Blackened Dawn

by Svren

History has a way of repeating itself. As Erebus, he had been the villain; as Thanatos, he was Death's charismatic right-hand; and as Percy, he was the lauded hero... until the gods threw him into Tartarus. When Gaea ascends in power, the Olympians desperately seek help in the form of an unknown entity—one that knows them better than they know themselves. Primordial-Percy. P/R, AU.

21. Perthro (Prophecy)

Author's Note—It's been... two months? I am quite sorry about the delay. I had an exam, just yesterday, and it was taking a toll on any free time I had.

Regarding "Erebus has Fallen," he has apologized. He says he copied "Blackened Dawn" because he did not know how to start his own story, and that he has PM'd me for help, but I have never replied. Well. I am sure I have received no such thing.

But, moving on, I must say that I am very grateful for all that you guys have done, because without you, Ichor and Blood would still be up—or I wouldn't even have known about it, for that matter. So, thank you :) You're awesome.

(I'm leaving the author's note as is, though. It's too glorious to wipe from the face of the earth)

Chapter's Note—do not worry if anything does not make sense. It shall be explained in the next update.

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Review Replies—as I have both Ch. 19 and Ch. 20 replies to get to, they have been separated into the two categories, respectively. If you've commented for both chapters, then your review will be answered/responded to in both.

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CHAPTER 19

Tally Jennifer Youngblood - oh, well, why thank you :) NegatorTheBalance - not long, I assure you. She shall be fine in this chapter. The forced merge with Thalia did not bode well for her general sanity. VestalVirginsOfRome - thank you! Many people don't like the ambiguity, or so they have told me. Nevertheless, I'm very happy you like it. Spartacus365 - thank you. Impstar - I'm of the belief that the worst changes in a person are the ones that cannot be easily seen, so if Percy/Erebus seems perfectly normal to you this chapter, look closer ;) Tears of a Spirit - you sure do work fast. Congratulations! That's something to be proud of. Darkmoon111 - thank you! I'm glad you like it, and I can only hope this chapter does not disappoint. Harmonic Bunny - I'm not quite sure I follow, but Percy became Erebus when his dip in the Styx broke apart the barrier separating his memories, and from then on, began to merge together. After Death brought him into Ordis, he took on the name of Erebus. Red Lightning Bolt - yes! Percy/Erebus has been released from the Vault (I've left hints and clues, but complete details shall come at a later chapter) and their reunion is coming very soon :) AlphaOmega314 - thank you! Menaphite - ah, but has νερό ever been known for telling the truth? Remember, a Primordial cannot live without their opposite... And yes, unfortunately, about half of my alert box is filled with those stories. I have a massive amount of backlog to catch up on. Leftover Meal - thank you! I'm happy you liked it. Nomoreturningaway - ah, if only! Alas, I think most people would get so annoyed they wouldn't even bother playing... but thank you :) prince of the seas- thank you. EpicReads - thank you! I hope this chapter will not disappoint. Guest - thank you! Victor Souza - thank you :) Clefspear - thank you! percypigs - is νερό truly a "good" character? That is much of the question, is it not? I can only say to look closer at his motives, for not all is as it seems...

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CHAPTER 20

Guest - is that so? Then, that is worse. TheNightRaven - thank you, truly. I'm happy you like the story, thus far, and can only hope that these future chapters will not disappoint! Futon Lord - oh, well, why thank you ;) I must admit that there was satirical fun to be wrought, even in such circumstances. It truly is quite an irritation. lksjdf - thank you for letting me know. SpartanWarrior117 - thank you, for everything. I'm glad you liked it! Leftover Meal - I won't :) thank you. I'm quite sorry for the long gap between updates. Clefspear - I'd already run out in my head! Thank you :) NegatortheBalance - then say hi to End for me, and thanks. 1L2Y3R4A - thanks! Red Lightning Bolt - awe, thank you ^^ I'm touched. BurningBunny - well, isn't someone feeling all sunshine, rainbows, and unicorns today. But that is correct. Xuan Tian Shang Di - thank you! (grins, cackles a bit) Tears of a Spirit - and for that, I thank you! You're awesome. Dead Apostle - yes. Fortunately. Intellectually - I can truthfully say that νερό is not going down so easily. I agree with your Order-Orochimaru statement, but the worst kind of enemy is the kind you can't see until it's impossible to counteract. Is Order truly the manipulator, or the manipulated? At any rate, thank you for commenting, and I hope this chapter shall not disappoint! Shut up Steven - I think I do agree with you there. Lucio BetaBlake - it's not going on hiatus, don't worry! Dragon Silhouette - thank you! I'm very happy you like it, but if there is anything utterly confusing, do not hesitate in asking. Nomoreturningaway - unfortunately, that's true. I'll really try to keep this story going—I already have the epilogue written out! the. PRESENT .pheasant - alas, I must say I'm not very caught up in the DW fandom, as of late. I do have friends who have an infatuation with the show, and will burst out laughing at every unintentional reference ("I don't want to go."). i refuse to prove that i exist - not... quite. psychedelicLights - well, I hope they weren't tears of frustration, as I am oft to do. Starlit jewel - thank you! I'm glad you like it, and that you have your school work done, too. Here is the next chapter! :) Reader - I won't. Promise! Guest - the first time this happened to me (quite a while back, actually) I had contemplated such a thought, but I am glad now that I stuck through. Guest - here it is! Guest - anything in particular? Guest - thank you! :) aesir21 - so you have wished it, and so it shall be. Earth appears in this chapter. Guest - well, have no fear, for this one is. huntergo123 - slow buildup. I like the pairing, but I'm not one for sudden romances. sudeepsonofposeidon - thank you! :) I'm happy you like it. MortalFantasy0002 - ah, forgive me for that. The end is fast approaching, yet there is so much more to say... Hopefully, by the end, it shall all fall into place. Nevertheless, I'm glad you like it :) PhoenixFire2013 - anything in particular? j.a. g. demmin - thank you!

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-X-

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"I am not the forgiving type, Poseidon of the Olympians," Erebus said, crossing his arms in warning, a cold sneer written across his face, briefly breaking his stoic mask. "And I would advise you to get out of here before I go back on my decision to spare your life."

"You can't kill a god," Apollo muttered, albeit less assuredly than he usually would have.

"You would not like to try us." This time, it was Nyx who spoke. "Nothing is truly invincible. Nothing is truly immortal."

Poseidon looked regretful. "I can see this won't work. We will have to return to our own realm soon, in a few more days, and leave Ordis. Please give our thanks to Order for his hospitality. But if you ever change your mind, we'll be—"

"Mount Olympus, Empire State Building, sixth-hundred floor. We know. But be assured—"

"—we shall not. This is goodbye."

With one more distrustful glare over her shoulder, Nyx followed Erebus, and they were gone in a hiss of darkness. Hermes ground his teeth in frustration, his mischievous smile replaced by a deep frown.

"What have we done to make them hate us so much? Have I missed the memo?"

Poseidon sighed and closed his eyes.

"I do not know, Hermes. I cannot be sure."

The silence was broken by Apollo's sudden, "Hey, wait, where's my sword? I swear I left it right here..."

Artemis grimaced at her twin.

"You probably left it back in your room. You can look for it later. Right now, we should scout around. And, Uncle Poseidon," she turned to the despondent sea god, "we can talk to them later, after Endless gets back from patrol duty. It shouldn't take long, I would think."

With a small nod, the Olympians dispersed.

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-X-

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Perthro
Ʃ

Rune for prophecy, obscurity, the unknown.

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The first thing that Nico thought was that this wasn't Erebus, because the Erebus he knew would never have been so cold.

His skin bore no taint of human suppleness, nor radiated any form of warmth. Being within a certain radius to him was like being locked in a freezer with nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of shorts —wholly inadequate to protect against the onslaught.

'Aether...'

He shook his head and stepped backwards, shaking off Nyx's clutches, and nearly tripped over his own feet in his blind panic.

"No… no. No. You're not him. You can't."

'Aether, look at me,' Erebus said, an almost gentle, patronizing tone in his voice. There were heavy rings under his eyes, marring it the faintest shade of grey—the color of beguiled storm clouds.

He was afraid of the unfamiliarity he would see, and if he deluded himself for a moment longer, he could almost pretend that what was out of sight was also out of mind. But there was something challenging about Erebus' tone, and against his will, his gaze flew upwards.

In a thick, heavy kind of dread, he took in the set of Erebus' mouth, the shape of his eyes —so similar to that of his own— the way he carried himself in the face of danger, and it was with a sick feeling in his gut did he realize that they were one and the same.

Hesitating, Nico's fingers brushed against the statue's arm.

He felt as though he'd touched liquid nitrogen, as though the cold had become tangible, seeping into his skin, freezing his veins, moving towards his heart, yearning to stop its too-fast palpitations.

"Erebus," he whispered softly.

The Primordial bore his incredulous gaping with a patient air—at least, he hoped his stony countenance was one of patience. A half smile adorned one side of his mouth, a pale, weak gesture that held no weight. That warm undertone he'd taken for granted was gone, leaving nothing but biting frost.

Erebus was fading. They had come too late.

In a sudden paroxysm of desperation, Nico surged forward and grasped Erebus' wrists, ignoring the hoarfrost snaked up his own fingers, turning them blue; he said, strength wavering in his voice, "We're here now. We're not leaving. We'll get you out of this—don't worry. Just hang on."

They were empty words. Already, Nico could look through his chest and see the other side of the room.

'You must go,' Erebus said through gritted teeth. His eyes were pressed together tightly, as if that gesture alone would force back the pain. 'I—I cannot—'

White mist leeched from his mouth, as though it was a string and an invisible hand was pulling it towards the center of the room. The side of his face was melting, marble oozing down in milky white veins, dripping onto the ground.

A candle to flame.

Between gasping breaths, Erebus shouted something at them, but his exact words were lost in the howl of the wind.

He might've told them to get down.

He might have told them to run.

He might have been telling them any multitude of things, but Nico's attention was fixated on the purplish, thick, rope-like scars beginning to twine around his hands, snaking through marble, bursting it apart in a shatter of stone. And soon, it covered more than half his body, the poisonous marks racing ever higher, consuming marble, dissolving into dust.

'You must hurry,' he snarled. When Nico was frozen to his spot, words a stuttering, incoherent mess, Erebus shut his eyes in pain, a half-moaning, half-protesting wordless sound slurring out of his throat. 'Seek out my true form, and you shall find the answers you desire.'

"Wait," Nico said suddenly. "What?"

There was no more time for pointless, inane questions. The scars were creeping up his neck, sliding over one side of his face, melting it into a shapeless puddle that slipped down his cheek in molten rivulets.

'I am Erebus' subconscious,' the statue said. 'I am a part of him.'

The truth struck him, hard and fast, like an anvil descending upon a piece of red-hot metal.

"—you're his soul, aren't you."

Erebus dipped his head in silent assertion.

