Author's Scribbles - I have been thinking... are you guys interested in a chapter dedicated to the reactions of people that Percy was close to at his "death"? If so, who would you like to see?

What do you think of this chapter?


His laugh was cold and humorless. The mirth died from his eyes, leaving them a dull green, cold and blank.

"What's more despicable," Percy asked softly. "The pawn or the player?"

‗‗‗‗‗

"Will you serve me?" Death demands. Her dark eyes bear into mine. They seem to pierce into my soul. It is the only thing I can see in the darkness, and it seems to consume every happy thought, every memory, into its depths. My voice, when I speak again, is cautious.

"...What do you mean?"

She smiles at me, baring her teeth in a feral manner. I force myself to meet her eyes, resisting the urge to curl up and die. It takes every ounce of willpower I possess to grit my teeth and refuse to look down. She meets my gaze with something akin to... approval?

"Become my champion," she continues, ignoring the way my breath hitches sharply. "My hand of justice upon the misdeeds of the world. I have been lenient for too long, and it has paid the price. I will be idle no more. The nations shall know my name, and yours as well. I offer you this. Do you accept?"

I look at her with a leaden, careless expression. "I am not interested in power. Power means nothing to me."

She nods, or I think she does. It's hard to tell with the hood amassing her face with shadows. "This is a great honor, son of darkness. Not all are worthy of receiving it."

"Then choose another," I say quietly. "My purposes have been fulfilled. There is no need for me to survive. Let me pass."

Death doesn't move. She pins me under a stare that chills to the bone. For a moment, she scrutinizes me carefully. "You care for your brother." It is not a question. I give a slight nod. Her eyes shine and I know immediately that I will not like what is to come.

"He will die in a fortnight."

I was right. I do not like this.

My eyes fly open, and I whip around to face her. All of the listlessness, the lethargic nothingness I had felt was blown away by the sudden absurdness of the statement. Aether won't die. It's not possible. "What!" I demand, trying to reign in the impulse to shake her senseless. "Tell me!"

Death cocks her head to one side. "He will die without your protection." I take several deep breaths, trying to force the trembling in my hands to stop. It comes out as gasps, too loud in my ears, racing with my heartbeat.

My voice comes out steely and all too desperate. But I really don't care. "How can I save him?"

"Become my champion, and I will pardon him this once. You have sold me your soul; now is the time to pay your allegiance. Do you accept?"

We both understand that she is not giving me a choice. I do not hesitate this time. "I... yes. I will..."

I take her proffered hand cautiously. It burns against my skin, icy cold yet feverishly hot at the same time. Long, supple fingers wrap around mine, surprisingly strong. She twirls her scythe in the other, light gleaming off of the metal blade, beautiful in a twisted way.

"Good," she smiles. "Good."

Death brings her scythe down, slashing a rip into the darkness. I get my first glimpse of the blade. It is beautiful yet gruesome, and I can almost hear the tortured screams of the souls she has reaped. With a faint moaning sound, the darkness rips, the cut edges glittering like thousands of stars. Light pours into the darkness, pushing back the black.

Death releases my hand. Her voice, when she speaks again, is timeless, ancient. "Go. Live. And when it becomes time, I will reclaim you." She traces a possessive finger over my lips, the other curling around my neck. The weight of her hand is heavy and cold.

The light becomes painfully bright. It engulfs me in its folds, and I struggle to free myself with no avail. I look back to Death for an explanation, but I can barely even make out her figure against the searing light. She raises a hand in farewell.

"Go, my champion," she says. Her voice is so quiet that I must have mistaken the slight warmth in her tone. I nod, and my eyes close as the light bursts outwards in a wave of shock and confusion, searing an imprint into the back of my eyelids.

And then I am panicking, because everything is being wiped clear. The memories are fading... I cannot remember who I am...

"Death... is this how it ends?"

My voice, asking a last question, comes out as an infant's scream.

‗‗‗‗‗

Chapter III
Algiz
Ý

Rune for protection, safety, spirituality.

The memories —Erebus' memories, his memories— faded away, and all of a sudden, Percy wasn't in the battlefield anymore. He wasn't anywhere, as far as he could tell. For a few stasis moments, he floated in a peaceful trance, sinking further into the darkness.

Then the moment was gone and Percy was falling-plummeting-sinking—

It was the only thing he was aware of. A single green eye fluttered open weakly, watching as the earth rushed up to meet him. The sky —once so large — was disappearing into a pinprick of light, and even that had been swallowed by the darkness.

I... don't want to die here...

He hit the water at a hundred miles per hour. It rushed into his nose, and for once, Percy understood the terror of drowning. Why all humans learned to swim; it was a terrible way to die. Blackness consumed everything. Every thought, every hope and dream, washing it away like the tide.

Heaving and spluttering, he clawed doggedly towards the surface. The light of the world disappeared with the darkness, so hopelessly far yet so tauntingly close. No matter how much distance he swam, more seemed to take its place. His strength was depleted as he closed his eyes, sinking back into the cold embrace of the depths.

"So you were born by water as the son of Poseidon, and so you shall be reborn into water as the son of Chaos."

Then strong, and strangely dry arms circled around his shoulders, dragging him towards the surface. Percy turned his head to look at her, but somehow, he already knew who it was. Her cool breath fanned his ear, and he pushed the idea of how-is-that-even-possible-underwater out of his head.

"Brat." Her voice seemed to echo in his head, bouncing off the water like sonar, coming from all directions, though she was talking in a quiet voice.

"Death," he murmured. Her cold eyes crinkled into an almost-smile, dipping her head in acknowledgement. The ragged black cloak she almost always wore was draped over her shoulders. Percy could see his reflection in the pale light of her scythe.

Before his eyes, his image melted away, slipping off to reveal a battle-worn world, where there was nothing remaining but limp bodies and the blood that flowed out in a ceaseless river. Chariot rails stuck out of the ground, marking the place where they had met defeat at the hands of the enemy.

