed missing chapter or false updates for other stories, and that's because I went in and deleted the AN talking about my . For those that don't know, I put up that to help me raise money to go to buying a new car after I wrecked my first one, and that was mainly done through lemons, however, the admins of have suspended my account even though I flagged myself as adult content, and after several attempts and not receiving word back, I have forgone .

Therefore, no need for an AN talking about something that doesn't exist anymore.

Besides, I have a new car already, I make thirteen bucks an hour at UPS, and all my stories are M, meaning sexual content is allowed.

Moving on…

FIVE fucking Reviews? After so many months, after so many strong chapters previous, I get five Reviews? Really guys? Shit like that kills motivation for further writing. If this chapter does lackluster too, I'm probably going on hiatus for all my stories and start binging my novel.

Disclaimer: I don't own PJO or BL

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Fifty thousand dollars.

A painting.

A sunken submarine in disputed waters.

Nazis.

Percy stood on the bow of the Black Lagoon, a far off look in his eye as his hair danced in the wind.

Benny was in the computer room, monitoring the radar, the sonar, and the other instruments. Revy was in the sniper's nest topside, her eye on Percy. In the cabin, at the helm, Dutch was driving and Rock was watching.

"What's up with Percy? He hasn't been himself since we left home."

A low hum came from the depths of Dutch's chest. "Percy gets like that when it comes to certain subjects. Nazis are one of them?"

Rock knew it was best not to pry into other people's pasts or business, but he still asked, "Why?"

"Well, Rock, to understand why, you have to accept that Percy is really Poseidon's son. If you can do that, then we can move on with this conversation."

Rock's mouth set into a thin line as he tried to truly stomach the idea of gods and demigods. Considering what he had already seen, however, it wasn't too much of a stretch, considering the seemingly supernatural combat abilities of Percy and Revy, and then there was that thing Percy did whenever he drank alcohol.

"Alright," the businessman said at last, "I believe it."

"Okay then…if Percy is the son of Poseidon, wouldn't that make him the cousin of Zeus and Hade' kids?"

"Yeah…"

Dutch turned slightly to where Rock could see the man's manic grin and gleaming sunglasses.

"Hitler was the son of Hades."

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To say Rock was shocked would be like saying Mt. Everest was tall. The very core of the man's being rattled under the weight of such a revelation, the revelation that Adolf Hitler was a demigod, and was therefore directly related to Percy through a divine lineage. It also brought forth more questions, like who else in history was a demigod, who wasn't, who were their parents, how much of mankind's greatest accomplishments were actually accomplished by men, and not half-men?

What did that mean for Percy, to be Hitler's cousin? And possibly the cousin of hundreds of powerful men and women, dangerous men and women? Did that kind of blood have any effect on him? Was there something lurking inside Percy, some monstrous beast that could put thousands—millions, even—to the sword for whatever reason? Sure, Rock had seen the kid put holes in people, but he had never seen the kid shoot first.

Only shoot back.

It also made Rock wonder that if Percy was Poseidon's son, meaning that Poseidon was still around and actively siring children, were other gods doing the same? How many people did Rock know in his life that he thought were normal people, but were actually demigods?

Was Revy a demigod? Ms. Balalaika? Dutch? Benny? Mr. Chang? The whole of Roanapur?

What was and what wasn't anymore?

"Easy, Rock," Dutch's deep, calm voice rooted the man back into reality. "Calm down and breathe. Percy isn't about to start gassing Jews and gypsies, so you can get that out of your head right now. What's going through his little brain right now is some deep shit, questions about morality, loyalty, and his really fucked up family. Just give him a little bit, he'll be bouncing off the walls in an hour or two."

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It took Lagoon Company 45 minutes to get to their destination, but Percy was already coming out of his funk, so everything was okay now, except for the sudden panic of the PT boat suddenly coming to a grinding halt in the middle of the ocean.