The movement threw him into the harsh relief of the luminescent walls. Something was dripping beneath the high collar of his armor, and it was only then that Nico noticed how he was slightly hunched forward, one hand protectively pressed to his chest.

There was a hole where his heart should have been.

The parasitic infestation crawled through. Red streams cut through white.

It seemed inconceivable to Nico's stunned mind that a Primordial's body could possess so much blood.

"Oh gods," he dropped his sword —Aether's sword— and it rolled away to lie in a puddle of blood, "it's alright, don't—hey, don't close your eyes, look at me, don't you dare—"

Erebus gently closed his hand over Nico's arm, stopping his frantic movements. He froze as if he'd been turned to stone.

For an instant, as their eyes met, Nico had the sudden impression that Erebus saw exactly through his masquerade, and he smiled—a smile for Nico, not for Aether. There was something final about the tone in his voice.

'Goodbye, Aether. Seek help. This is not an enemy you can defeat alone. Hope survives best at the hearth.'

As Aether, he'd seen things far worse and far more terrible… but none made him feel as though the air had been knocked from his lungs, leaving his vision a haze of red fog. As Nico, he'd experienced loss and longing, but nothing so, so sharp, so fierce and acerbic.

Erebus' smile became cracked.

His entire form grew black and withered, cracks appearing in the once-polished marble with a sound akin to gunshot, resounding through the room, bathing the world crimson as red light shattered through the fractures. His hand dropped away from Nico's.

"Erebus—no!"

His cry went unheeded, and the world exploded in a cacophony of light and sound.

Nico tried to see through the poisonous radiance emanating from the fulmination, but it was too thick and too heavy. He could barely see his own nose. It was nigh impossible, and when he lunged forward in desperation, his hands closed over nothing.

A sick, sick feeling rose up in his gut, a dark kind of premonition. He struggled to breathe through the elephant that had decided to sit on his chest.

His vision turned black. The roar of the explosion was abruptly cut off. For an instant, he thought he had gone blind.

When he blinked the stars out of his eyes and the ringing from his ears finally ceased, only echoes were there to greet him.

The place where Erebus had once stood was empty, save for a deep, black scorch mark expanding outwards.

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-X-

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For an hour or so, there was nothing but the silence to accompany Reyna's thoughts. Nothing but the scratch of her pen and the occasional swish of shuffling papers.

Then, something screeched across her window.

It was a quiet, light sound, soft and barely discernible in the embrace of nightfall, but it was so close at hand that she was startled out of her lethargic state almost immediately.

The hilt of her spear was reassuring in her hand, its heavy weight beautifully familiar. She crept to the window, and cautiously, looked out.

Her palm pressed against the glass, forming a perfect circle of bloodless white, and her erratic breaths clouded the window from the inside. The moon was fuzzy, fuzzy and white, a soft kind of colour.

It was beginning to rain. Thick, fat drops of water lashed down from the heavens. In the curtain of vapour, Reyna saw a dark silhouette through the glass of her window, distorted around the edges.

A hand reached out. For her. Closer than ever before. She could see a featureless face, a thin, languid body.

Then, that sound again, like fingernails were dragging against chalkboards, thin and screeching.

She cursed.

A dark figure blocked out the moon.

With a loud cry, she jumped backwards, immediately grasping for a knife. Her head slammed against something hard, and her vision fogged over for a few scant seconds. When she blinked away the reflexive tears, the moon focused once more, sharp and pinpricked.

There was nothing else there—

—save for a handprint, fading fast in the condensation.

Eyes glared back, a burning, verdant green, feral and completely wild. Slitted like a hawk's, like a predator's, staring down at her, boring holes through her body like she wasn't there at all.

The ground was a blurred grey, reminiscent to smoke, writhing and twisting into shapes.

She had only a fraction of a seconds' warning before her window shattered.

The fragments had not even touched the ground. Darkness formed tangible tendrils, crushing the pieces, with blue-black blood dripping onto the ground, vanishing in a hiss of mist.

There was a sharp, terrible smile, the kind that was much too chaotic to be anywhere remotely related to a smile. Perfect lips formed final words. They were said in a mocking, satirical tone of voice, as if the very notion of such a thing was ludicrous.

"Goodbye, my love."

Red flashed.

She watched in numb incomprehension as little poppies slicked the floor, rubies and diamonds and glittering jewels.

(not all that glitters is gold)

And the figure, the figure with the black hair and the green eyes, the one that had set fire to her home, laughed.

-o-

Reyna awoke as the candlelight guttered and died.

For a moment, there was nothing but darkness, pressing in on all sides. It was lit only by sparse flashes of lightning, followed by a mighty, throaty roar that shook the house to its roots, making the windowpanes rattle. Rain leaked in, a thin trickle of dun colored liquid, seeping in from the overflowing sill.

She pushed herself to a sitting position, still blinking tiredness from her eyes. Her palms sunk into the warm hollows of the bed, and she hesitated for a second longer, wanting nothing more than to sink back into sleep's comforting embrace.

A second growl of thunder warned her off. It sounded like a laugh. A taunting, mocking sound.

With a shivered sigh, she ran a hand through her tangled hair and let her legs slip from under the covers. The biting Cold trailed his fingers along her exposed skin, smiling mischieviously, kissing the edge of her collarbone, her smooth arms, unmarred—save for a few battle scars and the SPQR tattoo emblazoned in rough abandon, rippling with the black light.

She stared at it for a few more moments, then looked away, thoroughly disillusioned by the twisting feeling in her gut.

Her bare feet ghosted over laminated wooden planks, chilled with the incoming frost of winter. Reyna cursed her inane decision to wear a sleeveless nightgown in such frigid conditions, crossing her arms in a vain attempt to restore some semblance of warmth to her icy fingertips.

(of course, in the back of her deepest, darkest desires, she knew the reason, but the forefront of her subconscious refused to accept it)

She drew back the curtains with a rough jerk, fingers tangling viciously around silken gauze, exposing the clouded window.

There was no light.

Storms, resplendent with a form of terrible glory, broiled bitter-black over the horizons, ghosting a thick, damp caress over the world, milky fingers of rain lashing down from the open skies. The inconsistent sounds of rain glancing off the walls, reverberating within the hollow cabins, was uncomfortably loud, and Reyna had the sudden discomfiting feeling that if she were to open the cabin doors, she would be swept away by the gods' fury.

Lightning forked over the sky, a white-hot sizzle knifing easily through the stewing heavens.

Another boom of thunder.

Absently twirling an idle strand of hair between her fingers, Reyna's eyes flicked to the custom-made clock (technology and demigods did not make for a particularly explosion-free environment).

Barely two.

She doubted she would be able to fall back asleep, even though she'd only had about three hours of rest—if that.

Exhaling slowly, Reyna shook her hair loose and began to twist it back into its usual braid, wincing whenever a tangle caught on her fingers. Her nightgown, a creamy white, almost seemed to glow in the darkness, clinging to her body in ways that left little to imagination.

And she suddenly understood why she felt so cold, why she felt so uncomfortably wet, why her dress was much too tight.

Thunder again. Louder than before. More raw, more unprotected.

For there was no window. The hole cut into the wall was toothless and gaping, narrow ridges of glass spiking the edges. It was as if the glass had been...

That sound again. The fingernails. The keening, shrill screech.

(blown off into pieces, consumed by the shadows itself)

—but no, there it was again. And again. No... Reyna froze.

Her hand slipped immediately for a dagger, relaxing only marginally as its worn handle closed within her grip. She held it in an ice-pick grip, and crept forward, down the bannisters, down the stairs, careful to stay within range of the shadows.

In a smooth, snaking motion, she flung the door open, hooked one arm around the intruder's neck, and held the dagger over his heart. The intruder made no movements, other than to raise his hands, as if in surrender.

"Reyna," he said, his voice tired, "it's just me. Jason."

Her hands slackened their grip, but as soon as he began to straighten, she caught him off balance, slamming him into the wall. Cracks spread upon impact.

"If you think I shall fall for that trick, then you are sorely mistaken. Prove your claim," she snapped instantly, tightening the chokehold she had on him, her breath hot on his neck.

There was an indignant sigh, and then blue eyes flicked up at her, flecked with specks of black. His hair had been drenched through, turning it almost brown. Rings of dark, dark black circled his irises, and coupled with the heavy shadows under his eyes, he looked ill, like a walking corpse.

In an instant, calloused hands had gripped her wrists, hard enough to shove her away but not enough to bruise. Taking her momentary surprise, he pushed her in through the door and kicked it shut behind him, effectively blocking off all sounds of the raging storm outside.

He attacked her with a hungry, fervent passion, capturing her lips in a furious entanglement, rough and needy and full of lust. She gently took his hands before both of their self controls fizzled into nothing, pulling them apart, running her teeth over her swollen lip.

"Mierda, Jason, this isn't like you. What is wrong?"

Jason's glance cast downwards, and the fierce desperation was abruptly replaced with a slow-burning anger, like that of coals being stoked by a hot poker.

"Nothing," he muttered darkly, scuffing little designs with his foot. He was dressed in full armor. Sodding armor. With a sigh, Reyna threw him onto the couch with a barked order to change his clothes before he caught a cold, and godsdamnit, he better be presentable when she came back.

A sly, secretive voice inside her head smirked, and whispered, 'You wouldn't mind much if he weren't.'

(shut up, shut up, just go die in a hole, leave me alone)

She backed out of the living room, cheeks a dark red.

With several breaths to steady her thudding heart, she took the stairs two at a time, coming to her sleeping chambers and pushing the door open on well oiled hinges. With quick, deft motions, she snapped the curtains back shut, slipping out of her drenched nightgown, throwing it onto the bed, too tired to care if it soaked through the mattress.

Pulling her armor on from where it lay in pieces on her table, she tied down the straps, smoothing down the wrinkles. Slinging her purple cloak over her shoulders, she felt the familiar heavy weight of the ornamental medallions settle against her chest.

Then, and only then, did she allow her shaky composure to seep through.

"By the gods," she breathed to herself, squeezing her eyes shut.

Jason's intensity was frightening in ways she could not describe. His lips, stretched by that wicked, sharp smile, reminiscent to that of a snake's—too thin and too sharp, cut deeper than a whip, refused to be washed from her memory.

With that thought in mind, she descended the stairs and turned the corner to the living room, she saw with a disappointed bemusement that Jason was perfectly presentable, and was currently towelling his hair dry, making it stand up on all ends like that of a ruffled chick's.

"Are you going to tell me now, Jason, or must I pry every single word from you? You do owe me, for getting my carpet all wet and muddy, and for waking me up at two in the morning."

Her irritated tone was entirely forced and strained, but Jason did not notice the worry seeping through. He sighed, dropping the towel onto the couch, a wet puddle seeping through rich fabric.