Then the scene faded and Percy was left staring back at his eyes.

"It's been a while. It took you longer than expected to return."

"I was... delayed," Percy defended himself weakly. It was almost as if they were speaking in code, one that he had half forgotten, one that was only starting to surface in his memory. "We have... met before."

Death's gaze was amused, not unlike the smile of a shark when it sees a fish. The scythe gleamed wickedly in her hand. "We have," she quipped. "Several times. You are my champion, after all. Do you not remember my promise to you?"

'-and when it becomes time, I will reclaim what is mine-'

"You said... you would take me back, whatever that means."

Death gave him an indescribable look. The silver in her eyes matched her scythe. "It'll come with time, brat. Be patient."

"Easy for you to say," Percy snorted, but there was no spite in his voice. "A few years for me must be like seconds to you."

She only shrugged in response, not deeming it important enough to waste breath over.

Several minutes lapsed by in a comfortable silence. There was nothing to say. Percy could see the layers of water change from a dark black to a muddy, translucent brown. They must be nearing the surface.

Death stopped abruptly, her arm tightening around Percy's shoulders. He could see orange light flickering over the surface, casting the water the color of an old carrot. She gritted her teeth minutely, letting her arm drop loosely to her side. "This is as far as I go."

"Oh." Percy supposed he couldn't want her to stay —she was an immortal, and had her own duties to attend to. But some part of him felt strangely disappointed. He'd finally felt some kind of... connection to her, some semblance of normality. As if catching his downtrodden expression, she seized his wrist, making him tense. Her other hand pushed the handle of the scythe into his. Percy's fingers closed around the smooth metal handle, feeling strength suffuse up his arm, replacing his blood with fire.

"Take it," she commanded firmly, stopping his protests. "I can always get a new one, and this is my apology for thrusting you into a new world and taking you back out again. Be honored. You are only the second to receive my gift."

Percy itched to ask who came before him, but thought it may be too rude and bit his tongue instead. Death's eyes locked against his; he could almost feel electricity vibrating between their gazes, sparking and hissing.

"The darkness stays in the shadows," she said, her voice quiet. "Always supporting the light. We are the backbone of the world, unseen and forgotten, yet vital and necessary. This is what you are now. Do you understand?"

Oddly enough, it made sense. People admire flowers, taking in their colorful petals and rich scents. They do not remember the roots, and when they do, it is only when they pull out the plant and the root is left to die. But the beauty was in its sacrifice, a legacy it had nurtured.

"I... yeah, I do."

She gave him a last nod.

When he opened his eyes again, she had already sunk back into the murky depths, leaving Percy to wonder if it was all an illusion. But no... the heavy weight of the scythe in his hand attested to his sanity. It was really there. He wasn't imagining things and going crazy. But he had no more time to think of that... of anything.

The light grew brighter until his head broke the surface.

Percy sucked in a painful breath, taking a few moments to just cling to the side of the river and breathe deeply. Water dripped from his hair, brushing slightly past his shoulders —when had it gotten so long?— and formed a small stream that trickled down the side of his nose, pittering back into the river. He buried his head in his hands, not sure if he was sobbing or laughing hysterically. No doubt anyone listening would think he finally lost his marbles. In some aspects of the word, he was. Tartarus had messed him up more that he would like to admit.

Percy heaved himself out of the river, hands splaying in the mud. Dirt coated his fingers and he wiped them off, awkwardly shifting the large scythe to his other hand. Now that Death was gone and he had his feet planted on solid ground, he had a chance to examine his new weapon.

Black and gleaming, it was taller than Percy, but well balanced. The blade was incredibly thin, made of three layers of metal smoldered together. Percy remembered Backbiter, Kronos' scythe, and the two that had formed its edge. Ironic how he would be using the same kind of weapon his nemesis and torturer had not that long ago. His mouth thinned.

Percy squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a deep, tired breath. Now is not the time, he reminded himself. You can grieve later.

He twisted a dark stone crafted into the handle curiously, skillfully worked into the designs. The gem clicked three times, sinking into the handle. The whole scythe hummed, an echoing melody twinkling out a few notes. It was high and innocent, but as the notes repeated themselves over and over, Percy realized that there was something oddly sinister about the banal tune.

The blade clicked again, rotating around until its sharp edge was resting parallel to the handle. The whole thing burned, icy against his skin. Percy dropped it onto the ground, watching as the shaft bumped gently against his foot, leaving a patch of frost where it touched. Its form shimmered, dissolving into shadows until nothing remained but a black gem-like crystal threaded through a thin silver chain.

Percy shuddered, picking it up hesitantly, wiping off the mud with his thumb. It sparkled coldly, but he tied the ends of the chain around his neck. It dropped out of view, under his shirt, where it flared against his skin.

He pushed himself to his feet, flipping the hood of the cloak Death had somehow provided for him over his head. The soft folds of cloth cast shadows over his face, concealing his identity. He felt safer like this. The anonymity.

Indeed, if any of his old friends had seen him now, they would never recognize him to be the same old Percy. Hell, Percy wouldn't even recognize himself. The times have changed.

Sighing, he turned around, eyes still downcast. Nico, Thalia, Grover... did they hate him like the rest of the gods? The thought stung, and he pushed it aside before that wound in his heart could reopen.

Wham!

A tingle of pain ran up his arm, and Percy suddenly realized that he was lying on the ground, having been knocked over. He pushed himself up again, mud crusting the side of his face, pulled into a scowl.

"Watch it," he snapped, attempting to wipe off the dirt and only succeeding to smear it everywhere else.

The boy that ran into him cowered slightly, picking up his bucket from where it had fallen. "Contrist, contrist," he stammered. "Paenitet ten et non est ignis,"

Percy frowned, previous ire pushed to the back of his mind. "I don't understand."