Revy, in the sniper's nest, had some words to say. "YOU FUCKING BRAT! YOU BETTER HAVE A GOOD FUCKING REASON FOR THAT!"

Percy just pointed straight down and mouthed, Subby.

Revy grumbled.

Inside the cabin, Dutch said, "Rock, get topside and tell Revy it's time to suit up."

"R-Right."

Rock did as instructed, and while he was pulling on his flipper, lamenting about how he had to perform underwater welding, Percy stepped off the portside ledge and dropped into the water a few feet below, much to Rock's surprise.

"Hey, what's he doing!?"

"Going ahead of us, duh," Revy said.

"But he doesn't have any scuba gear!"

"He's Poseidon's son. Why the fuck would he need scuba gear to go deep-sea swimming?"

Rock blinked as the logic behind that notion started to make sense to him. "…okay."

To make a long story short, Rock and Revy got suited up, loaded up, and took a dip into the ocean. Minutes later, Benny, lounging on the deck with a beer and a parasol, noticed an approaching research ship with heavy equipment on the back.

"Not good…" Dutch muttered. "Benny, go raise our Thai navy flag, just in case."

"Rodger that!"

The radio buzzed, and it was the approaching ship. "To the vessel currently idling in our path, this the White Heather. Please respond."

"Well, well," Benny said, impressed that manners were being displayed instead of bullets.

Dutch picked up the mic. "This is PT-377 of the Thai navy. We are currently on a mission here. We'd like to inquire about your purpose for being in this area. Tell us your nationality, ship number, and signal code."

Dutch let off the button and the White Heather responded. "We see you currently acting independent at this present time. Where is your mother ship?"

Dutch responded, "That is classified military information. I'm requesting for the second time that you identify yourself. Over."

Nothing but static.

"These guys are way too demanding," Dutch put the mic down. "Definitely not normal. I'm going back to the control room. Keep track of them and keep me posted. We've got some unusual cloud activity." He climbed into the sniper's nest and began shimmying down. "And fold up your parasol."

"Do you think Percy knows about that ship?"

"Of course Percy knows about that ship, just like he knows the location of every sunken ship from here to Arabia. The best case scenario is that those three down there make it back in one piece with the painting and some other loot. Worst case…" Dutch's glasses gleamed.

"Percy sends that ship crashing down to Hell."

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Down in the depths, Rock was amazed at the dazzling color of the coral reef and the thousands of fish. However, Revy gave him no time to admire the scenery, as she kept swimming deeper and deeper. Soon enough, they got deep enough to where the only viable source of light was from Revy's lamp, the sun becoming just a distant dot far above.

Looking down, Rock eyes had adjusted enough to the darkness to where they widened upon seeing the sunken submarine sitting in the gloom. It was ethereal, otherworldly—scary, even—seeing such a beast at the bottom.

U-1324, a member of the fearsome Wolfpack that brought terror to the Atlantic. Captained by Wentzel H. Ahbe, the submarine's last mission was to ferry a Japanese officer back home, but a surprise visit from a Lieutenant-Colonel carrying papers from the Secret Police changed that mission, if only slightly. The LC was carrying the fabled painting The Twelve Knights Led by Brunhilda…artist unknown.

The U-1324 decided to bite off more than it could chew in the final leg of its journey and attacked two American destroyers. Depth charges were dropped, and the submarine went down for the final time. And here it has laid for over fifty years, quiet, desolate, undisturbed…a metal casket at the bottom of the ocean housing the skeletons of the Nazi dead.

Rock and Revy continued to descend but motion out the corner of his eyes caused Rock to pause, turn to investigate, and scream into the radio. Revy flipped her shit, brandishing the underwater rifle that was a gift from Balalaika.

"WHAT!? WHAT THE FUCK IS IT!?"

"JAWS!" Rock warbled into the radio.