"For what it's still worth, I really am sorry, for waking you up and messing up your house, but—"

"—but you can't say," Reyna finished flatly. Jason's head snapped up in surprise. Her knuckles tightened, turning a bloodless white. "I know you well, Jason. I know what you are going to say before it even leaves your mouth."

Jason blinked in surprise. A sharp knock, partly drowned out by thunder, cut through his uneasy speech, and he turned, obviously relieved at the momentary distraction.

"Reyna... I—"

However, the respite was short lived.

The door opened, and a cold voice drifted in through the hazed air, half-caught between annoyance and concealed amusement.

"Surely, it should not take you such a long time to fetch your fellow praetor, while on duty," Octavian said. His titanium blonde hair clung to his forehead, making his wicked eyes gleam sharper and more terrible in contrast. "Or is it to say that you are incapable for the job, Jason?"

Jason ground his teeth audibly, but remained silent.

Triumphant, Octavian turned to Reyna, a fierce grin revealing his teeth, which were oddly, unnervingly white against the backdrop of his sickly coloured countenance.

"And yourself, Reyna? Duty is surely something you understand. It is a very notion that has been branded into us from the time of our conception."

Black glittered against milk-white skin, covered by thin cloths, as if in shame to rear its ugly head.

SPQR.

Senatus Populusque Romanus.

Reyna stared at the blackened tattoo emblazoned into her skin, dark against caramel, before dropping her arm and pointedly looking away. The praetor cloak weighed her down, golden medallions glittering in the first light of dawn.

"—swear to uphold the legion's honor—"

Duty. A golden cage.

"What are you saying, Octavian?" she finally said, gazing down at the scene of Camp Jupiter spread in resplendence from the window in front of her. Columns of white marble gleamed coldly in the light of the rising sun, the color of Argentum's sleek silver body.

The augur shifted, the sacrificial knife in his hand hesitating before being sheathed.

"Bad tidings," he muttered shortly. "Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes."

"Beware of Greeks bearing gifts," Reyna mirrored instantly, tilting her head to the side and scrutinizing Octavian through narrowed eyes. "Is there a reason you are paraphrasing that statement, Octavian?"

Octavian finally turned around the full way, rigid shadows playing over his face. His hair was pale as his face, giving in to a sickly hue that was only highlighted by the heavy, dark bags outlining his eyes. He hadn't slept any better than she did.

Reyna felt a slight twinge of pity for the legacy, but it was soon wiped away when he hissed out, "Exactly what it means. Surely, you are able to understand a simple statement, praetor?"

The last word was said in a mocking tone. Reyna stiffened and lifted her chin, sneering down at him.

"I assure you that I do," she informed him acidly. Octavian's jaw clenched and unclenched, a vein in his temple throbbing with blue-blood.

He wanted a confrontation; he was making it clear. She was not going to sink to his level and give him the satisfaction. She would match him, word for word, but would not rise up to the bait.

Seizing her opportunity, she pressed forward. "Surely, there is some reason you are here, Octavian?"

Octavian shuffled his feet and scowled darkly. From beneath his jacket, he precariously extracted several tightly rolled sheafs of paper, crinkled around the edges from the rain. Unrolling it with a sharp snap, he threw the documents at Reyna, who caught it deftly.

"These are maps," she frowned, bringing it closer to her face to make out the minute squiggles, "and some sort of path has been traced onto them, correct?"

When she looked up, Octavian had his arms crossed, but it was frankly difficult to be angry at him when he looked like a forlorn, shivering puppy, so with an exasperated sigh, she scooped up Jason's discarded towel with one hand and flung it at the augur.

Octavian was not expecting the gruff gesture. It hit him in the face, clinging to him like an octopus, before he peeled it off with a surprised sound.

"You're getting more water on my floor," Reyna said shortly, and turned back to the maps, pretending not to see the slight, barely discernable shadow of Octavian's lips trail into a thin smile.

After a long, pregnant but comfortable silence, Jason cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well... what is it?"

Reyna cast her eyes in his direction. "I thought you knew already."

Jason mumbled something incoherent under his breath. Octavian stepped forward, took the maps carefully from Reyna's hands, and pinned it to the soft-wooded board adorning the wall of the living room. The raspy edges curled. A thin trickle of water slipped down his sleeve. He paid it no attention.

"Three days ago, the gods of Olympus reported a disturbing spike of power, one dwarfing theirs sevenfold. Surely, you have felt it. The entire Camp has."

"The Sickness," Reyna nodded. "That would offer a reasonable explanation as to why three-quarters of the demigods have shown symptoms of radiation poisoning. However," here, her eyes narrowed, "are we to be worried about the Camp being attacked while in such a state? Biological warfare is unconventional, but not uncommon, either."

Octavian shook his head. His hand shifted underneath his protective, armor-like vest, but instead of a weapon, only a small, insignificant plastic container lay flat against his palm, rolling slightly with the momentum of his hand's trembling.

"No. It was an unintentional effect—as far as we can tell, at any rate. Oddly enough, there have been no extreme threats to our safety, not since Tartaros fled a mere three days hence. You may see for yourself; the gods have lent us an odd device that can be used only once."

Quicker than her eye could follow, he had twisted apart the film-canister shaped cylinder, and thick, white mist issued in a thick font of opalescence. There was a glint of metal—an odd coin, and it shimmered, vanishing as it left Octavian's open palm.

"Oh Iris, goddess of the rainbow, show me the message the gods have left for us."

The mist shivered into a cohesive image, ganglion fibers of mist occluding the surface. A thin, cool voice emanated from the image, and Reyna could vaguely make out a mortal anchorman speaking, the motion of her lips mismatched with the sound.

'—astronomers are in investigation of the asteroid that entered Earth's atmosphere three days ago, which had come without prior notice from surveillance satellites. Results are currently unknown. Witnesses report hearing a..." the newscaster's voice trailed off, and a new voice took her place, this one still caught within the frenzies of terrified excitement.

'I swear—I swear it came out of nowhere. One moment, the sky was nice and blue, and then, it was literally as though the entire sky had been replaced with fire—that was how consuming it was. I looked up, and that was all there is. Fire. Heat, and the pressure, and I couldn't breathe, and I thought we were all gonna die or get burnt up like the dinosaurs did.'

'Another eyewitness claims to have—'

'It was too hot. Glass melted, faster than ice in a desert, pooling on the ground in a big puddle. I felt like I was choking on some sort of... power. Like when you're at a rock concert and the bass is so loud you can't breathe, only thousands of times worse. Worse than anything on earth. A lot of people fainted on the spot. I did too. I was lucky—I had taken cover, and I guess my guardian angel saved me. A lot of other people just... burned up into ashes.

'The last thing I remember is a sonic boom, only thousands of times louder—and maybe voices, powerful ones. I've never really believed in aliens, but if those are the things out there, I'd say we're all done for.'

The anchorman cleared her throat once more, her prim and proper countenance a stark contrast to those of the witnesses.

'—we have reason to believe that the asteroid has touched down in Alaska, and our prayers go with those affected by this calamity. Relief teams have been sent immediately, and full investigations are now underway.'

Jason swiped his hand through the image, a perplexed look on his face making the scar on his upper lip form a sad parabola.

"That was most definitely not an asteroid."

"No," Reyna agreed. A sudden revelation struck her, and she cleared her throat. "Octavian, neither you or I are sick, and Hazel and Frank were well the last time I have seen them. Does this have something to do with our exposure to power on Ordis?"

"That is what the gods are expecting," a soft voice said, cutting in before Octavian could answer.

Reyna turned to see Gwen. A wracking cough continually shook her thin shoulders, and heavy, dark circles under her eyes made her look more emaciated than before. Frank was pushing her wheelchair, insisting all the while, "Gwen, you need to rest; doctor's orders—"

"Frank," she cut in gently, but with an assertive firmness that made his mouth snap shut, "I must. And you and I both know I am the one—excluding our praetors, Octavian, yourself, and Hazel, of course—least affected by this sudden sickness."

When she turned to the others, there was a determined gleam in her eye, the kind that darkened the usual light and vibrant colours.

"Do you remember? In your report, you said that Order mentioned something about a brewing civil war in their dimension. The gods think that maybe something's happened and the Primordials have fled. Some have come to Earth; for what reasons, we aren't sure. And we don't know if they're the friendly or hostile sort, either."

"Wonderful," Reyna snapped, in a rare moment of irritability. The tension from the last few days snapped what little resistance she still had on her temper. "So, we have rogue immortals around that could destroy the world with snap of their fingers, not to mention a war of our own to worry about."

Gwen tried to reassure her.

"No!" she said, her voice cracking from strain. "It may not be as bad as we imagine. I mean, Terra is a Primordial as well, isn't she? And our diplomatic mission to Ordis failed, but maybe we can... can..."

Her voice rapidly dissolved into a series of hacking coughs. Her face scrunched tighter in pain, and one hand was flung helplessly over her mouth. Reyna's annoyance quickly melted into an imperceptible tinge of concern.

"Take her back to the infirmary, Frank." When Gwendolyn attempted to argue between wheezing breaths, she added, "and that's an order."

"Yes, Reyna," Frank muttered.

Taking her nod as a dismissal, he knelt respectfully, sloughing back into the rain, and soon he was nothing more than a grey blur upon a backdrop of shades caught somewhere between black and white.

"You are requesting a quest, are you not?" she finally said, tearing her eyes away from the locked door as if it were the solution to all of her problems. "And you have come for permission."

"Was it really so obvious?" Octavian replied. "Then I shall give you my proposal. Three half-bloods will go to the Alaska to seek out the Primordials, and to determine their allegiances. Even the mortals will grow suspicious at such a scene, and by no means necessary can they discover our existence."

An odd prickling numbed the back of Reyna's head, and the world felt fuzzy.

"I will lead this quest," she suddenly blurted out.

Immediately, Jason stood up in protest, the papers in his lap scattering into an off-white shade of butterfly wings.

"Absolutely not," he snarled, a protective growl in his voice, sending chills down her spine. She pressed her lips tighter together, until it had disappeared altogether. While she was indecisive before, now, she was absolutely certain.

"I will be going, Jason," she said, her voice tight and clenched. "And I shall bring Frank and Hazel with me."

Jason's chin jutted up stubbornly.

"Then I will come with you."

"No," Octavian disagreed. "It's only a matter of time before you contract the Sickness as well. You do not wish to be anywhere near a Primordial while you are not in peak condition, let alone however many have touched down in Alaska."

When Jason did not look even remotely convinced, Reyna sighed and said, "Jason. We are losing the war. Many of the gods—Jupiter, Pluto, Minerva—have already been imprisoned within the Pit. The Camp barely survived the Titan War. We cannot afford another. We need help, even if from hostile forces."

Jason flinched at her blunt brutality.

"I will send some of the Greeks here, the ones who were with us on Ordis, or if they will not, trusted allies will suffice. They have their own camp to take care of, but they would not be struck as hard."

Jason nodded grudgingly at Reyna. Octavian did not look happy, but he bit his tongue and said nothing.