"Ignis! Ignis!" The boy paled, turning and bolting towards the direction Percy had come. He stared after him, confused. There was nothing in that direction, or nothing useful, at least. Only trees and...

A whiff of charred smoke and the distant sound of screams drew Percy's attention.

...the stream.

Ignis...

He turned with a sinking expression.

Ignis means fire.

A village was on fire.

Mentally cursing his hero complex, which hadn't managed to completely go away in the years of his imprisonment, Percy bolted into one of the narrow alleys, not yet consumed with flames. Narrow timbers started to smoke, sparks worming into the wood. Percy yelped as one came down before him, weakened by fire, narrowly missing crushing him under its massive weight. He reared back, pulling his cloak from the reach of the flames. Cinders rained down in sparking chunks.

"Hello?" he shouted, the acrid smoke starting to burn his throat. "Is anyone there?"

The heat was becoming unbearable. In a few short seconds, his world had turned into a ring of ash and fire. Percy coughed into his fist, his eyes watering. Self-preservation kicked in. Whether or not anyone was there, he would have to leave soon.

Then he heard the screams. Shrill and raspy, full of terror.

Tongues of flame had started to lick up the sides of a wooden building, consuming everything with hungry crackles. At the uppermost window, a woman stood leaning out, holding a small bundle aloft in the air, trying to keep it away from harm. She was almost toppling out, and at that height, it would kill her. If the flames didn't get to her first.

Seeing Percy, her expression morphed into one of relief and hesitancy.

"Plakere," she pleaded, her voice raw and bloody. The bundle in her arms writhed and screamed. Small, charred hands came out to grasp the woman's sleeve. She looked down and smiled bitterly, tears welling in her eyes.

She knows she's going to die, Percy thought grimly. Despite the obvious language barrier, it was obvious what she wanted from him.

"I'll catch him," he wheezed, trying to shield his mouth and nose from the smoke and ashes. "I'll get him to safety."

The woman hesitated, pausing to kiss her baby's forehead a last time. She seemed to understand him in that way all mothers were able to. The fire was licking at her heels now, but she seemed to accept her fate as long as her baby would survive.

"Phaestus, est nomen eius Phaestus," the woman met his eyes a last time, quiet gratitude in her brown gaze.

Then the floorboards cracked under her feet and the moment was broken. There was a dull thud, and the crackle of flames licked even higher.

The smell of burned flesh permeated the air. Percy covered his nose and turned away.

It reminded him of the time his mum had taken him to a local fair, back when it was just the two of them and no Gabe. There were several performers that did seemingly impossible deeds. One ate a sword. Another burst into flames, dancing around and doing jigs and generally looking very silly. Nevertheless, Percy had screamed, hiding his face in his mum's dress, not wanting to see a man die by fire. He'd always had an instinctual fear of it. Sally just laughed and stroked his hair, murmuring that it was just a show, that no one was going to get hurt.

Sure enough, the man emerged from his suit minutes later, a wide grin plastered on his face. He'd bowed, and Percy was sure he cheered the loudest.

But now... this was no game. Not anymore. Life wasn't something you could just restart. Once it was over... that was it. Done.

He watched her burn helplessly, unable to do anything. When she finally let go, the filthy blue blanket was streaked with ash and blood.

Percy let the bundle land in his arms, careful to cradle its head from the impact. Instinct took over. Holding it close to his chest, he kept his head down and raced out of the collapsing alleyway, shielding the baby from the burning debris that rained down upon them.

The streets looked the same; narrow, winding passageways that were engulfed with fire. Percy didn't know exactly where he was going, only to get away. After countless turns and dead ends, Percy ended up in a large square. It was packed with people, whimpering children and families clinging to each other.

Fire licked up the sides of the roads, burning away the stones and incinerating everything it touched. It was beautiful in the same way a destructive hurricane was beautiful. Untamed and wild, man had no domain over nature's fury.

Although it was hard to appreciate nature's beauty when it was about to eat you alive.

The citizens pressed in closer until they seemed to be one terrified, breathing ball. Percy looked around at the tear streaked faces, the desperate look in their eyes. His stomach twisted.

Then a man stepped forward, pushing his way to the front of the group.

He wasn't anything special. Garbed in simple brown linen tied with a red sash, he was old, the top of his head devoid of hair. It resembled a mirror, shiny and beaded with perspiration from the intense heat. But the revered looks and respectfulness the citizens treated him with gave a sign to his obvious importance.

"Plakere," a young woman wailed, "seducto ich!"

She fell to her knees, kissing the hem of his robe.

"Advenia nos," the man —a priest— said hoarsely, clasping his hand in a three fingered gesture over his heart. The people repeated his move, and with a start, Percy recognized it.

Grover had done it what seemed like ages ago. A sign to ward off evil. Apparently, it meant a lot more than that, Percy thought, watching the mix of regretful hope and desperateness warring on their faces.

They were waiting for a god to save them. They thought that because of their belief and sacrifices, their gods would save them from death. A bitter laugh forced itself out of Percy's lips. How naiive. How foolish.

But there was something commendable about their spirit. They were willing to die for this. Die with their soul intact. It was more than he could say about himself.

His necklace burned.

Death stood in his peripheral vision.

"Aren't you going to save them?" she whispered in his ear. Percy sucked in a breath and snapped his neck to the side, but once more she was gone.

"What are you doing?" he hissed back. The baby in his arms squirmed, but it seemed oddly subdued. It mewled in fear.

"You have the power to save them," she said, amused. Her voice seemed to echo, coming from everywhere and nowhere. "You know how."

Percy gritted his teeth. None of the other people seemed to see Death, hovering mere centimeters above them, twirling her scythe. She slammed it down upon the last rotation, sending shockwaves spreading in chaos. "Who are you trying to fool? I don't have that much power. Not anymore."

