Chapter 18: New World Order
? POV, New San Francisco, Golden Gate Park
Three Years Later
A silent night set in over the city of New San Francisco. Nothing but the march of soldiers through the streets could be heard through the crisp summer air. Families stayed indoors, it was against the law for them to wander the streets unless given explicit permission by the new government. So only merchants and other tradesmen would be seen in the streets at night, a rarity even then.
Yet somewhere in between the sanctioned off housing projects of the San Jose district was a man running as if a phantom was at his heel. He held a sleeping child to his chest, traversing through the city's winding back alleys.
Behind him was the sound of the hard rubber hitting asphalt. It was a group of soldiers under the command of the Titan Empire. In their hands were refitted black rifles, with carefully crafted bullets made half and half of lead and Celestial Bronze.
They wore black armor, modern in look but holding an aesthetic was obviously Ancient Greek in origin. Black corinthian helmets with red plumes were on their heads. While the main armor itself carried a similar color it was outlined with gold
A leather vest stretched diagonally down their torso, holding additional magazines for their guns. Below their armor, it could be seen they wore clothing. One man, in particular, held a regal look to him, a flowing red cape was attached to his shoulders.
He had short blond hair and electric blue eyes that seemed to emit a light of their own. On his hip was a Roman gladius, while in right hand was a firmly gripped pistol. An aura of dominance exerted around him, showcasing that he was in charge.
"Stop, now!" Roared the officer.
The man being chased after had widened eyes as he took a sharp turn. Realizing he had reached a dead end.
His grip over the toddler nestled into his chest tightened. Both of his hands shook violently. Half realizing that he obviously was doomed, another part of him spurred into action for the sake of the toddler.
He tried desperately to see if there was any possible way out. But there was nothing. It was a dark bleak corridor with only one entrance. You'd have to be superhuman to scale its walls.
Dread set in as a band of footsteps echoed through the tight corridors. Four soldiers drew their firearms onto the man, ready to destroy him at a moment's notice.
"Surrender the child, Joseph. You're a valuable asset to the Empire, we can keep this episode a secret. You don't need to die. Just let the child go."
The man identified as Joseph looked at the officer with furrowed brows. Seemingly offended.
"Let the child go so you can shoot me right after? You're pathetic Jason, giving in to Kronos and his regime like this. Whatever happened to Roman honor?"
Jason looked angered, the grasp on his gladius tightened.
"Rome died with Olympus. Kronos is the only way to ensure peace and stability persists. There is no more mist, humans need us. Give up the child Joseph, we served together. Bled together. Don't throw it all away now."
Joseph grit his teeth, his long black unkempt hair falling to the side of his face. He had no weapon, no way to fight himself out if it came to blows. Judging from the tension in the air, such a future was more than likely.
He was a child of Minerva, one of the few left. It shamed him that his mind could find no way out.
"Do you even realize what Kronos wants to do with this child? After he is done experimenting on her, he's going to kill her. Can you live with Jason? I can't."
Jason narrowed his eyes, "It doesn't matter what he does. It is all for the greater good. I am going to count to three, and by the end of it you better put the child onto the ground and put your hands up."
The look in Joseph's eyes hardened, "Please Jason. You were a hero you can't—"
"One..."
Joseph tried to speak again, but no words escaped his lips.
"Two…"
The Son of Minerva closed his eyes, covering the sleeping child with his body. Full of dread he awaited the fateful three count, and the mist of death that would come with it.
But it never came…
What?
His eyes opened moving upwards, towards the group of soldiers. But he didn't see them any longer. A man was standing right in between them and him. From what he could ascertain at being able to only see the man's back, he wore a black cloak under a breastplate.
A dark leather belt was snuggled against his waist. Fabric that looked to be stained with blood fell from the belt, gracing the open air. Pauldrons made of a dark metal were on both of his shoulders and looked as if they were naturally a part of the other pieces of armor he wore. His head was covered by a hood. He was around six feet, give or take.
In his right hand was a blade. Not just any normal sword though, a European longsword made of steel and celestial bronze. It was a necessity for a warrior to carry a sword made of such metals, so he could defend against both monsters and humans. That was normal enough, but the design of the blade and the strange etchings on it made it stand out just enough.
"Who are you?" Demanded Jason.
The man looked unshaken, casually he turned his gaze toward Joseph. Immediately the Son of Minerva was struck by the sight of the ominous dark mask the man wore. He straightened up as if compelled by his animal instinct.
"Protect the child," Forlornly warned the man, his voice slightly distorted.
After the man spoke a shot rang through the air—a warning from Jason.
"Next one goes through your skull," Jason spat, obviously frustrated. "I don't know who you think you are, but interfering in—"
Joseph blinked twice as he saw the man move in a flash. Like an orchestra playing a symphony, a series of loud clunks followed each other.