"Then it is settled." She straightened abruptly, her cloak brushing her ankles. "We will be leaving tomorrow at dawn."

And with a short nod to both Jason and Octavian, Reyna was lost to sight, merely a grey blur in a backdrop of even darker blacks, and that was all.

---

Reyna left the next morning without saying goodbye to Jason. There was an insistent gnawing in the pit of her stomach, a kind of restless premonition that stirred her heart and made it difficult to breathe.

"Reyna?" Hazel asked in worry, her honey eyes flickering to meet dark ones. "Are you alright? The Sickness..."

"I am fine," she soothed. "Only thoughts plague me. It is of little consequence."

"About the trip?"

"About everything. In Alaska, we are beyond the reach of the gods. If anything were to go wrong, we must have plans."

Hazel chewed her lip, indecision shadowing her face in a dark cloud. Reyna watched her patiently, knowing that if it were truly important, Hazel would not keep it secret.

"It's nothing, I guess. I think the Greyhound is here. I'll go check."

Her eyebrows shot up—it was clear to both of them that she was lying, but Reyna only gave her a stiff nod and prowled forwards, dropping the conversation for the time being. She would have to have faith. There was no room for civil doubt, not in the depths of such a war.

"Alright, Hazel. Is Frank ready to go? We will be leaving in ten minutes."

"Yep," Frank said, approaching from the opposite direction, hands stuffed in his pockets. She could see a thin knife clutched in his palm, winking dully, a sly, malevolent eye. "Let's go."

-o-

The majority of the trip was uneventful. The Greyhound only took them to Seattle, as there were no stops in Alaska. It would have been easier to simply fly to their destination, but Hazel, being a daughter of Pluto, would incite Jupiter's wrath.

Of course, they would have to take a ferry from Seattle to Alaska, but Neptune usually was not as volatile as his brother, and generally more understanding of their situations.

Several times, they were attacked by monsters, but they were easily fought off...

—almost too easily.

It was almost as if the main bulk of the Giant army was waiting for them to make the next move, ready to ambush and kill them all.

"Keep an eye out, Hazel, Frank," she muttered, uneasiness crawling down her spine, uncomfortably cold in the suddenly frigid night."

"You don't have to tell me twice," Hazel muttered. She was paper white underneath her tan. Water had always frightened her, as did any sane child of Pluto.

A young man slid into the seat next to Reyna, a bemused smile written across his face. She stiffened, but did not move, even as he stretched his arms over his head leisurely and yawned, then grinned, as though he'd been caught doing something very embarrassing,

"So, you're off to Alaska, too?"

He had silver-white hair and dark blue eyes—a combination that instantly set off alarms in Reyna's head.

"Yes," she answered cautiously. "Just looking around."

He wrinkled his nose. "I dunno what you'd want to see there. Not much of a tourist town, 'cept for the creatures and all that. All ice and snow."

"It'll be a nice change of scene. You've been to Alaska before, I suppose?"

He scoffed good-naturedly. "Been there? I lived there for quite a long time. Going back to visit some family. Haven't seen them in a while."

Reyna was not in the mood for idle conversation, but there was a bright smile on his face, and she did not have the heart to tell him to shut up.

"Oh?"

A shadowed countenance. Quick as the day that fades into night.

"Yes. An uncle, specifically. I guess you can call him that. I have a big family. Sometimes, even I lose track."

Thinking of the gods, and all of their... exploitions, she nodded grudgingly and said, "I do as well. What is he like? Your uncle."

"Ah... cold, I guess you could call him. Very cold, but powerful in that kind of silent way. And he's not very fond of me, or my brothers, for some reason or another. We had a falling out a while back."

Surreptitiously, Reyna motioned behind her back for Frank and Hazel to remain alert. She could feel premonition stirring, deep in her chest, a hollow drum, murmuring warnings of things to come.

"I see," said she, distracted. The words of the prophecy rang hollowly in her ears.

"What about—agh!"

The ferry careened to one side.

Hazel screamed in absolute terror, and her death grip on Frank's hand increased exponentially, crushing his bones into powder. Reyna grabbed her seat to steady herself. The white haired boy yelped in alarm as he was thrown into the window.

There was a groan of metal, a megalithic, deep groan that rattled her bones.

The passengers screamed. Mothers held onto their wailing children, and the men wrapped their arms around their women to keep them from flying through the gaping window to an untimely demise, as many had already encountered.

What was once the sea was now only a jar of black ink, swirled by inquisitive fingers into a typhoon. The ship jolted again, as if a giant had just kicked it like a football. The world was a blur of colours and ephemeral sensations too fast for the eye to comprehend.

The heads of the fallen bobbed up and down, in a barrel that was the inexorable ocean, where they were the apples.

A second boom of sound—that of a rocket bursting through the limitations of gravity. Beyond comprehension. It sounded almost like a defiant roar. The mortals could not discern the epicenter, but Reyna could see the source, far away.

Alaska.

Fog rolled over their ship—a blackened kind of fog. Where it touched, it burned, and soon, the mortals who did not move fast enough were melted to the bone, revealing picked-clean skeletons, an enamel white.

Corrosive darkness.

Water seeped in. Reyna heard screams once more, high and undying into her ears, before the ocean wrapped its slimy embrace around her waist and pulled her under.

Bubbles, escaping from between her fingers. They tickled.

Then, there was no light. Only darkness polluted the air. Silence. The numbed kind, the kind that tore around on nightmare black claws, the kind that whispered such sweet nothings in her ears.

She clawed doggedly upward, but the surface seemed no closer and only her breath, streaming out in a cascade of effervescent, winking bubbles, saw the light again.

"—close your eyes and count to ten. And don't worry. It shall be over soon."

Darkness shrouded her eyes with blackened colours. It was too fast to fight off, and her arms became slow and heavy, moving in little more than unsynchronized thrashings.

"I got you, darling."

Hands, cold and still, wrapped around her waist, and even through her armour, she could feel his icy skin pressed to hers. With a few easy strokes, they were rocketing towards the surface.

She felt him smile against her hair.

"Be more careful next time."

Then, his voice was lost along with the reverent stillness of the world below.

Her head broke through the surface. Instinctively, her arms sought a piece of driftwood that floated by—but no, it was a piece of the ship, bobbing raggedly in the water, like a shark's disorientated fin.

After several minutes, she became aware of someone shouting her name.

The white haired boy was swimming beside her, easily keeping his head above water, powerful limbs treading through the black waters.

"Are you alright?" he asked, worry creasing his brow. "I saw you go down, and I went after you. You didn't look so good."

Reyna pressed a shaking hand to her head. The Voice was nothing more than a delusion—and somehow, she wasn't sure if she was happy about that or not.

"Thank you, I—" she broke off abruptly. "You're hurt."

A trickle of blood made its way slowly down the side of his face, welling out of a cut above his hairline in thick, dark drops. The boy wiped the back of his hand over his face, surprised.

"Ah..."

"Reyna!"

Hazel was riding a dolphin. Reyna blinked in slight surprise.

"Hazel. You are alright?"

"Yeah." She shivered a little, but managed a trembling smile. "I'm okay. I guess I should be asking you that. I saw you go under."

"I'm fine. Where is Frank?"

The dolphin gave a particularly loud snort. Reyna felt her eyebrows rising fast above her hairline.

"Ah. You shall be explaining this later, Frank. Until then, we must go. Do you know the way to shore?"

A second snuffing sound.

"Wait," the boy interrupted. His lips were beginning to turn blue, and his face a sullen grey. "W-Where are you going?"

"I'm truly sorry, but we must be leaving now."

The boy's hand closed on her arm, and she was struck by how cold his skin was.

"Don't be," he said.

More blood trickled from the side of his neck, from his eyes, his nose, freezing before they could splash off his chin and into the waters below. Reyna reeled backwards, but just as suddenly, his grip grew claw-like and dug into her arm, crushing through the armour she wore underneath.

With his free hand, he pinched his cheek, and peeled.

His face came off in a sick squelch of half-drying strands of blood, contaminating the air with the smell of dying rust, of potent death.

Bronze skin. Gleaming white teeth. Cerulean eyes lost their colour and became a thin, marble white, devoid of any semblance of a pupil or iris—that of a corpse's.

"You're not the only one with secrets."

He tossed the skinned face —oh gods, she didn't want to think about the poor mortal who had unwittingly donated that face— into the water, and began to paddle towards them.

Reyna shouted, "Run!"

But Frank hesitated, he hesitated in leaving her, and before he could move, dragon-like claws had pierced through his side. Blue-black misted into the depths, and Frank howled, a terrible, wretched sound.

"Oh, no," the boy smiled. "You're not going anywhere."

The butt of his spear rammed into her temple. A sharp, blossoming flash of pain. Her teeth rattled at the sheer force.

There was a brief sensation of falling, of weightless vertigo, and then blissfully, nothing.

---

"Without Death, there can be no Life. But let us hope," Death said to him, softly, gently, a hand caressing his cheek. He leaned into her touch, and she smiled. "that it shall be better, this time around."

---

"You're awake," the boy said.

It was not a question, for time had certainly passed since Reyna was last conscious, and she would not be surprised if he had eyes on the back of his head.

His image was blurry, but unfortunately, was not blurry enough to completely obscure his gruesome countenance. There were bones braided into his hair. Human bones, thin and sleek, and ruptured with the holes of time.

Her tongue felt thick and heavy. Briefly, she entertained the notion that she'd been forced to swallow razor blades—the metallic taste and the sharp twinge in her stomach certainly attested to that statement.

Reyna turned her head to the side, her entire neck and back screaming with stiffness.

Hazel was kneeling several paces away, back turned to Reyna, her hands stained. When she turned for a scant second, she was biting her bottom lip with a distressed fervor—something that she only did when she was extremely terrified or extremely excited, to which Reyna was quite sure she could eliminate the latter.

Then, her vision focused enough for her to recognize the figure, and knew with a sickened feeling in her gut that it was Frank.

He had reverted to his human form, but whatever injuries he sustained seemed to have been transferred over, and he was currently bleeding to death from the hole that had been punched through the side of his torso.

Hazel had her hands pressed to it in desperation. There was little else she could do. Neither of them had the capacity for the healing arts, nor had the patience required for such a delicate procedure.

"Let me go," she demanded of the bronze giant.

He spared her a lazy glance from the corner of his eye. The agitated movement of his arm, stirring a massive purple bonfire, halted for a brief moment, before starting again. His back was turned towards them—it would be so easy just to...

To her surprise, he snapped his fingers, and the ropes chafing her wrists shrivelled into dust.

"As you wish," he said, a sardonic tinge in his voice. Reyna paid him no attention.

"How is he?" she asked to Hazel, her voice low.

Hazel shook her head, matted hair straggling to her neck.