She traced the tip of her blade under his eye teasingly. It was colder than ice, like Death herself. "Use the scythe," she raised an eyebrow. "You know how."

Percy sighed, running a hand through his hair, feeling torn.

Despite his anger at the gods, it would be hypocritical to take it out on innocent people. It would make him scum, just like the rest of them. Say what you will, but Percy wasn't without his humanity.

"Just..." he dropped the baby into her arms, "hold on to her... him... for me, alright?"

Screams.

The earth rumbled. Percy turned, in time to see a piece of flaming wood strike the priest in the back of the head. It burned into his skin, licking at the source of fuel it had found. Sickly sweet smells perfumed the air. Percy held his breath. If he didn't, he was sure he was going to be sick.

The man's eyes met his own. Ash gray, glassy with pain.

Then it wasn't the man that looked back at him, but the woman burning in the rooftop.

That was his priest, damn it. Percy twisted the gemstone around his neck, lips thinning into a hard line.

He barely had time to brace himself before he exploded into flames.

The charcoal colored fire licked at his bare skin, and it took a few seconds for Percy to realize that it left only a mildly tickling sensation. A scythe gleamed in his other hand, the metals reflecting the intense light of his eyes. He snorted. Of course Death would go for the dramatic. He'd almost forgotten that about her.

This, of course, happened in a fraction of a second. To the mortals, it looked like a black hooded being with a scythe had materialized in hellfire, just as his priest had been struck down.

The other priests, crowding around the fallen one, bowed deeply. "Thanatos," they whispered in awe, "vene ad salvadum nos."

The mortals shifted, dropping to their knees, foreheads touching the ground. "Thanatos," they repeated reverently. Their murmurs overlapped like the tide, some strong, some weak. Some high, some low. All formed the same word.

Percy raised his hand, the sleeve slipping back to reveal his curled fingers. He felt the familiar tug in his gut. His scythe burned into his hand until he was sure that his fingers had fused with the metal. His arm started to shake, the wrenching becoming painfully sharp in intensity.

The water refused to come.

He was running out of time... the fire was licking up the edges, people huddling in fear... they looked at him with desperately hopeful eyes...

Percy squeezed his eyes shut. A pressure built in his head and chest, a keening, throbbing note.

He was too weak... couldn't save them... just like he couldn't stop the war...

Percy's hand gripped the fabric over his heart, jerking his head down. It was like someone had driven an invisible railroad spike between his eyes. He knew that if he held this any longer, he would die. But for once, his mental shields faltered and he let himself think with his heart instead of his brain.

The only time this ever happened was in Mt. St. Helens. And yet it was different; back then, he had people to protect, people that believed in him.

A bitter laugh choked his throat. Who believed in him now? They all knew he was nothing but a disappointment and a failure.

But...

Percy opened his eyes. He scanned the faces of the kneeling people. How could they not understand that they were about to die, because he was too weak to do anything important?

The answer almost made him lose his grip.

It was because they trusted him. They trusted that he would find a way, to not give up. A surge of warmth tingled at his heart. He smiled and clenched his fist, raising it to the heavens.

His shout was answered by the water's roar. It surged, like a great maw, over the tumbling ruins, easily dwarfing everything it touched. Wood splintered as it was crushed by the onslaught, the fire snuffed out under its iron fist.

People cheered, throwing their arms up into the air, tears rolling down their cheeks. Percy couldn't help but smile. Their relief was contagious. Caught in the spontaneity of the moment, he lifted his scythe to point at the sky. The sun tumbled out of the clouds, beaming rays filtering out the darkness. A rainbow sparkled from the horizon, telling them all that the danger had passed and it was all right.

"Omnia forre bysso," Percy said quietly, before he blinked in confusion.

But it seemed like the right thing to say. The villagers got to their knees, bowing deeply in gratitude. Percy inclined his head slightly. The hood hid most of his face in shadow, but the civilians could see the small smile that curled his lips.

"Facis, Dominicus Thanatos," they murmured.

Death stood to the side, smiling at him slightly, bouncing the baby in her arms. "Nice job, brat," she said, plopping the baby unceremoniously into his arms.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" he grumbled, awkwardly cradling the baby away from his scythe.

A scream came from the back of the group, an overjoyed, panicked voice. "Phaestus," it cried.

Well, that was quick.

The man came into sight a few moments later, shoving past the other humans until they made a clear path to the front for him, shuffling to the side. Some clapped him on the back encouragingly. About halfway there, his steps faltered; he looked into Percy's cloaked eyes and something in his seemed to tremble in fear.

Death nudged him sharply, and Percy had to bite back an annoyed wince. "Vestrus," she muttered from the corner of her mouth.

"They can't even see you," he hissed back, but raised his voice and called out to the man, "Err... vestrus." Percy held out the baby.

That was all the incentive the man needed, bolting down the rest of the path and snatching the baby into his arms, burying his head into the warm bundle.

"Facis tantem, Dominicus," he wept, sinking to his knees. He held on to the child as if it was his anchor to the world. "Un sempiternum ein!"

Percy knew that his brain to mouth filter had probably been destroyed, so he only nodded in response. He turned, raising a three-fingered salute to the people.

Then he turned and melted into the shadows.

‗‗‗‗‗

One week later.

When Percy woke again, seven days had passed. It was alarming how time seemed to have no effect on him. That was Kronos' curse on him. To be never touched by time, to watch as everyone around him died and not being able to do anything about it.

Thoughts bubbled like fire underneath the surface. Bitterly subdued, it raged in turmoil, throwing his mind into chaos.

I scarcely know where to begin, he thought bitingly. Who was - am I? Where did I live? What did I do, my accomplishments, my goals, my dreams? He concentrated furiously for a few moments, before giving in with a sigh of frustration, feeling a headache starting to form.