Every single one of the soldier's guns had been cut in half. None of them had even realized what had happened. Surprisingly enough, none had been killed, when it was obvious the man's blade could have passed through their throats instead of their weapons.
"Leave now. This man is under my protection," The dark figure warned. "I only give one warning."
Jason with a shocked look on his face immediately drew his gladius. Anger filled his tone as he spoke next.
"You're apart of the resistance aren't you. Don't you fools realize you are the ones causing bloodshed, not us?"
The man stopped, a readied hand still gripping his blade.
"I take it you don't want to listen?"
Like a shadow he moved past Jason, cutting down the four soldiers behind him before they had a chance to blink.
Jason seemed to be the only one able to see the man's quick movements, as he was able to block a strike that fell toward him. Albeit clumsily.
"You must be a demigod, no human can move that quick."
The man quickly broke the block, sliding his sword up the gladius's blade, producing a heat along the Imperial Gold with it. Its unexpected quickness almost caught Jason off guard, but he was able to move back just in time to save his head.
"I don't titles," Murmured the figure as another flurry fell down on Jason. Like a
This time the Son of Jupiter looked like he was in trouble. Superior form, quicker strikes and a blade with a longer reach. Joseph watched as Jason, beaten back into a corner slipped his hand toward his pocket.
"He's going to call for help, the device in his pocket!" Joseph warned, yelling loudly.
But it was too late, Jason's thumb had already pressed down on the red button of a small black device he pulled from his pocket.
Immediately footsteps could be heard from beyond the walls. Joseph knew of the technology Jason had just used. It sent out a call for nearby reinforcements, giving away the location of the user through radio waves.
The cloaked figure seemed to understand the gravity of the situation and moved to end the duel. He slammed his left fist into the side of Jason's temple, distracting his animalistic senses with a small feint of his sword. Maybe it was the darkness that led Jason to fall for it, but fall hard he did.
His form crumbled, and the man moved quickly toward Joseph, making him flench slightly.
"Let us go," Said the man, motioning for him jump with him. At the same time, he sheathed his longsword.
Joseph shook his head, "I can't, I'm barely able to jump out of bed in the morning. Much less scale buildings. I am going to just be dead weight. Take her to Mount Olympus in Washington, it's the stronghold of the resistance. Tell them Joseph sent you."
He motioned for the figure to take the girl in his arms, sleeping with a thumb in her mouth. It was a wonder the chaos that had just unfolded did not wake her. She had mid-length hair that resembled a silver cloud. Small freckles dotted her pale, delicate cheeks. Her age must have been four, or even five.
Calling her a toddler was no longer entirely accurate. She did at least have the innocence that would define such a title.
Sheathing his blade, the cloaked man took off his dark mask, putting it into the depths of his dark coat. Two sea-green eyes were unveiled, along with cool side-swept black hair.
He was surprisingly handsome, so much so that it was almost a defining characteristic. But Joseph had no time to study the man's features, time was running out. He had to tell the man who the girl was.
"She's the Daughter of—"
Joseph stopped his explanation as the pounding sound of footsteps grew even closer. Thrusting the girl into the man's arms he scrambled forward, almost losing his footing.
"Go! They won't kill me if she isn't with me. Now GO!"
The man silently followed Joseph's plea. Jumping atop the build at the end of the alleyway with the little girl in his arms. In a second he was already out of sight, his speed was mind-boggling. Joseph lamented slightly at the fact the man didn't even look back, but that was probably for the best.
Not able to fully favor his pyrrhic victory Joseph soon found at least twelve gun barrels aimed at him. All belonging to Kronos's soldiers, without even taking a moment to question him they opened fire.
Darkness took the Son of Minerva as he gave a silent prayer to his mother.
Percy POV, New San Francisco
From rooftop to rooftop he dashed, holding a sleeping child in his arms. The thought of how he ended up in such a situation was worth meditating on. But the unique energy he felt coming from the girl had taken up all his attention.
Something about her was strange. In the four years of wandering he had undertaken since the Battle of Manhattan, never did he feel such a pull. Demigod or not, she was unique. Innocent yet scary.
An innocence holding behind it a massive ocean of power. Perhaps that was the feeling. One he could now fully understand. It was like an electric current.
Falling into a shadow between an incline of two housing sectors he slipped in between a tight crevice. Holding onto the girl carefully he eventually found the opening he was looking for. With his foot, he opened up the wooden trapdoor.
Dust hit his nose as he slipped inside the abandoned attic, once maybe it was used as a storage for commercial goods. Now it was just a shadow of a formerly bright and hopeful world. Forgotten by the architects that razed and rebuilt the city of New San Francisco.
A thick grey mattress with a few blankets was laid out on the cement floor. Next to it was a large amount of trash he had neglected to clean up, culminating from many night's suppers. Suppers he said with a hint of distaste. Just food he was able to scramble together, nutrients and a proper diet was something the city could not provide. Maybe by design.