Revy paused and looked at the Great White casually passing by. The monstrous shark was easily thirty feet long and built out of nothing but muscle and power. Her teeth were out and her eyes were black, and besides: Percy was in the area, somewhere.

This shark was friendly.

Or as friendly as a shark could be.

"Calm the fuck down, Rock. That shark won't do anything to us."

Rock whipped around in the water, indignant. "How can you be sure!?"

Revy deadpanned at him. "Because Percy's Poseidon's kid, remember? That gives him total control over sea creatures. That shark's just looking out for us while Percy does Percy things."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that whenever we do deep-sea stuff, Percy swims off and go does whatever. I don't know what he does, and I don't care. He could be jacking himself or having a tea party with a tuna. What's important is our job, and our job is to get into that sub and find the painting. Now suck it the fuck up and come on."

With that, Revy swam for the sub at the same sedate pace she had been using. Rock eyed the patrolling Great White, and he didn't know what to make of the situation when the shark tilted itself up and came back down in one quick motion, like a passerby in the hall would jerk his head up in casual greeting.

Rock just offered a hesitant wave and swam after Revy.

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This was not the first shipwreck Lagoon Company had looted, and it wasn't going to be the last.

When it came to these places, these underwater graveyards, children of Poseidon had this interesting ability to see how it all happened, to see the moments this vessel had. As Percy traversed the narrow corridors, full of rust and decay, as he walked over the skeletons and the dust, and he walked past the instruments, he saw it.

A haze would pass over an area, and suddenly it would come alive, everything good as new, even the men, and Percy could hear them speak, watch them move, smell their breath, taste the salt in their sweat, and feel their emotions.

Right now he was in the control center, and Captain Ahbe was telling his men with a solemn tone that they were 57 meters down, and they weren't coming up ever again. It would be about two hours before the remaining air was gone, and now the only thing left for the men to do was to choose how they died.

It was funny to Percy, how across the world it was taught that the Nazis were evil incarnate, about they marched across Europe slaughtering millions, destroying everything, rounding up Jews and shipping them off to concentration camps, performing sick and twisted experiments. That was all true, Percy supposed, but here he was, enveloped in the final moments of Nazi sailors, and he saw not evil, not malice, not hatred…

Percy saw sadness here, he saw men staring at pictures of their families, trading stories of who the little baby was, who the young man was, the young woman, the schools they were attending, their plans for the future, their aspirations and goals in life. Percy saw heartbreak and tears as these men came to terms that they would never see their families again.

And then he wondered: was that just?

Was this fate deserved? They were Nazis, members of the Wolfpack who sank everything that floated from the shores of Spain to New York harbor. Cruise liners, military vessels, civilian ships, all under the waves now. Innocents, soldiers, secret couriers of supplies…who was to say how much death these sailors here dispensed among the waves?

But was that not all done in the name of patriotism? For the Fatherland they so dearly loved? For the cause they believed so noble and just? They people this submarine attacked, enemies of Germany….Was that not just cause for their actions? To attack their enemy before they could be attacked? To defend their allies and comrades elsewhere?

Wasn't that the same thing every country did, attack their enemies?

So what then, Percy wondered, made Germany out to be such masters of evil when compared to every other world superpower that did the same thing they did?

Kill others for the cause they deemed noble and pure.

That's why Percy hated jobs like this, the looting of downed vessels. They always made him think about the nature of man, and the nature of the world. He hated thinking so deep like this. It was supposed to be simple; it was supposed cut and dry, black and white. Good guys, bad guys. People shooting at you, you shooting back at them. Axis powers, Allied powers. Evil Nazis and Japanese, righteous Brits and Americans. Plane-hijacking terrorist scum, brave soldiers delivering justice.

Simple, easy, and without mind-muddling bullshit as you realized that everyone is justified in some way, and that they all believe in what they're doing is right, and just, and noble, and true.