Nothing.

All washed away like the sea washes away the sand. Gone, scattered into fragments of pieces, never to be recovered. He wanted to slam his fists against the slick stone walls in frustration. He was so close he could almost feel it beckoning to him, yet so despairingly far away at the same time.

He didn't know how he felt. Tired? Angry? Sad? Perhaps all.

A cold draft blew against his face and he reveled in the biting chill. Percy took a moment to rearrange his facial features into an unconcerned mask. Never show weakness, his subconscious warned him. Never show fear.

Percy raised his eyes to look up at the moon. He could barely make it out—there, above the sycamore tree—but the sight was reassuring. He slowly blew out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, fanning his hair away from his face. Percy remembered this moon.

The darkness focused into a black sky, punctuated by brilliant silver stars. His brow furrowed and his lips tightened in concentration. Something about the constellations was wrong ...

It felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his head. Percy hissed in a breath, gritting his teeth against the onslaught. He only had time to think 'not again,' before a particularly large wave pulled him under, dragging him into the pool of Erebus' memories.

It had been coming off and on, like his body had already assimilated the memories but his brain was only just starting to catch up. Percy would catch glimpses of his past life, never enough to provide a full answer but always enough to drive him insane.

A black haired girl was sprawled over the ground, an arm raised as though in supplication.

"Percy, what—"

"...sorry, Nyx. You are right about sacrifices... forgive me."

Memory-Percy stabbed downwards, the glint of a blade evil in the light. Her eyes were the last thing he saw. Not terrified, nor regretful, but sad.

The scene changed, fading out to darkness. Percy felt his breath catch in his throat. Even though he doesn't remember Nyx, his heart knows that she was very special to him.

Now it was a small boy with ash white hair and diamond eyes that stared up at him with a large, hurt gaze.

"—don't leave, Percy! Who's gonna be my friend now?"

Memory-Percy crouched down, a small, quiet small on his lips. He was barely any taller than the white-haired boy, but it was enough to make a difference in height.

"Don't worry, Aether. Everything's going to be all right. I promise."

Little Aether's form burst into shadow, replaced by a dark haired man with tired eyes. His voice was hoarse and hair unkempt. Memory-Percy had kneeled before him, head bowed in a sign of respect and deference, a hand barely touching his knife's hilt. He was taller now, colder, harsher, showing that an indefinite amount of time had gone by.

"—a last mission, if you will."

Memory-Percy hesitated. His voice was cautious, eyes seeking the man's, demanding an explanation.

"What do you mean?"

"I have not known you to be this curious before, Perseus." The man avoided his gaze like the plague, fiddling with the papers on his desk as if he suddenly found his paperwork to be of the utmost importance.

"I have never known you to be so skillful at avoiding questions, my Lord," Percy retorted scathingly, the disdain and warning clear in his voice. The man sighed, his hands coming up to rest his aching eyes.

"A last mission," he said in a defeated tone. "The very last given from me. It is to be kept secret. Once accepted, there is no turning back. You will be branded an outcast and a traitor and will have to flee from this land."

Memory-Percy's eyes struck the man's in an accusatory manner. The man said nothing in return, but the raw emotion on his face was enough of an answer. Percy sucked in a breath through his teeth. "What..."

"My last order," he said quietly, "is for you to kill me."

There was silence.

Memory-Percy's hands struck the table in a splinter of sound and anger, scattering the papers and spilling ink over the documents. He did not seem to care. The wooden table cracked under his clenching hands, but Percy seemed mindless of the splinters digging into his skin.

"Are you saying," he whispered, his voice dangerously soft. "That you care so little about your own life that you would throw it away without a second's hesitation?" Despite being worded as a question, it was not one. They both knew it to be true.

"No!" Percy snarled, louder this time. It was a guttural, feral sound, capable of transpiring fear in the most dauntless of animals. He stalked forward, kicking the desk to a side without pause. It smashed into the wall with a spray of wood and glass.

And then he stopped abruptly, his voice becoming quiet once more with an underlying steel edge against his words. "Time must have addled your brains, my Lord. I'm afraid it has clouded your ability to make judgements."

It was always bad when Memory-Percy lowered his voice. When he yelled, people know that it was the most he would do; verbal abuse and sarcastic remarks. But when his voice was quiet, it was that much worse, because it was usually then that he was at his most dangerous.

But the scenes dissipated into a cloud of ashes and shadows, leaving Percy even more confused than before. He opened his eyes again, gasping for breath, feeling that he'd swallowed the entire Styx river in that few seconds. His labored breaths was the only sound he could hear, something that briefly registered as 'not good' before it was pushed aside.

He could not remember exactly what had transpired that night, only snaps of pieces. He knew none of it was pleasant; that was about as far as his memory could account for. Percy blew out a small breath, closing his eyes in frustration. They burned.

Was Erebus—no, was he—a criminal now? Percy was not entirely sure who the man was, but he felt some twinge of connection to him. He was familiar in the way that he walked, the way he talked and sighed and smiled. He was familiar in a way that a warm fire was familiar.

A small growl escaped his lips. This was getting him nowhere.

Pushing himself painstakingly to his feet, Percy stumbled to a near standing position, feeling as though the earth itself was lurching in great arcs at his feet. He promptly collapsed with a mild curse. Taking a quiet breath, he forced himself upwards again. For a few brief seconds, he was able to remain in a somewhat upright position.

Percy closed his eyes in frustration.

The world righted itself. His balance returned.

Confused, Percy opened his eyes again. Immediately, he was assaulted with an overload of images—he could see the individual veins on a leaf in perfect clarity when it was tens of meters away, the small bubbles in the riverbed that suggested a crab or some sort of bottom feeder was lurking in the depths.

It was fascinating, yet disorienting. Unbidden, his eyelids fluttered shut. He would need time to get used to this... peculiarity. Until then, he would need to find shelter. Or a village. Somewhere with large crowds that he could blend in.