Outside the city limits, there was plenty of game to hunt. But not many people to save was the issue, the Titans had centralized populations around large cities. It was easier to control the public when they were corralled like cattle. That's why so many people wanted to leave and stake their bet on the bounty of the outskirts.
Slowly he went over to the mattress, moving his free hand over it in a wide half-circle arc, pushing away garbage and accumulated dust. He then strengthened his hold over the girl and brought her body over it.
As if she was a ceramic doll he laid the girl gently onto the rather pathetic excuse of a bed. Still, it was better than the cold hardness of the floor. Her frail stature would not fare well against it, especially when even he woke up with back pains after a single night braving it.
Sitting down in front of her he let out a loud exhale. Pulling back the hood his head, taking the mask from the depths of his cloak and setting it to his side. He slightly winced at the sight of it. Coated with a line of steel, it had a certain descend pattern of etchings on it.
It was symbolic, mostly. When he wore it he could hide the sins of his past. The malice and hatred that once defined him, hidden behind its menacing gaze. Maybe it was just a mechanism to cope with lingering cowardice still inside him, a lingering that prevented him from fully coming to terms with who he once was and what he had caused.
Even though he knew it was not all his fault, that he had never intended for things to occur as they did. It was evident that he caused this cold reality around him. Even now he could feel the moans of the innocents he killed both, directly and indirectly, whispering into his ears.
Asking him why. Why did they have to die because of his selfish desire for revenge? Hatred guided his blade while also clouding his vision. Only when he felt that sensation of a small girl crumble in his hands was that veil ripped away.
Hatred, no matter what it is spawned from breeds only more hatred. It is like a demon, leading you down a dark path, whispering distruth in your ear. Only when you reach the end of that path does that darkness go away and the true magnitude of your evil becomes fully aware.
Three years had passed since he had become able to see with clear vision. Every day was like living in purgatory, he lamented. Walking a path of a razor's edge between metaphorical heaven and hell. Demons on one end, angels on the other. One trying to seduce him the other trying to awaken him.
Manhattan was devastated by the strike caused by Hecate. Millions had died, it was not a plan even the Titans seemed to be aware. A fact he picked up during the few meetings he had with Prometheus, who had all but turned against the Titans and their twisted idea of utopia.
Millions of souls were sacrificed, all to get rid of the mist. Monsters attacked humans, ravaged cities and with it they gained extreme numbers and strength. So much so that not even Kronos could influence them any longer, they ate more than they likely ever had before.
Demigods were no longer their only food source. Tens of thousands of them likely lurked on the West Coast alone. One thing the Son of Poseidon had noticed was their propensity to form groups, usually at the head an alpha beast.
With those groups, they would strike at cities or settlements. And with how rare demigods had quickly become humans were forced to take up arms. Their main weapons were rifles with bullets made of a Celestial Bronze-Steel alloy. Like the blade, Luke used to carry around.
Sighing, he brought two outstretched fingers to the side of his temple. Rubbing at it gently. Enough thinking about the past, what of the future. This girl, the Resistance, would he really be forced to take her there?
As if one cue the girl stirred across from him. She took thumb out from her mouth and began to rub her eyes with balled fists.
Percy just stared at her curiously, observing any abnormalities that may be present in her demeanor.
"What is your name?" He asked gently, causing the girl to turn her dazed head toward him.
Immediately he was struck by her irises. They were golden, it seemed as if they produced light all on their own. She tilted her head in obvious confusion, an innocent sort of curiosity.
"My name?" She blanky repeated.
Percy blinked, "You don't know your name?"
She shook her head, not shocked by the fact she had awoken in some foreign location alongside a stranger. Instead, she looked around with a hint of wonder in her eyes. Not that the dusty emptiness of the attic was anything to fawn over.
"What is a name?" She asked, her bright curious eyes now meeting Percy's direct.
He rose a long dark brow, crossing his arms.
How could somebody not know what a name was?
Well, she was very young to be fair. But something told him that most girls her age were privy to such information.
"A name is a very special thing. It is what people call you… what you call yourself," He answered, not fully confident in his explanation. There was a much more esoteric meaning to names, one he could not fully explain with words a four-year-old could understand.
"How do you get a name?" Questioned the girl, leaning forward with the flats of her palms. But she quickly recoiled, likely at feeling the bone-chilling sensation of the cement.
"Somebody very special gives you it. Your mother-father, people who care about you the most."
His explanation was somewhat clumsy. He had never thought about it before. A child's perspective on such things was horizon-broadening, to say the least. Names indeed were a strange thing-titles bestowed onto you at birth which ends up being a fundamental part of personal existence.
The girl nodded slowly, turning the stare of her golden eyes toward the floor. Something that could be described as a sadness appeared in them.