This was supposed to be a Nazi submarine filled with dead Nazis and a Japanese officer; this was supposed to be a monument to the powers of good, that the good-guy Americans sank this Nazi war machine, and killed several evil Nazi sailors who sieg heiled, revered the evil that was Hitler, and flew the evil swastika.

And yet, the only thing Percy saw were human beings that would never see their wives and children ever again.

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Being under the sea gave a child of Poseidon incredible sensory awareness. For example, Percy could tell you about every sunken ship from here to Arabia, its make, its model, its nationality, what time period it was from, its cargo, how many were on the ship, the damage dealt to it, and he could tell you about every ship on top of the water, and all the same stuff. He could sense them…ancient creatures sleeping in the depths.

Of course, that also meant that Percy was deftly aware of the Neo-Nazi ship that had just fired a trio of TOW missiles at Dutch and Benny.

Nothing cleared the son of Poseidon's head better than violence…which seemed to be a constant in the ever expanding Delayed-verse.

Maybe it's a reflection of my subconscious mind?

Anyway, as Dutch was gunning away and Benny was screaming, the TOW missiles approached with lethal accuracy. They got closer and closer, before three geysers shot straight up, three geysers thin as paper. The missiles were cut in half directly down the middle, and they crashed and broke against the surface of the sea.

Dutch came to a stop, and both he and Benny eyed the craft that had just fired on them. After ten seconds of the vessel not disappearing in a plume of spray, Dutch sighed. "Great…Percy's in a mood."

Oh, was he ever. The boy exited from one place as Rock and Revy got to the torpedo tube. With barely more than a thought, Percy commanded Julie, the monstrous Great White, to his side. The Neo-Nazis had sent their own divers down, meaning it was a competition to the stupid painting.

Percy's eyes darkened just like Revy's did whenever she decided to be serious, and he pointed. Julie shot forward out of the darkness like she was going for a seal. Her mouth was so wide that the Nazi she caught in her jaws lost his head and his feet. Everything else was swallowed whole.

Blood poured out of Julie's gills and clouded the water. The Great White came roaring out, and one Nazi lost his lower half, and another one had the unfortunate pleasure of getting hit by Julie's tail, which shattered his skeleton.

That was three down out of the ten-strong diving team, all in less than five seconds. One might've thought they regrouped and aimed weapons, but these were not disciplined men who had been through the brutal Nazi training regime. These men were…idiots, really, white people who had no idea what to do with their lives and thought it was a good idea to join the Nazis because they paid and they didn't have to do much besides do as they were told.

Still, even if they were disciplined men…this was a fucking Great White, big as a yacht, and they were in her territory, exposed, vulnerable, and then there was her eyes. Those blank, empty, soulless white eyes that just looked right through you and laid bare everything that you were and made you experience one thing, and one thing only:

Primal terror.

At the bid of her Lord, Julie devoured bits and pieces of all ten Neo-Nazis, killing all of them.

Percy swam through the bloody water, not caring in the slightest about any that got him. He didn't care about the sinking remains, nor did he care about the sharks coming from all over the enjoy a feast. His sole focus was on the big boat bobbing above, and killing every last person on board for A) shooting missiles and Dutch and Benny, B) sending people to go shoot at Rock and Revy, and C) simply being here and giving him a reason.

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They had no warning, these wayward sons of God. Something came flying up out of the water, and there was the thunder of gunfire.

Percy's eyes darted back and forth with great speed, drinking in every minute detail in the short spans of tenths of seconds. It was funny, the entire crew had gathered on deck before a submersible. His fingers practically spasmed, the muscles contracting so fast that his Tokarevs seemed to become full-auto. He shot every one of these Nazis right between the eyes, right down the middle of their faces.

Typically, a Tokarev magazine was big enough for only eight bullets, but Percy had gone with an extended model, allowing for ten bullets. As such, he brought down eighteen fully grown men, in the time it took for him to soar from the water and come down. And he came down on Person #19, putting both barrels into the guy's eye sockets.