Blame his paranoia, but Percy always felt as though someone was watching him, just out of sight. Percy despised that feeling. Helplessness just did not bode well with him. He'd never been much of a trusting type, and any innocence he had once possessed was completely obliterated.

A part of him wished that everything could be back to normal, when he was just Percy and life was simple... well, as simple as it got when you had powerful, age-old entities howling for your blood.

It was only after several minutes of picking his way gingerly out of the brambles and brackets he'd somehow found himself entangled in —cursing himself the entire time— that he came across a revelation.

He could see where he was going without his eyes open.

His "vision" wasn't exactly seeing vision, per say, but more like a sixth sense. He could feel that there was a tree six feet ahead and slightly to the left, and that it had a rather sizable knothole scarring its trunk. There was no color—only vibrations and... moisture.

The realization came as fast as it had occurred. Percy could see the water, sense the water within other living organisms, the moisture present in the air. Reaching out a hand, he touched the tree's bark in fascination. The roughness gave way under his probing fingers, the lifeblood of the tree trailing after his touches. He'd never seen his abilities like this, so... alive.

This was how the astronomers must have felt when they landed on the moon. To be the one who discovered something new... he felt like a little kid again. Giddy. Excited.

The roughness of the bark caught on his fingertips, and Percy winced, drawing his hand back sharply, fingers coming together to cradle the slash.

There was a sound like gunfire, exploding through the earth until his not-vision was completely blind. Everything became a blur of confusion and blackness. His finger throbbed, more than a cut of its caliber should. Percy jumped back in preparation to defend himself, flaring his eyes open. Whipping his head around, he glared around at his surroundings. There was no one there; at least, not anyone he could sense.

But when he looked back, he realized what had just happened, even if it didn't quite make sense.

The tree was gone. Crumbled to ashes, what remained of the trunk was cracked and black. A small wisp of water curled upwards, forming a hazy question mark. It wafted into the air, coming to curl lazily around Percy's body, a warm cocoon of water. It seemed to purr in contentment as Percy prodded it curiously, his finger sinking effortlessly into the water.

Heat washed over his eyelids, whiteness eating away at the edges of his vision. Percy let his eyes close, his tense muscles loosening, the pain fading to a dull whisper.

He'd drawn the water out of the tree by accident. When he'd clenched his fingers together. A darker part of his mind wondered if the same concept could be applied to a human. He was sure it would; after all, didn't it work when he used it against Menoetius? A mere flick...

No. Percy pushed the thought out of his mind forcefully, gritting his teeth. He got to his feet again, the water dropping from his limp fingers, splashing harmlessly back into the earth. A damp patch of dirt stuck out in his water-vision, marking the spot in which a dangerous weapon had been nullified in his hands.

Blowing out a soft breath, Percy stalked forward, intent on making a way out of the forest. It had to end somewhere, and ahead was as good a direction as any.

He didn't notice the dead body until he had stepped on it.

Only it wasn't dead. Not quite.

He looked down in alarm, dark eyes solidifying on her. She stared back at him, unable to break his marbled gaze. Her eyes pleaded desperately with his own, begging, pleading for him to save her. From the pallid complexion of her face, Percy guessed that she had only a few hours to live at most. Taking a few steps back, he scrutinized her carefully.

She could be an enemy. A mole, used to lure well-meaning people to their deaths.

Percy wondered a bit when he'd become so cold. Before, he never would have hesitated to help anyone in need, friend or foe. But now, he was bitter, hostile, and vengeful, not at all the happy-go-lucky character he used to be.

There were six ways to kill her right now. She would die before she could do anything. He surveyed her carefully, noticing her lack of weapons and wide, scared expression.

Satisfied, he approached her with slow steps.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said quietly, holding his hands carelessly in front of him. She curled in on herself, around the knife protruding from her stomach. Childish features rested fearfully on Percy. He knelt down in front of her, voice harsh and biting yet genuinely worried.

The girl seemed to scan him over with a weary look, before squeezing her eyes shut in compliance. Her breath hitched in a tearless sob.

Percy wrapped his fingers around the knife's slick handle, steeling his nerves. A terrible, keening cry was wrenched out of the girl's throat and she thrashed against his blood spattered hands. Flocks of birds took to the air in alarm. Percy forced himself to remain calm and not to run as his instincts fought to escape. Enemies ... alerted ... run ...

Percy closed his eyes, fingers probing the wound. He forced the individual threads of broken flesh and muscle to join and multiply. He guided the bone back into the embrace of its socket, weaving the sinews carefully over the rough edges. Like what he did with the tree before he...

Percy pushed the image of the girl exploding in a shower of gore and a scream out of his mind. This was not the time.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the girl's cries died away.

Percy bit his lip. Was she dead? Unbidden, a small twinge flickered in his stony heart. He rolled her onto her back with gentle hands, daring to open his eyes a little.

Where there once was a gaping hole, the flesh had knitted itself together so that there was nothing left but a fine white scar. Percy exhaled in relief, wiping his hands on the back of his cloak and stood up, hating the exhaustion that throbbed in his body.

"You'll be fine now," he said, starting to edge away. Now that the danger was over, he felt weak, drained. "Don't strain anything and keep—"

A blur of muddy golden rocketed towards him, flinging bony arms over his knees. Percy stiffened.

"Let... let go of me," he gasped. It would have made the bravest of souls back off, but the girl refused to move, burying her face deeper into his legs.

"You are nice." Her voice was still raw and scratchy, like her voice had been used for screaming endlessly. "A sad man. You are nice but sad and angry. Mummy says hugs make people happy. I want you to be happy. To thank you for saving me."

Children's logic. Ah, how simple and pure its intentions were. Percy let out a mirthless chuckle.