"Bad," she admitted quietly. There was fear in her eyes. "He's fading, pretty quickly. I... I don't know what I'm supposed to do... Reyna—"

"Hush," Reyna soothed, though she herself was feeling little better on the inside. She forced a calming smile on her face, and when Hazel's shoulders slumped forward, she moderated her voice gently. "He will be alright, Hazel. When we get out of here, the gods will make sure that he is alright. Lord Apollo is an excellent healer. There is little he cannot do."

Hazel exhaled slowly. "I... I know," she said tiredly. "I guess. I just..." She let her hand drop to her side. "I worry."

A sudden, booming laugh broke through the silence. Reyna jerked, and immediately, her countenance changed to that of a devoid, cold wasteland.

"Tempting," he rumbled in amusement. "You mortals are such entertainment. How you fuss over the life of one insignificant demigod—frankly, it's appalling and bemusing at the same time."

Reyna grit her teeth. "You may have me, if you wish, but let Frank go. He poses little harm to you."

He clicked his tongue in mocking disapproval.

Upon closer inspection, she came upon the sudden revelation that the giant wasn't poking incessantly into the flames, but that he was drawing something into the ground, and it was the runes that created the unusual colour.

The language of the Primordials.

"Reyna, Reyna... are we growing soft? No, no, I will need all three of you for the ritual. A cursed son of Mars, a cursed daughter of Pluto, and a—yes, this shall do nicely, indeed."

Runic fire. She remembered how it burned.

(she remembered how it hurt)

"What are you trying to do?" she said, desperately trying to stall for time—any time.

"Do?" he echoed, a smirk lifting one side of his twisted mouth into a grotesque leer. "I have no need to do anything. If you are hoping that I shall burst into maniacal laughter and delineate all of my plans to you, then you are sorely mistaken."

"Everything you told me about yourself was false."

"Whoever said it was? You simply have the... abridged version, and that is for the better. It was a bloody war, wholly unsuited for young and innocent ears."

"You're... you're Enceladus, are you not? The Bane of Minerva."

"Hm. Very good. I am he. But not for much longer." He paused. "Do you see these? In a matter of moments, our Lord will rise, and the world shall be consumed with Darkness. In order to live, he shall required a strong body. A strong host. He has been through much, lost much, and I will be the one to consolidate his losses and bring victory among our forces."

Reyna had never been one to be tongue tied, but staring at the clearly deranged giant in front of her, she knew not what to say.

Enceladus straightened, a grotesque, leering smile on his face, stretching his thin lips over gleaming white teeth.

He snapped his fingers. With a hollow rattle, chains wrapped themselves around Reyna's wrists and ankles, drawing themselves cruelly tight, cutting hungrily into flesh.

"But enough of that. There is a new world coming, be assured—you simply won't be a part of it."

The darkness was rising. It was becoming difficult to breathe, stifling in its intensity., dragging its clammy fingers down her throat.

Enceladus' hands sought her shoulders. With a rough shove, she was tumbling helplessly through the air, skidding down the rocky slope. Rocks, dislodged by her scattered thrashings, flew up to hit her in the face, drawing blood.

Spires of ice, ice and darkness, reflected her smudged face as she crashed through multiples of them. She felt something inside of her crack, but there was no time to feel the pain.

She fell

—and then the ground was beneath her. Ice. Frozen in a rough, pitted pattern. It melted underneath her warm touch, before hardening back to ice, nipping gently at her skin. She left smudges of red.

Ominous spires, thousands of feet tall, jutted out of the ground. The snow around was burnt and melted—a crater of ungodly proportions.

She had no doubt in her mind that this was the mortals' 'asteroid.' Almost as if out of magnetic attraction, she walked forward, the palm of her hand grazing against the smooth, hardened ice. To her surprise, it was warm, and pulsed gently underneath her fingertips.

Two more thuds.

Hazel and Frank. The latter was wheezing heavily. Hazel was all but carrying him, though she looked no better herself.

"Reyna..." she said.

Reyna turned, and lowered her arm slowly, that feeling fading away, inexplicable.

"Yes?"

A long, horrified pause.

"They're going to kill us, Reyna. They're going to use us as sacrifices. Look."

Following her extended finger, she traced its path to the spires of ice. There was a terrified look in her eyes. Frowning, Reyna took a few steps back to get a better perspective.

A scythe. Trapped in the ice, gleaming in the dying rays of the sun.

Almost not daring to look up, she made out the hand, gripping the scythe so tightly the knuckles were white. An arm.

"Gods..."

She didn't need to see the face to know that it was Erebus. His eyes were closed, but there was something an off-shade of white obscuring the left side from view, almost like stone.

He was balanced dangerously on his toes, leaning forward in a position that suggested he was in no condition to get up anytime soon. His armour was stained with questionable substances, and if it were made of any mortal material, Reyna knew it would have been destroyed times over.

Even so, she had never seen him so close to death. So... still, so vulnerable, so, so small. But then, she pushed the thought away from her mind, because small and Erebus simply did not belong together, and it brought a discomfiting lurch inside of her.

Her hand began to burn, scalding. Slowly at first, but ascending as fast as the fire that licks up the corner of a newspaper, consuming it in its fiery embrace. She might have screamed, save for the stubborn set of her jaw.

Hazel's hand touched her shoulder.

All three of them collapsed.

There was no other way to describe it. It was as if their very lives had been sucked dry.

The snow was shrivelling—how it was possible, Reyna did not know, but it blackened and withered away, along with the earth beneath their feets.

The middle spire began to melt. Chains of ice fell away.

But it was not enough.

Ambient energy was torn out of the earth itself. Mount Olympus was beginning to crumble, once bright columns and statues turning a rust grey, falling to ash, ash that danced through the air and painted the mortals' skyscrapers grey.

Reyna looked up, her face pinched with pain, in time to see the spire glow black

—and explode.

Shards of ice, of rustic winds, scraped by her face with razor claws. A cacophony of sounds, of inexorable power, pressed tighter, and Reyna knew, at that instant, what it must have felt like to hold up the sky.

She felt herself beginning to spontaneously combust. Colours seared themselves into her pupils, even though her arms were thrown over her head and her eyes were closed.

A Primordial out of control.

Then, just as abruptly as it had started, it was over, and there were only three demigods, lying face-down in the mud, gasping heavily. All alive, but never closer to Death, in both senses of the word.

A whisper of cold. The light touch of black feathers against snow.

"My Lord." Enceladus sank to one knee. "Welcome home."

Erebus ignored the giant. Leaving him kneeling on the ground, he clasped his hands behind his back, black eyes fixed on a distant point in the horizon.

"What an interesting host you have found," he mused, softly, dangerously. "I would not have expected you to be able to chain Erebus of the Endless."

"It was Mother's idea," the giant said pensively. "His collar; it is Zeus' Master Bolt. Endless has retreated within himself."

Erebus flexed his fingers slowly, testing the weight and proportion of them. Finding it to his liking, he turned around.

Reyna saw his eyes—black, the colour of the Void, of endless pits. His lips were bloodless, and if she hadn't known better, she would have pegged him for a re-animated corpse.

"Ah. I see they remember him," Not-Erebus said. "Enceladus, pick up the scythe. Bring it to me."

"My Lord...?"

"Now."

Enceladus made to pick it up, but the instant his fingertips grazed against smooth metal, he howled in pain, the surface of his skin bubbling, as though set to fire.

"Weaklings," Erebus sneered.

With a few deceptively swift strides, he pushed Enceladus carelessly to the side—an odd sight, seeing as Enceladus had about ten feet on Erebus' height.

The instant he touched the weapon, his entire body stiffened and froze. It did not burn him as it had Enceladus, but there was something inexplicable written by his brow, before it was abruptly smoothed away.

"Oh, Erebus," not-Erebus crooned. "It is futile to fight. The battle was over the instant you had been trapped inside the Vault. In your desperation, you have absorbed too much of my Pit's ambient power, and now you are mine—body, mind, and soul."

A sickening lurch. Not-Erebus' eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and he brought a hand to his mouth, his face a grimace of pain. Enceladus surged forwards in alarm.

"My Lord? Is he hurting you?"

A long, pregnant pause. Finally, Erebus wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, his eyes still closed.

"I am fine. He is gone, now."

There was something odd about his tone of voice. Enceladus relaxed.

"Oh, of course. I am a fool to think that he would have been able to hinder you. Mother will be so pleased."

"Is that so?" Not-Erebus said slowly. Reyna peeked at him from beneath her protective embrace, but saw nothing but his rigid stance, his back turned towards her.

"Yes, Father," said the giant, almost in puzzlement.

A slow, sly smirk graced Erebus' face, and suddenly, there was something just so very crimson red about his pale countenance. His eyes opened.

"Uncle."

His voice was no longer calm. Rough, jagged edges cut.

"My Lord?"

"I am not your father, Enceladus. And do tell Gaea, when you see her—I would not like to see her again, not for a long time yet. I have no intentions of taking part in your war."

A soft, feminine laugh.

"Then tell me yourself, my dearest Erebus."

The woman's voice was soft and silky, yet carried an unearthly, hollow tone within its depths. She and Erebus had the same lilting accents when they spoke, the same inflections and dark humor—characteristics of the Ordiaans.

Erebus turned, sounding not at all surprised.

"Gaea. How kind of you to return."

"Erebus," she smiled—a thin, sharp bladed smile. "What says you of my proposition?"

"I see no proposition, only brute force. Trying to have Tartarus possess me was a very bad idea, even more so when you consider just who I am."

"I have known for eons, Thanatos. The signs were there; most simply chose not to look."

A long, long pause, in which tension and barely masked hatred radiated, heavier than any knife's blade. Erebus spoke again. Both his eyes were red.

"Thanatos is dead."

"...I'm afraid I do not understand."

"Do not play coy with me, Gaea—"

A twin scythe slowly rose from the ground. Erebus caught it. Reyna could see where the two weapons had been fused together, creating a single, destructive element of death.

"Get back," she whispered to Hazel. "We need to get out of here. They're going to attack."

"—you and I both know I have little patience."

Monsters crested the hill on all sides, peering down from the edges of the crater they were located in. Surrounded. Erebus remained unperturbed, but a dark, filthy cloak of power darkened his eyes.

"From this day forth, I am Death. She has taken my place, and I hers."

Gaea's amicability melted faster than ice in a desert. Her gruesome face contorted into a snarl.

"Keep in mind, Erebus," she said, her voice soft, "that you have brought this upon yourself. Had you come peacefully, I would have given the boy to you, and all would have been well."

The first flickers of confusion crossed Erebus' face. Gaea sneered. "Do not tell me you have forgotten your dear little cousin already?"

He jerked backwards as if burnt, a purple rage enveloping him, making the air hard to breathe.

"Pontus? You are playing a dangerous game, Gaea. If I do not end you, then Order will."

"Order? He is dead to me—and indeed, he has been given the same fate he deserves. Even you have not escaped unscathed." Addressing someone over her shoulder, her eyes never leaving Erebus, she said, "My love? Yes, please bring the boy forward."