With a loud BLAT Percy got his face all dirty.

He ejected the empty magazines, pulled another two from inside his boots and slipped them in, and then replaced the emptiness in his boots with the empty magazines, because magazines cost money. Percy always kept the extra mags in his boots, two on either side of his leg, granting him a total of sixty bullets. He had once tried to keep an extra magazine in his shorts, holding it between his butt cheeks, but that had been an amazingly uncomfortable experience, and it had smelled funky after the fact.

So sixty bullets it was.

There were 53 of them, or were, as 19 had been killed, leaving 34 Nazis. For a moment, Percy appreciated the poetic justice of the moment: he, the American son of Poseidon, here to kill the wretched followers of his German cousin, Hitler, using Russian-made pistols. The thought made his lips tug upwards, and it helped alleviate the moral weight that plagued his mind.

He had come down right in the middle of the congregation, meaning he had surrounded himself, exactly as planned. Percy brandished his pistols, a cloud passing over to blot out the sun, and using more of his sensory prowess at sea than his eyes, he began gunning men down left and right.

He crossed his arms and continued shooting.

He put an arm over his head and pointed the other forward and continued shooting.

He pointed both arms behind and continued shooting.

He reloaded in the blink of an eye and started shooting again.

Some tried to rush him with adrenaline surging through them, and he gunned them down with ruthless precision.

One big fella tried grabbing him from behind, but Percy spun on the ball of his foot, and put bullets through each of the man's eyeballs.

The cloud overhead moved past, allowing the light of the sun to shine down once again. Percy was surrounded by bodies, splatters of blood all over him, soaking clothes and sticking to his skin. His ponytail had come undone, letting his raven hair fall to just past his shoulders. The black locks were stained with the sticky fluid of life, making clumps that he would have to brush out later. The bodies strewn about the deck, the blood leaking from them spilled over the sides, painting the water, attracting hungry sharks.

Percy was out of ammo, a rare occurrence indeed. The slides remained back, smoke curling from the barrels.

Not everyone had been killed, as some had escaped for elsewhere, but Percy knew where they were at, what they were doing. There weren't even that many, only two, the captain and his first mate. They were in the captain's quarters, the captain frantically dialing a number, the first mate loading a pistol.

Percy went there, running, darting through the halls until he reached his destination. The door was locked, but he Sparta-kicked it open, shattering the handle and denting the metal of the door, busting it off its hinges. The captain was on the phone, and the first mate whipped out a golden Luger with an extended barrel.

Percy took three steps forward, and the big guy towered over him, brandishing his gun with a most crazy look on his face.

"So you are still alive, little girl! I applaud your audaciousness! The name I have proudly carried since birth is Fritz Stanford! And you are the heathen graverobber sent to steal our sacred treasure! Our meeting was declared by God to happen, and it is with this weapons that I shall smite you in His holy name! BEHOLD! The Eisenreich Luger Special!"

Fritz began bragging about the golden gun, and Percy wasn't paying attention anymore. He raised his leg back and nailed the Neo Nazi dumbass in the dick, crushing the testicles like grapes. Fritz fell to his knees, eyes rolled into the back of his head, foam coming from his mouth. Percy took the Luger and pushed Fritz to his back, the man dead from shock.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Sea Devil Percy just killed a man by kicking him in the crotch.

The captain had sweat coming down his face.

"Good day, Ratchman," the man on the line said.

With a loud bang, the leader of this adorable mockery of the Third Reich lost the top half of his head in spray of blood and skull. Percy tilted his head at the sight, the look of a man with only half his cranium, the blood spurting up from the stump, the little bit of nose still attached, the ears still fully intact, the mouth open, the splatter on the wall, the gooey bits, the hard bits, all the red…

"Mr. Jackson."

Percy tilted his head to the other side and tossed the Luger away. He didn't like that gun. He picked up the phone, and in his raspy, scratchy voice, ruined from years of disuse, he said, "Hello?"