"Thank you, but you're several years too late. What's done is done. All that matters is to move on and not to dwell too much on the past. Now, shoo. Your parents will be getting worried." He attempted to pry the clinging child off, but she grasped one of his hands with both of hers. Even so, she could barely circle her fingers around his hands. Caught by surprise, he made no resistance as the little girl pulled him down, crouching down beside her and tentatively lowering his guard. He stared into the girl's large, dark eyes.

What she did next shocked him so much that he was rendered speechless.

She pressed her lips to his forehead, like a mother would a child. Only she was the child and he was... well, he was a disturbed teenager with ADHD and pointy weapons.

"Be happy," she smiled, releasing his arm.

Without a backwards glance, she skipped off towards her village, singing snatches of old lauds, leaving Percy to stare after her with a dumbstruck expression on his face.

‗‗‗‗‗

Two weeks later.

"Who's there?" The voice was alarmed, accompanied with the rasp of a sword drawn out of its sheath. Percy stepped out of the shadows, hearing the man gasp as he seemed to materialize from the darkness.

Maybe I shouldn't do that anymore. I guess it's not as common a skill as I had originally thought.

He heard the weapon before he saw it, sawing through the air. Percy raised a hand, stopping the man's lunging weapon between his fingertips, catching the flat of the blade easily. He cocked his head inquisitively, eyes still closed. "Peace. I mean you no harm."

Indeed, it was only by coincidence that he'd met this man. Before nightfall, Percy caught indistinct figures of a small town, glimmering between the trees. He had pushed towards it, the debris and rotting leaves under his feet changing to the roughness of cobblestones. Percy wandered for a bit, wary of the tense atmosphere that made it hard to breathe. His quiet footsteps were the only sounds in the streets, accompanied with the fearful whispers that lurked in the shadows.

The smell of sickness and sweat and the pained moans in the run-down shacks confirmed his suspicions.

The man lowered his sword, stepping back to lean back from the boy. He had a kind of aura that told people 'beware of me, I am dangerous.' It wouldn't be wise to anger people of his kind, and the man had no doubt that this boy was one of them.

"I'm only gonna warn you once," he said, shaking his hand at Percy, who looked on impassively. "You need to get out of here, before you catch it too."

"Catch what?" Percy asked.

"There's been a disease going around. No one knows how it started. The crops died first. Locusts, or some kind of bugs, ate them all. And then the humans started getting sick. The docs said it was a cold, but everyone grew steadily worse until the victims went brain dead. More than half the population has been wiped off. I'm one of the last survivors, and I'm gonna get out of here now. So I'm only saying this once: save yourself while you can. Get outta here."

Percy shrugged, a graceful movement. "I am rather adept at the medical arts. Perhaps I may be of some use?"

The man shook his head. "There's no cure. Save your breath. Try if you want, but no doctor has been able to. The ones that have come close all disappeared mysteriously right before their breakthrough, never to be seen again."

Percy pursed his lips thoughtfully. "May I inquire what village this is?"

The man raised his eyebrows, suspicious. "We are in Syndel. This place used to be prosperous, before the Plague set in. We used to supply crops and weapons to Chaos' forces. Now, it's deserted, and all of the waterways are barred off to leave anyone from leaving. To keep the disease in."

"I see," Percy said slowly. He straightened. "Well, I shall go see what I can do. Thank you for your help."

The man's eyebrow's rose even further, in danger of disappearing completely into his hairline. "You still want to help?" he asked, incredulous. "Even after all that?"

"Do you let yourself be washed away once it looks hopeless?" Percy retorted. "Do you let yourself drown just because it's likely you won't be able to make it? Do as you wish, but I will continue on."

The man smiled, a tiny shred of hope present in his eyes. "The world needs more people like you, lad. Go on, then. And may the Primordials shine brightly over your future."

Percy nodded curtly to him, not missing the irony of that statement. Yeah, I'll shine bright over myself.

He turned and moved towards the decrepit building used for a hospital, overflowing with patients. It seemed to be the only inhabited place in the entire village. As he passed, he took notice of the red "X"s marked over almost all of the doors.

The nurses themselves looked rather sickly, harsh coughs racking their frail forms. "Do you need any help?" he asked one of them. Her white coat was splattered with mud and dried blood. Black rings drowned out the vivid color of her face, leaving it pale and tired.

"If you wouldn't mind," she rasped, swiping the back of her hand over her eyes. "But there's not much we can do for them, except to ease their pains until they pass."

Percy crouched, resting a hand over one woman's shaking brow. It was shiny with sweat. She moaned and churned under his touch, back arching against the shabby blanket acting as a hastily found bed. Pain was written over her face, and Percy felt his heart twinge.

He pitied the woman. His hand tightened over her wrist, feeling her pulse flutter weakly.

Making a swift decision, Percy cast his eyes up to the nurse still standing over them with a sad expression, as if this was a common occurrence. His stomach writhed. "A knife," he said tightly. "I can help, but I need a knife."

The nurse's eyes widened, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. "You can... you can cure them?" she asked breathlessly.

Percy shrugged. "Not sure," he admitted. "But what is there to lose?"

The nurse nodded, her expression set with a renewed fire. She pressed a scalpel into his hand, closing his fingers over it. "Help them," she whispered. She opened her mouth to say more, but a man's voice called her name, impatient and frantic. "I have to go now," she said pleadingly. "There aren't many of us left, and I have to take care of my family too."

"I understand," Percy interrupted. "I'll see what I can do."

With a swift nod, she disappeared in a whisper of white clothes and the smell of disinfectant. Percy turned back to the woman, letting his senses trail over her prostrate form.

Circulatory systems. Normal.

Nerve responses. Normal.

Organs... wait.