A black hooded figure stepped forward. A weakly struggling bundle was in his arms, swathed in cloth, an executioner's hood over his head. Reyna caught her breath.

The hood was unshrouded with a flourish and mocking bow, revealing wild green eyes, the shade of a tempest sea.

They roved around wildly, none of the child-like innocence tainting them, and when he fixed his gaze on Erebus, he reached forward with a cry. Erebus' jaw clenched, his entire body quivering with rage.

Gaea snapped her fingers.

"Kill him."

The boy was forced onto his knees. Reyna slapped her hand over Hazel's mouth to contain her scream, though she felt as though she would be sick herself.

The executioner grabbed a fistful of his black hair, baring his neck.

Erebus surged forward, but just as suddenly, he fell to the ground, his face contorted in extreme pain. White electricity issued forth, and where it touched, Reyna could see it burning away, slowly, rupturing nerves, issuing bone.

Blood slowly dripped onto the ground.

"Remove the gag," Gaea said, her hand slowly slipping from the dialed control. The dial was set at eight.

The executioner complied. Pontus tried to bite him, but he only chuckled.

"Any last words, boy?" he asked mockingly.

"Pontus," Erebus whispered. He pushed himself up, but once more, Gaea smiled. His eyes closed, biting hard into his lip, trying to stay the grunts of seized pain that took him into its embrace.

It was almost too fast to see. Reyna turned away. She heard the whistle of an axe, slicing through air, slicing through sinew and bone. She heard a boy's muffled sobs. She heard him trying to be brave, but encountered with death, she heard him cry out in fear.

"FATHER!"

Pity, pity, it was too late, too late and he was dead.

The bloodstained axe. Bits of skin dangled from the tip, and slowly peeled off.

"Oh my gods," Hazel said. Her face was drawn. Reyna licked suddenly dry lips, but no sound escaped her mouth.

Gaea hummed brightly. "Such a sweet child. I don't think he was talking to Order, Erebus. You must truly have cared for him. Wouldn't you say, Pontus?"

The executioner's pale hand caught the moon's light. His hood fell away, to reveal an almost exact clone of Erebus, with only a different colour of eyes. This must have been what Pontus would have eventually grown to look like.

"νερό," Erebus muttered coldly.

"You did not think I was dead, did you?" Pontus smirked. "A few sentiments, between you and I—that brother of yours was easily fooled. 'Opposites cannot survive without their other half,' I had told him, and still, he did not pick up on my hint. For Gaea is mine. She is my opposite."

Gaea joined his laughter.

"You believed yourself to be several steps ahead of us. Arrogant, as you tend to be. You did not really think Tartarus was the one we were attempting to bring back? No, no, that was only a ploy. Tartarus is weak, Erebus, even you must know it to be so. His only power lies in his Pit, and even then, it is of little use."

"A few subtle words, and Tartarus truly believed he would succeed," Pontus said. "Thus, killing two birds with one stone. You have severely weakened him, and he you. It will be all the easier, now." He paused. "By the way, I do hope you like that collar I gave you."

Erebus said nothing.

"Terra had it—she stole it from Zeus," Reyna whispered. The pieces of the illogical puzzle were finally beginning to click together.

Gaea took it from Zeus.

Pontus pretended to ally himself with Order, and then convinced Order to put it on Erebus as a punishment.

Pontus then "sacrificed" himself to assure Aether and Nyx of his loyalties to them, to persuade them that the only safe path to take was to take Erebus and flee to Earth.

Reyna dared to spare a glance at Erebus.

His lips parted, something cold yet warm issued forth, like a tangible mist. Black polluted the irises of his eyes, but it was not the colour of Tartaros' possession. Rather, it was the dead black, the kind of rotting corpses, of flattened hope.

The collar glowed, then was still.

He pushed himself to his feet. Gaea's eyes widened, but it was as if he'd entered a kind of berserker rage, for he simply shrugged aside the collar's touch, as if it were no more than a fly.

"You may be the incarnation of life, but I am the scion of darkness itself," he smiled back, a livid purple rage in his eyes, a ghost of something far more ancient, far more inexorable cloaking his shoulders.

"Retreat!" she shouted.

Faster than was able to be comprehended, Erebus had Pontus pinned to the pillar of ice, one hand drawn back. Pontus struggled little, and he only grinned back, blood outlining his teeth.

"You cannot win," Pontus hissed. "You are not Death, no matter how you convince yourself to be. You cannot close the Gates, and I will return."

"Then I shall just have to kill you again. I look forward to our next encounter. You have signed your death sentence. The fun is just beginning."

There was something oddly beautiful about the way Erebus knelt and cut off his head with a single strike—clean, as was expected, and in a splatter of blood, the deeds were done, splattering the snow-white ground with crimson poppies.

And as he turned to smile at her, she knew, with a sinking feeling in her gut, that this was the commencement of war, and that the line between beauty and insanity was nowhere in sight.

---

-X-

---

Thalia woke up in an ice cube, hungry, tired, and altogether not very happy.

Well, she guessed it was an ice cube, anyways, because she was cold, and angry, and not all that thrilled that her nose was currently itchy yet she was unable to scratch it.

...and how did she end up here, anyways?

Frowning, she hit her hand against the ice, her breath misting over the translucent surface. A hollow thud rang out, but the ice did not break. Go figure.

Licking her lips and frowning at the taste in her mouth—gods, had she forgotten to brush her teeth for three months straight, or something?— she pressed her palm to the ice, grimacing as frost chilled her blood, freezing her skin.

Still, she did not move from her spot, until some of the ice had melted from her body heat, forming a smoother surface. She peered through the little window she had made.

The images of the outside world were distorted by the uneven freezing, but even she could make out the white blanket that had settled over the world. Snow. No surprise there.

Squinting harder, she could make out black dots—people? It was difficult to tell, but she knew they were moving.

People, then. If not, then she had somehow ended up on an alternate dimension where giant black ants roamed the world.

—which was highly unlikely, but Thalia had long given up trying to make sense of her life.

Blinking the grogginess out of her eyes, she considered her options. One, was to go back to sleep. Two, was to break out and face whatever had put her in here. She was leaning towards the former.

What, exactly, had woken her up? She could still feel sleep pulling on the edges of her consciousness, but it was as though it was blocked by a barrier of some sort. Holding back the tide.

But before she could have much time to mull over her current situation, a wave of something dark, something powerful but detestable, slammed into her prison of ice. Thalia rocked backwards in alarm, all intentions of sleep gone.

...well, she had gotten the answer to one of her questions, at least.

The ice was weakened. Cracks, marred with an inky black outline, webbed the surface in front of her. Without a second's thought, she slammed her entire body through—

—and then she was falling, falling as her stomach dropped to the pit of her chest, falling as she felt some sort of inexplicable terror take hold.

She was almost grateful when she hit the ground.

Almost.

It fucking hurt.

Groaning, she rolled onto her back, blinking the falling snowflakes from her eyes. So much for a graceful landing.

Something wet and sticky was gradually spreading beside her.

Now that she thought of it, the fall was a lot better than it would have been, at this height. She had fallen on something soft.

She looked down, and couldn't even bring herself to feel anything but exasperation.

...of course, with her luck, she just had to fall on top of a dead body. What a wonderful way to start off the morning. Or night. She really couldn't tell. It was too dark. Nor did she care, at this point.

With a grunt, she heaved herself to her feet, precariously wiping the blood away from her nose, making a face. It wasn't hers, but that didn't mean she had to like it any better.

Her footsteps crunched as she turned around, and surveyed her surroundings. Nothing special. Mountains, ice, dirt, more ice, coniferous trees, shards of ice poking out of everywhere (that was probably her fault, though), freaked out kids, ice—wait.

Thalia turned back to the kids. There were three of them. One in front. Another beside her. The last was lying on his back, unmoving. Most likely hurt in some way. Did she somehow do that?

No, no, it wasn't her, because there was another figure looming in front of them. He was the source off the dark stench, the unbearable smell of ozone. And he didn't look like a happy camper.

"Istilis aug stus mori," he hissed at them, unsheathing a blade. His voice was doubled—never a good sign, at least, not in the horror movies she'd watched before. When there was no answer forthcoming, his voice rose in anger. "Istilis aug stus mori!"

Where are they? Where are they!

Unwittingly, she found herself opening her mouth.

"Erebus?"

The figure turned. It was Erebus, only it wasn't—there were just so many thing wrong with his appearance that Thalia immediately took a step back.

"Nyx... Nyx. It wasn't me," he whispered. "I didn't. Pontus... νερό, νερό is the future Pontus, and he killed the younger one. I..."

Thalia's brow wrinkled. What the Hades was he blathering on about? Killing the younger one? νερό? Pontus?

A faint memory, pale in her mind, slowly wrapped itself around her consciousness.

Ah. He'd been accused of trying to kill Aether and Pontus. She herself had accused him of it. Double ah.

"Where's Aether?" she blurted out.

Erebus raised a hand and pointed. She followed his finger, and her eyes alighted on the rough hewn, jagged spire of ice jutting out of the ground. The two beside it were already broken apart. It hadn't been an ice cube she'd been in, after all.

Thalia frowned. She was forgetting something—something vital, something important...

She didn't remember how she ended up being imprisoned in the ice. If she examined Aether's coffin closely, she could see how the edges were spiked, radiating outwards, as though they had dropped out of the very sky itself and slammed the earth—specifically, the ice. The intense heat of their collision had melted their surroundings into water, just long enough for it to freeze over again.

Just how high had they dropped? The very thought made her queasy.

Where was she before this? How...

—oh.

"The little shit!" she snarled.

Nico.

Nico.

Nico was dead.

"Where is he hiding?" She turned around in a full circle, maddened, as though trying to seek out an invisible foe. "Bring him out! I'm going to tear that coward apart!" Rounding on the clearly terrified demigods (they weren't doing a very good job hiding it), she screamed, "Where are you hiding him?" and began to advance closer, ozone crackling.

Erebus, surprised, tried to place his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to calm her down, but in her frenzied state, she twisted his arm backwards, slamming her elbow into his throat. He reeled backwards, coughing, and she took the opportunity to shove him into Aether's ice spire.

"Where is he?"

Erebus grimaced, and forcibly pushed her away.

"Enough, Nyx," he snarled, though he sounded winded and tired. "Whoever you want to kill, we can wait until later. And the gods' spawn will not understand you unless you speak an earthen tongue."

Blinking, Thalia pulled back abruptly. She had not noticed she was speaking in another language. Panicking a little, she examined the backs of her hands, and tripped over her own feet when she realized that her legs were too long and she felt so wrong—

Hands gripped her shoulders. Her eyes flicked up, and among the blurry, tear-distorted images of the world, she could see Erebus, his crimson eyes concerned, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

"—yx... Nyx, can you hear me?" he was saying. Thalia swallowed thickly and nodded, pushing back her fear. "Good. Try to breathe. It's alright. This happened to me too, and most likely to Aether, as well. Breathe. Good."