"I apologize for the ruckus caused by the idiots of the Aryan Socialist Union, but I wanted to make doubly sure I got what I wanted, and I also got to see your abilities in combat. It's a shame you hold such fondness in your heart for the black man, the Jew, and the Russian swine. I would've offered you a position of great power among my ranks. You could've even been the leader of the Fourth Reich, with your direct connection to the Fuhrer, but I cannot overlook the taint about you. I am sorry."

The line went dead, and Percy was left with a feeling of great displeasure about him.

Not displeasure at being turned down some grand position, but displeasure at what that man had said about Dutch, Benny, and his aunt, and the fact that Percy had no idea who that man was, where he was at, or what he was after.

The demigod squeezed the phone in his hand, and the device shattered.

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Down in the submarine, Rock and Revy had found the painting, and the gunslinger had also found many other items of interest. Medals, trinkets, badges, other stuff…and Rock wanted her to leave it all behind. To him, those things were symbols of accomplishment, the last testament to the men in this underwater casket. They should've been left here, with the dead, the last possessions they'd ever have.

Revy disagreed. Verbally.

She held up a skull and an Iron Cross. "What are these things?"

"Well…the first one is an old skull…and the first one is a medal of some kind," Rock answered.

"That's where you're wrong," Revy said hollowly.

Rock looked at his companion, really looked at her. Her eyes, usually a vibrant brown brimming with wild energy were now dull and sunken in. Her skin, sun-kissed and unblemished, was pale and tight across her face. The aura around her, typically cantankerous and excitable, much like a child at an arcade, was dim and cold. To Rock, she looked more like the dead than the skeletons around him.

"These are nothing more than things," she said, voice flat. "Strip away all their meanings, and that's all they really are, just things and nothing more. And if you're gonna give these any kind of value beyond someone's stupid little feelings, then that value is going to be determined by the thing everybody agrees on…"

Revy jingled the medal.

"…and that's money. The rest of it is just sentimental bullshit."

Rock looked away. "Is money your god?" he asked quietly.

"It's power," came the simplistic response. "Something a lot more useful than God….And Rock, when you stop and think about it, what are we really valued in life?" Revy took a drag from her cigarette. "God? Love? Don't make me laugh."

Her eyes managed to become even more hollow as she recalled her past on the brutal streets of New York.

"Back when I was just a brat crawling around that shithole city, it always seemed like God and love were sold out when I went looking. Before I knew better, I clung to God and prayed to him every single night…" she took another drag, a small, twisted smile on her face as she spoke.

"Yeah, I believed in God right up until that night the cops beat the Hell out of me for no reason at all. The only thing they saw when they looked at me was another little ghetto rat with no power and no God….What's left for a poor little Chinese bitch to rely on?" Revy jingled the Iron Cross.

"It's money of course, and guns." She gripped the Cross in her fist. "Fuckin' A. With those two things, the world's a great place."

Rock felt sick to his stomach. He placed his face in his hand, and said dejectedly, "I wish I hadn't heard that, I'm sorry."

"Fuck you."

In that moment, Rock found it strange, that word "fuck." He heard it every day, heard it in all its varieties. Usually it was a harmless bit of profanity, but sometimes it had the bite of a cold knife. It all depended on the intent of the speaker, how much scath was in the word, and right there, Revy felt very scathing. Rock truly felt like she had insulted and threatened his being, and fully intended harm upon him.

"If I had been looking for pity, I would've told you something a lot more colorful. The moral of the story is that when you're living on the edge, that's all you really got, because that's all that really matters to you. Not everyone can get off on being moral, Rock. And more thing….All those rich, fat bastards living under palm trees, and all those bitches who think life is all about putting on makeup…I don't want to hear you speaking your mind from the same perspective as those hypocrites…"

Revy looked at him, and Rock truly felt like he was staring into the eyes of Death.