He didn't know much about the human body, having never paid attention to his science teacher in high school. But he was pretty sure that there wasn't supposed to be a black lump in people's arms. He positioned the tip of the knife over her waxy skin. Blood leaked out, or Percy supposed it was blood. The liquid that oozed out was thick and milky, contaminated by something inside their bodies. He made a face, pushing the scalpel in deeper, exposing cut sinews and the shiny whiteness of the bone.

One of the nurses shrieked, finally noticing what he was doing. "What are you doing?" she screeched. "Are you trying to kill her?"

"Bandages," Percy hissed between his teeth.

"But—"

An edge of steel entered his voice. "I'm saving their lives, imbecile. They will need treatment. Or do you want them to die?"

The nurse bit her lip and scurried back into the building, disappearing from sight. Percy gritted his teeth and tried to keep a firm hold on the slick handle. Another incision cut through, revealing the edge of the black lump. Then another.

The black lump —a bug— looked up and screeched, a loud, raucous sound. Its harry body was metallic with six spindly legs, uncurling itself from the exposed flesh. White liquid dribbled from its mouth, dripping from the twitching feelers. Percy struck it with the edge of the scalpel, but the metal glanced harmlessly off of its skin.

Oh great, he thought. I've just made it madder.

Without warning, it launched itself into the air and latched onto Percy's arm. There was a searing pain, and he instantly knew that the bug was trying to burrow into his skin. Only he couldn't move; the world was contorting in ways he'd never known before. Percy's face twisted. In the back of his mind, he dimly registered that he had fallen stiffly against the ground. Alarmed cries rang in his ears.

It's trying to get a new host.

Fog swept over his eyes. Percy struggled to retain it. Trembling, he positioned the shaking tip of the scalpel against the point where the bug had leeched its way in.

Screams. He faltered, swinging his head around to look for the source. A small black haired, crimson eyed boy was pulling, kicking, thrashing in his captor's arms, screaming. Percy tried to step forward, but found himself rooted to the ground.

"-not Mum, no, stop, stop hurting her! You're killing her! Let go-"

The unmistakable thud of a knife entering flesh rang through the air. The boy went limp, eyes misted over with disbelief and shock.

Dull laughter. The woman's eyes widened. Percy sucked in a breath, watching numbly as red seeped through her white clothes, eating away the purity.

"Not so strong now, are you, you monster? We're gonna kill you all, one by one, until your blood runs over our hands, until you beg for mercy-"

A tortured sob.

"No... Mum... wake up... you'll be okay, I'll get you somewhere safe..."

This isn't real, Percy told himself. The thought didn't seem to register... he felt so cold. Like he could never get warm again. He gritted his teeth and forced the scalpel under his skin, feeling the lump that was the cause of so many hallucinations.

And suddenly he was the little boy, clutching his mother's still form, feeling her heartbeat quiver, feeling his own heart shatter. He let out a howling scream, hands still stained with blood.

The boy's eyes snapped open. Something in him went so quiet. Something finally broke. For a moment, he felt nothing. He was nothing. Cold and impassive, he stared down at the laughing man, who looked as though he had just cracked some hilariously funny joke.

Only it wasn't funny. Not to him.

"I'm going to kill you," he said slowly, starting to get up. He set his mother gently onto the ground, as though not wanting to disrupt her sleep. "I'm going to rend you apart."

"I'd like to see you try, kid." The man was arrogant, his face twisted into a leer, sneering down at the child that looked like he had nothing left to live for.

The worse enemy is one who has nothing left to lose.

Percy could hear the mocking laughs change to screams, but he didn't care. He loved the insanity of it all, the lust for revenge, the taste of rust on his lips. This man... filth... harmed his most precious person. He would pay tenfold. He would die.

It rained blood.

Percy forced the scalpel up, tearing the bug out in a spray of red and milky white.

The screams continued, one long, pain filled howl that seemed to shatter the earth. His eyesight faded to complete and utter blackness, and he was slammed back into his own body.

It was only after several minutes that he realized it was his own screams that echoed in his ears. He shoved his fist into his mouth and bit down, the sharp pain of his teeth biting through skin bringing a fresh wave of clarity into his mind, enough for him to gain his composure.

He laid like that for several moments, dark and still. The pain was beginning to clear. Percy opened his eyes, the world sharpening to crystal clarity. Blurs passed by, focusing into the pale faces of several nurses that hovered above him anxiously. One held a roll of bandages in a death grip. He could see the indents her fingers made in the fabric. She was trembling.

"Where—" he croaked.

"We burned it," Bandages said softly. Her bottom lip was trembling. "It was... you were..."

Gritting his teeth, Percy forced himself up, immediately regretting it as a wave of nausea flattened him again.

He hated this moment of weakness. For letting his mask crack. He should've known better. Been stronger.

"There's an... insect..." he slurred, still trying to struggle to his feet. He slapped away the nurses' hands, the ones that were trying to force him back down. "In their... arms... black lump—cut it out and drain... drain the pus... they'll be fine..."

"Wait," one nurse said, almost pleading. "Don't go. Your body isn't recovered. And we haven't been able to thank you yet. Do you know what you've done? You've found a cure—"

"No." Percy's voice sounded vaguely drunk, even to himself. "I must go."

"At least tell us your name," she said, definitely pleading now. "We need to be able to tell them all who saved their lives."

Percy hesitated. He couldn't very well call himself Percy now, since his former self had probably taboo-ed the name. He weighted the question muddily, before paranoia took over.

"I'm no one," he whispered, shaking his head, already moving away. They made no attempt to stop him, and Percy was grateful for that.

At the edge of the woods, past the makeshift hospital, he half turned to face his audience. They stood in a silent vigil. His eyes seemed to sparkle a thousand different colors in the dark light.

"Do yourself a favor." He said, his voice quiet.

Their vision started to fade away in blue flames. They could see his silhouette dissipating into the shadows. But still his voice lingered in their minds, whispering two last words.

"Forget me."