When the hysteria had faded to a faint whisper, Thalia's subconscious registered the odd message. "Happened to you?"

Erebus opened his mouth to speak, but then, seemed to think better of it, and shook his head. "In times of great distress, a Primordial can shut down completely. You were out for some time, Nyx—out of your mind. The Styx shattered the barrier enough for you to come to yourself, but it's taking a toll."

"The Styx? I don't—Erebus? Erebus, are you alright? Erebus!"

'Where are you, my sweet? Don't try to hide from me—I will find you, and then, I'll be very, very unhappy... you do not want to make me unhappy, darling. We could have such fun together...'

"Yes, I am fine, Nyx. Why do you ask?" Erebus said calmly. Thalia scowled.

"You zoned out there for a sec. Like you were talking to someone in your head..." When Erebus frowned, Thalia sighed and shook her head. "I guess I'm imagining things now, too. Wonderful."

"We can talk more later. Now, we must go."

"Go?" she echoed, falling into step beside Erebus.

"To see the gods."

A quiet memory drifted into the back of her mind. Of violent voices, shouting obscenities.

"You promised yourself you would not go to them."

Erebus finally turned around. Only then, did Thalia realize how terrible he looked. And only then, was the Nyx side of her aware of his time in the Vault.

"And," he bit out, his voice scathing, "I also promised Pontus I would keep him safe."

"—I had a nightmare, Percy... I'm scared—"

Her eyes softened. "That was eons ago, Erebus. Pontus would have forgiven you for that."

"—it will be alright, Pontus. Dreams cannot touch us here, and one day, not even the darkness shall harm you."

"Does time obsolete all promises? This last broken oath of mine shall mean little, then."

"What about them?" Thalia gestured at the demigods, huddled around themselves, watching with terrified and wary eyes. Erebus waved his hand dismissively. There was a bitter twist in his voice.

"They shall find their own way home. If not, the gods will come for them—if they are lucky enough."

(let's hope their parents care for them more than they did me)

He reached up and placed his hand, fingers splayed, against Aether's tomb. He didn't seem to notice the cold, nor care.

The ice melted underneath his touch, as easily as a knife slicing through warm butter. It splashed into harmless water at their feet, but Erebus kept it contained before it could freeze them to the ground. Aether fell into a coughing heap, blinking profusely.

"Gods..." he muttered under his breath.

Thalia frowned. She must have heard wrong. Primordials did not swear by the gods, for they were—Nyx's arrogance cut in—better, faster, stronger in every shape and form.

Picking himself up slowly, Aether groaned. His eyes suddenly flew open, and his entire body jerked upright, as spasmodically and frenetically as if he'd been shocked by lightning.

"Erebus! Nyx!"

Erebus smiled wanly. "It's been a while, Aether."

"But... you fell in the Styx! Both of—"

"Speak quietly, Aether," Erebus warned in the Ordiaan tongue, cutting off whatever the other Primordial was about to say. Thalia felt a flicker of confusion. She'd understood him perfectly. "The children are watching."

"—both of you," Aether muttered. "Erebus was dragging us through, remember, Nyx? The tunnels. The Labyrinth. And then we fell. We weren't prepared, and there was no way out, and the two of you," his face soured, "threw me onto the shore and almost drowned. I went in after you, but halfway through, I—"

"I do recall warning you to reign in your rash impulses," Erebus said softly. There was nothing soft about his tone. "You cannot swim. I dragged you out."

Aether winced.

"Shouldn't we get going?" Thalia interrupted. "As much as I'd like to humiliate Aether, we need to figure out what we're going to do."

"Yeah, I guess. Why are we on Earth, anyways? Don't we all kind of hate this place?"

"It was the most accessible, and least guarded," Erebus said. "The gods... they are weak, pathetically so, and they do not even know of the Labyrinth's continued existence. Thus, it is the easiest to break through, and I did not wish to risk sending us floating in the Void for the rest of eternity."

Thalia remembered the Eyes, the Voices, the Whispers. She remembered their touch, and shuddered. "No thanks. We'll just figure something out."

Erebus smiled grimly at them. "I thought as much."

Aether sighed. "At least you two are back to normal. You don't know how weird it's been, these past few days."

Thalia wrinkled her nose as Nyx's consciousness projected an image of a hysterically giggling, very much insane Primordial at her. "Er... yeah. Sorry you had to see that."

"At any rate—hey, where's Erebus?"

Thalia blinked. "I guess he must have left already. We should go, too, before he blows something up. It's not good to get him angry, especially when his mood's so messed up because of everything that's happened."

"Speaking of which, what did happen here?" Aether gestured at the thick stains of blood in the blanket of white.

Thalia shrugged helplessly, frustrated. "I don't know. Something about Pontus and νερό, but that's all I can get from him."

Aether shook his head.

"We'll talk more when we get there. See you at the Building."

-o-

They arrived in time to see Erebus towering over the cowering security guard. The poor man was trembling in his boots, and he looked like he was going to be sick very quickly, suffocating from the darkness that swirled around him in agitation.

"You know very well who and what I am, so do not play such games with me."

Still, the guard swallowed down bile, and said in a trembling voice, "Th-There is no si-sixth hundred floor, s-sir. You have the wrong... wrong address. You are causing a scene."

Erebus straightened, an ugly scowl marring his face.

Something had unhinged him to the point that his emotions were breaking through—it did not bode well for any of them, and if it was enough to cause him such distress, then Thalia decided she could go a little while longer without knowing.

"I tire of this."

And he opened his arms, falling backwards through his own shadow.

Thalia looked to her right to see Aether staring, surprised, at where Erebus once stood. He muttered something under his breath, too softly for Thalia to decipher, and turned away.

The guard was still in the corner, staring with too-wide eyes.

"You just made our job that much harder," she snapped at him. "If he blows up Olympus, you're paying."

Ignoring the mortal's stutters, she crossed her arms over her chest and followed Erebus' example, erupting into a column of wind, wind that tore apart the guard's documents, blowing confetti-like pieces of paper into the air.

Then there was the sensation of free-falling once more, of being dragged from side to side, and then she landed on her feet, in the outermost courtyard of Olympus, stumbling as momentum threw her forwards. Aether landed next to her.

She looked up, in time to see the massive doors of the throne room slam open with a megalithic groan. Something cracked. Pieces fell, but Erebus paid no heed and simply walked in.

The wolf was the first to notice him. Instead of attacking, her ears drew backwards, and she lowered herself to an almost submissive, respectful position, before returning to her rigid stance.

"Erebus of the Endless, son of Chaos, welcome to Earth," she growled softly, catching the attention of the bickering Olympians. Poseidon was the first to bow, and uncertainly, the others came to follow his example.

"I believe you said to contact you, should my decision ever come to change," Erebus replied coolly, his voice giving in to nothing but a steely inflection.

Poseidon seemed to pick up on the unspoken message, and hesitated.

"Of course. But may I ask—"

"You may not."

"If you would not mind my asking. How are situations in your homeland?"

Erebus stared at Lupa for a good while, until the wolf, unnerved, looked away. Finally, he tilted his head up, defiantly, as if daring for the Olympians to see him as weak.

"Order has fallen."

His proclamation was met by silence.

The Olympians remembered Order. They remembered his power. They remembered how suffocated, how dwarfed by his raw acrimony they felt. And they thought about just how terrible a war would have to strike the dimension to topple such a ruler.

(beautiful tyrant, fiend angelical)

"I am... sorry for your loss," Poseidon managed to say, wetting suddenly dry lips. Erebus turned away, his face thrown into shadow.

"Don't be," he replied, his voice carrying an edge of harsh virulence. "It is better this way. Aether, Nyx, you may come out now."

Aether looked worse than the last time they'd seen him. A proud, crisp figure covered liberally in mud, his hair was frozen together, blue eyes a darker shade, like that of a frost covered night. When he spoke, it was in short, clipped sentences.

Nyx was little better. There was something fractured about her very being, but hidden just out of sight, held together by sheer stubbornness alone. She gazed upon them with hate—hate the Olympians did not understand.

"Gods of Olympus," she sneered. "And so, we have met again."

"Lady Nyx," Poseidon bowed. "Lord Aether. Have you come to aid us in our war against Gaea?"

Aether curled his lip in disdain.

"We follow Erebus. Erebus alone."

"Then, if I may ask, Lord Erebus, what changed your mind so quickly? As I recall, only several weeks have passed."

"Two years," Erebus corrected suddenly, shifting his unnervingly bright gaze onto Poseidon.

The sea god was struck by a displaced, gut-wrenching feeling of loss, and looked away. He'd looked so much like Percy, but now...

Physically, little had changed, save for the defensive set of his shoulders, the almost wild, feral perception in his eyes, as if expecting to be attacked at any moment. A cornered wolf. A dangerous entity.

(for his eyes weren't the only thing that had changed)

"Time passes differently in the Vault," he continued detachedly, as though the information had no effect on him in any way. "So, yes. I have had time to think it over. You needn't worry, Olympian."

He spat out the last word like a curse, but there was confliction in his eyes.

Aether and Nyx flinched backwards. Nyx looked guilty, while Aether just looked horrified. Still, Erebus smiled—it was a brutal, mercurial smile.

"And you ask, sea god, what my purpose is." His voice sent shivers down their spines, but it was as if they'd been struck dumb, for though they retained the ability of speech, there was nothing that could be said, nothing to kill the gnarled silence.

"My purpose is vengeance. To kill. To create Chaos from Order, and to restore the balance of the world."

For what, exactly, could be said about that?

"Ah, yes, thank you." Poseidon cleared his throat uncomfortably, his gaze flitting from Aether, to Nyx, to the ceiling, to the floor, to anywhere but Erebus. "Well. Before your arrival, my Lord, the Council was discussing our potential options. We fear a demigod uprising, reminiscent to the one from the last war. We barely survived the Titans, as it was, and the Primordials will prove a bigger challenge, one I don't think we can afford."

"You are gods," Erebus mocked. "If you cannot control your own children, how are you meant to rule an entire dimension?"

"Demigods are not meant to be controlled," Poseidon replied, his teeth gritted. "They are free to make their own choices."

Erebus threw back his head and laugh. It was an ugly sound.

"Oh, that's a good one. Really. Then tell me: why do you condemn those who choose to fight alongside the Titans or Primordials? No, you tell yourself lies—such is endless, is eternal."

"We are telling the truth," Hermes protested.

"Oh? When is the last time any of you have had contact with your children? Spent a few hours with them, without any ulterior motives? I do not think you can remember such a day."

"Zeus has forbidden our contact."

Nyx's shoulders stiffened.

"And see where it has gotten him. Tartarus is most unpleasant this time of year, as I recall. Do not make the same mistakes as your predecessor, Poseidon."

"Speaking of Tartarus," Hestia said softly. Ares curled his lip in disgust. "What about the heroes?"