"Nothing is worse than being treated like some kind of whore by your companions….I'll say this once: the next time you gotta tell me what's proper, you'll no longer be one of us…when that happens, I'm gonna kill you."

Rock felt his blood freeze when he saw the uncaring truth in Revy's eyes.

CLICK

The businessman flinched and started at the sound of the hammer being pulled back, but all Revy did was slightly turn her head, her eyes still the containing the same otherworldly detachedness, the same uncaring of her actions and their consequences, the same light of one who had seen the Abyss, and held its long gaze.

Revy looked at the gun aimed at her by Percy without a care in the world for him, his existence, or anything about him.

In the darkness of the submarine, the boy's green eyes glowed softly, creating enough illumination to cast a shadow across his face that hid any kind of expression, but those luminous eyes held enough warning in them to know just what was going through Percy's head.

Hurt him and I'll feed you to a shark.

Rock didn't know how to feel about the boy being so protective of him. He didn't know what to make of this whole situation, Percy pointing a gun at Revy's face; Percy, who loved and adored her so much that he modeled his wardrobe and behavior and hairstyle and mannerisms and everything around her, and Revy, who always referred to him as her kid, had competitions to see who could dismantle and clean their gun fastest, and provided warmth and comfort to him in the dark hours of the night when they were able to sleep.

Revy looked away eventually, and stared at the floor between her feet.

Percy holstered his weapon and strolled forward without a word, his boots making no sound as they traipsed across the metal. He stopped in front of the skeleton of the Gestapo man, staring down at the uniformed skeleton with disdain and contempt.

The world around Percy changed, showing him the last moments between Captain Ahbe and the SS officer Spielburger.

"Do you have any family?" the captain asked. In his hand he held a photo of him, his wife, and his two children.

"Yes, a wife and daughter in Stuttgart. So, what, then?" he rasped.

"You know…I can honestly say I'm proud that I fought to the very end for my country. I have no regrets even now as I am destined to rot here." Captain Ahbe turned to face the SS officer. "However, if there's one dissatisfaction I do have…it's that I have to share a casket with some fucking bastard like you that's not even thinking of his family in his final moments."

The captain's blue eyes held nothing but utter contempt for Spielburger.

"Take back that statement, Captain," growled the SS officer. "You cannot compare family to the righteousness of our country!"

Ahbe exhaled a cloud of smoke from his pipe. "It's pointless. You can argue all you want but Hitler's empire is crashing down around us and there's nothing you can do."

"Be quiet!"

The Captain was calm and even sardonic as he came to the realization of what his reality was. "Look what's become of my country and my navy as a result of me putting up with your delusions for all these years."

"ENOUGH!"

"I even say it was worth sinking if my children get to grow up without ever seeing that accursed Nazi flag again."

Spielburger ripped away his hat and brandished his gun, crazed. "Shut up! Take it back!"

Captain Ahbe stared forlornly at the photograph of his family, the wife and children he would never see again. "It could very well be the will of God that out boat sank here today."

Two gunshots ended the memory for Percy.

The son of Poseidon stared at the last remains of Spielburger. Then he snapped out with the sole of his boot, and completely smashed the skull away with a single blow.

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In the spirit of Black Lagoon, where there are just crazy-fun episodes, and episodes of great seriousness, this was a chapter of great seriousness.

Adding the ability to see into the pasts of shipwrecks is not canon, but it makes sense to me.

The Nazi arc is my personal favorite of the anime, as we see something you don't get to see often in media involving the Axis powers, and that's the fact that they too were just men fighting for what they believed in, fighting for what they knew in their hearts to be just and right. Patriots by definition.

Can't ask anymore of a man than to stand and fight for what he believes in, whatever that may be.

Anyway, next chapter will be the beginnings of canon, though I don't know about release. All depends on reception for this chapter.

Fav, Follow, and Review!