"You mean, the punk?"

"The camps," Apollo leaned forward, his brow furrowed, eyes ringed with a slight tinge of poisonous green, "need to be guarded. Something is coming. I don't like it."

"—hey, don't interrupt me—"

"Then..." Hera suddenly said, cutting through the noise. The other gods were reminded of exactly why she was the Queen. "If the Primordials are willing, we can send them to the Greek camp. The Romans should be able to hold off for a while longer—my champion is there, after all."

Aether twitched. Erebus' back straightened, and he smiled at them, the smile a shark gives to a cornered fish, sharp and patronizing.

"Of course, we are willing," he said diplomatically. Nyx tensed, but Erebus grasped her forearm gently; a silent warning. "Of course, you may also find that in the morning, their mutilated bodies will line the edge of the borders. You may also find the Camp laid to ruin—we are creatures of Chaos, at heart."

"What vendetta do you have against the Greeks?"

"Much," Aether hissed, his eyes dark. The tannic taste of terror bit against their tongues, the sensation of free-falling into endless pits, into the Void itself.

"Then we can send them to the Romans..." Hera mused. "But the Greek camp will be left at a disadvantage."

"We can always merge the camps," Hermes said tentatively, but his expression clearly showed his distaste for the idea.

"Absolutely not," Hera interrupted firmly. "Have you forgotten what happened last time?"

Artemis gripped her bow tightly. Her knuckles were white, and she was biting the inside of her cheek, hard.

"Sis?"

"We can... bring back some of the fallen Greek demigods," she said grudgingly, as though the very words themselves pained her.

"The Underworld is controlled by Gaea."

"But Tartarus is free game."

"Tartarus is a Primordial." Dionysus took a heavy draught from his wineglass, staining his lips a deep purple. "That's one of the craziest things I've ever heard."

"Tartarus is weakened." Erebus cut in.

"How d'you know that?" Hephaestus said, stroking his fiery beard thoughtfully. Erebus simply fixed him with a look, and did not reply.

"Err... right. Primordial. But Tartarus...?"

"Percy's in there," Hestia said suddenly. Her stick stopped its repetitive motion, and the coals glowed brighter, bathing warm light upon the throne room, fighting away the shadows. "I know he has... but, if the dead have returned..."

Aphrodite squealed.

"Yes! That's the best idea I've heard so far!"

Collectively, the gods turned to Poseidon, fully expecting his joy, but Poseidon turned away and Hermes winced.

"Once again, you are too late."

For once, the gruesome smile slipped from Erebus' face, and somehow, it was more disturbing that before.

"Oh yeah?" Ares snapped. "Care to enlighten us, then, oh mister high and mighty?"

"Because." Erebus said coldly, his voice short and clipped. "Because, he is dead. And even I am unable to recall the dead to life. It is a cursed, half-life. Do not presume to know how the Elements work."

His proclamation was met by silence.

"You can't die in Tartarus. Not completely." Apollo laughed shakily. "It's impossible."

"Do you call me a liar, Apollo?"

"Calm down, Erebus."

"—it's true," Poseidon cut in. His face was drawn, his voice pale. "He killed himself. I got there... but too late. He died in my arms."

"Exactly why did Zeus throw him into Tartarus? The brat's annoying, but he's just a brat."

"Do you really think I know?"

The gods began to argue, once more. Silently, Erebus slung the scythe over his shoulder, the metal hissing with a cold touch. Aether restrained him with a whispered, "what are you doing?"

"Trust me," he muttered back. "I shall explain in a moment."

And he slammed the blade into the ground.

Immediately, a shockwave spread, pushing the thrones to the wall, the Olympians yelping as they were flipped over their seats. The lights flickered and died, shadows creeping in on nightmare-black claws.

They heard the Voices. The Voices of the damned. Whispering words, too many and too archaic to be understood. Angry.

(vengeful)

Hellfire burst into life, cradled against Erebus' palm. It was the only source of light, and it cast the world into an evil, verdant green.

For the first time, they tasted Death upon their tongues.

"What is this sorcery?" Poseidon demanded, getting up from where he had fallen. Immediately, Erebus' head snapped to the side, and the sea god was struck by how his pupils had enlarged, to the point that only a thin band of crimson was showing through the haunted black.

"Sit down," he snapped.

"But..."

"Sit."

Poseidon let himself fall to the floor. A cruel smile painted Erebus' lips.

(inhuman, dark)

"You asked a question. I am about to answer it."

The butt of his scythe traced several characters on the ground, too fast to be deciphered. With a slash, he activated them. The first —the furthermost left—glowed with a sickly light.

"Perthro... unknown."

Smoke wisped upwards. Forming legs. Forming a torso, and a face, smoothing out until they could recognize the figure, bloodied and bruised. Nyx made a sound in her throat. Aether paled.

"Olympians..."

Green eyes smiled at the gods.

"And it seems like we've met again. It hasn't been long enough."

---

-X-

---

Reyna stumbled towards camp. Her teeth had stopped chattering, but there was something very cold inside of her that refused to be thawed. She and Hazel were carrying Frank between them, for their supplies were somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, feeding the fishes.

She grunted as she managed to have her foot caught on yet another obstacle, making her lurch forward. Frank's dead weight did little to help, in that aspect. A hastily tied bandage was still slowly bleeding through, a bright blossom of red against his torso.

"We're almost at the River," she gasped. "We're almost there."

Of course, the Gorgons chasing them didn't seem to think so. Both were wearing Bargain Mart aprons, and one was still carrying a tray of poisoned samples. Both of them, coincidentally, had been killed multiple times, but in just a little over two hours, both were back, as ugly as ever.

This probably classified as a Very Bad Day.

"Demigods—! We shall feast on your blood!"

...scratch that. This was an Extremely Bad Day.

"Well, you're not getting any," Reyna hissed back, and heaved Frank's arm over her shoulder again, as it was beginning to slip. She dared to glance over her shoulder, but nothing but empty plains greeted her.

"Ah-ah," Stheno said. She shoved her tray of samples in Reyna's face. "Why don't you have one, dear?"

Reyna stumbled backwards when both Gorgons materialized in front of them, arms outstretched, to tear their heads off or to embrace them in a hug—she was betting on the former.

"Go to Tartaros," she spat.

"Oh, honey, we've been there, and it ain't that bad. Kill us again, and we'll reform. The Gates are open, after all, and Gaea will reign supreme!"

"I wouldn't bet on that," a voice suddenly cut in. A voice that was sickeningly familiar, and entirely unwelcome.

Euryale's head snapped to the side, nostrils flared.

"I smell Medusa's blood!" she wailed. "I smell it! I do!"

Reyna turned. She averted her eyes from the speaker —better to remain ignorant— and instead, chose to focus on the other two, a boy and a girl.

The girl was dressed casually, with a "Death to Barbie" t-shirt, dark eyeliner, and a silver circlet on her head. A bow and quiver of silver arrows were slung over her shoulder. Her arms were crossed in extreme boredom.

The boy was the shortest of the three, but no less intimidating. A black sword was strapped to his belt. His colouring was Italian, but almost as if he'd been washed out in the sun, for his face was a pale, sickly colour. He wore an oversized aviator's jacket.

And the last. She slowly let her eyes follow in his direction.

Little had changed. Time had been good to him. Same stark green eyes, same dark black hair, same careless smile, except this time, there was a sharp edge to it, a loathsome kind of warning.

Except, his bronze sword was missing. She remembered that blade.

"Medusa?" he said, turning to the others in amusement. "That was so very long ago."

Euryale and Stheno were, apparently, of a one-track mind, for they suddenly forgot about Reyna, Hazel, and Frank, and were set on destroying the destroyer.

"Kill him! Medusa will be pleased with us! It is his fault that she has not yet reformed, and we shall bathe in his blood for her honour!"

They charged.

"What do you think?" He asked his companions, seemingly bored. The Italian boy smirked and spun his sword on one finger, sheathing it in the same fluid motion. The girl simply shrugged.

"Might as well. They can go join Medusa in Tartarus."

"As I thought. Well, Euryale, Stheno, the jury has spoken. Try not to reform too quickly, yes? Otherwise, I'd just have to kill you again."

Still, there were no visible weapons upon his person. Reyna watched incredulously as the distance between them dwindled—fifty feet, forty feet. She stood up.

"Get Frank across the River. I shall try and buy you time."

She drew her spear. A shadow fell over the world. Green eyes met hers.

"You might want to get down," He said.

His hands were raised.

Reyna looked up to see the entire river, floating placidly above her head. With a twitch of his fingers, the water twisted into the approximate shape of large, clawed hands, mimicking his own gestures.

Hazel sucked in a breath. "A son of Neptune..."

They fell upon the Gorgons like a hungry wolf would a lamb, tearing them to pieces, flesh rotting to sulphuric yellow dust. Euryale burst apart with a dying shriek. With a flick of his wrist, the other hand wrapped tightly around Stheno, bringing her closer.

"The right side, was it?" he murmured. He didn't flinch as Stheno's clawed hand shot out, slicing his cheek open.

"Yep," the Italian boy replied.

"Hmm. Thalia, if you would do the honors...?"

The girl slung her bow over her shoulder, hooking an arrow between her thumb and index finger. She took aim.

"My pleasure."

The arrow released. There was a piercing scream, and then

—nothing. An arrow thudded into a muddy bank. He stooped over and picked it up, then began to walk towards Hazel and Frank. Reyna stood in front of them protectively, but the boy only rolled his eyes and pushed her aside.

"Relax. If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead."

She bristled at his nonchalant tone, as if he were merely stating a given fact, and that she was no more threat to his impending health than a gnat would be.

"Here." He threw the arrow down, next to Hazel. Blood flecked the tip, along with other questionable fluids. "Gorgons' blood. Right side heals. I think you'll need that."

Hazel wet her lips nervously, but raised her chin in a defiant gesture. "Who—are you?"

He saluted her mockingly.

"The cavalry has arrived. You called for backup from the Greeks, yes? Percy Jackson, Nico di Angelo, and Thalia Grace, at your humble service. And..." he turned to look at Reyna, "have we met before? You look like you'd rather murder me on the spot."

Reyna swallowed thickly.

"No," she answered, even as the dream, the dream of the black haired, green eyed Greek burning down her first home, played in her head. "Never."

"Fine. Then, shall we get going? Show us this... quaint camp of yours. I would not like to stick around until the Gorgons reform."

"Do not tell me what to do," she growled back, pushing roughly past him, her shoulder hitting him as she passed. Under her breath, she muttered, sullenly, "And you haven't changed in the slightest."

(if only she had looked closer, she would be able to see past the fake smile and the transparent, green eyes, she would have seen how very wrong she was)

---

"Know that I do this for the sole purpose of slaying Pontus' killers, and not out of lost love between us. I am aware of Gaea's plan to attack in three days hence. But do not fret. In our disguise, even you yourselves will not make out our true forms."