"So… Do you have no name? Who was that man who helped you?" Percy asked, a gentle nature in his tone.
Truthfully he was trying to get as much information about the strange series of events possible. What was supposed to be just another random encounter turned into quite a strange situation. Originally he believed it to be a father and daughter being hunted by the Titan's troops.
Who was this girl? Why was that man so adamant about him taking her to the resistance? Golden eyes were an abnormality even in the world of the supernatural. Never before had he met a demigod before that had them.
He had felt the man's blood pressure during their encounter and could tell he was not being deceitful. It was a nifty power he had developed, and extension of control over blood. Though the latter he had sworn never to do again because of its sinister nature, the former was harmless.
"I don't know," Pouted the girl, tears suddenly poking at the white edge of her eyes. "Mama is gone. A man took me from the white room."
Seeing the potentiality of a tidal wave rushing down her cheeks he said the first thing he thought of. Some sort of feeble attempt to calm her.
"I can give you a name."
He cursed himself as soon as his mind caught up with his lips. How stupid could he be, he was the farthest qualified person to give a little girl a name. No delicacy at all lingered in his mostly darkened heart.
At least the intended purpose of the words did not fall short. The small girl rubbed at the sides of her eyes, like a cat washing its face with a paw. In a way, it was rather cute.
"You can give me a name?" She asked.
Percy exhaled, "Well, I'm not sure if you want me-"
Immediately the girl's face looked as if it was going to return to its earlier stage of inevitable weeping. He pinched the bridge of his nose, realizing he could not go back on his words. A thousand different names popped in his mind's eye, their letters floating around as if they were sentient beings mocking him. Dyslexia after all these years was still a foe to be feared.
Greek ones along with Latin appeared. Not thinking about it he picked the first one he could fully visualize. Then he found one slipping through his consciousness, forcing its way out his lips.
"Mary."
It felt like a dagger stabbed at his heart. Why did he say that?
"Mary…" The girl repeated, eyes mesmerized. "Mary."
"Never mind that, why don't you just pick your own name?" Suggested Percy, hoping for her to comply.
She shook her head, an attempt at a scowl crossing her face.
"No!" She yelled out, protectively. "Mister gave me the name from his heart."
Percy frowned warily, not knowing how to feel about the name. But if she liked it so much then he'd have to go with it. At least until he found somebody that could actually take care of her.
"Fine," He relented. "But if you want to change it when you get older you are more than welcome to."
With that out of the way, he arose from his sitting posture. Stretching out the feeling of apprehension with a limber movement of his arms.
"Listen… Mary," He struggled to say. "Get some more sleep, I am going to come back with some food. Alright?"
She looked up at him, tilting her head.
"I can't go with mister?" Asked the girl with puppy dog eyes.
Percy had to quickly avert his gaze to avoid their alluring power. Maybe it was not the best idea to leave her alone in a dark attic. His figure retreated back to the floor.
"Fine, I will wait until you fall asleep. Just do it quickly," He said, his eyes trained on a morsel of dust flying past him.
Mary smiled brightly for the first since the two had met. The sudden beaming caught his attention, making him break his protest against looking her in the eyes.
Something about the innocent look on her face seemed to awaken a deep-seated feeling inside of him. One that had not reared its head in years.
Warmth.
Alabaster POV, New Salem
Through a dark corridor made of black stone, Alabaster tread with short and decisive steps. His gaze trailed along with the series of windows to his left. Outside was a crescent moon overhanging the sprawl of New Salem. Torches lit up the outside, projecting the shadows of bypassers as if they were menacing ghosts.
His brown hair was swept to the side in a comb-over. An imprint of a grimace on his face, just below his eyes. It could have been the stress of watching over New Salem. He wasn't a governor, not by a long shot.
Maintaining food records to make sure the citizens don't starve—handling disputes. All the while commanding his brothers and sisters. To a seventeen-year-old, it was too much. Though he wasn't alone in it all, a few pounds off a stacked weight meant little.
Often he found himself missing the simpler times. Finding himself drawn toward an appearing balcony to his left he decided to take a moment of relaxation. Titans know he needs it.
Resting his arms onto its railing he cupped his forehead into his left hand, leaning forward with his elbow.
Percy, wherein Tartarus's name was he? Dead? No way, Percy couldn't just die.
He was remembered as a war hero to the demigods that served under the Titans in the second Titanomachy. A martyr some said, sacrificing himself to ultimately defeat the treacherous Olympians.
At least, that was the story you'd find told to you. It was not one he believed in. Mostly because it seemed he was the only one that knew of the cryptic prophecy he'd received on the eve of the Battle.
A sea of souls shall be taken as toll.
Those words alone were enough to send a chill up his back. As a mage, he knew all too well the power words can hold.
From what he had surmised it was referring to the strange explosive energy that surrounded Manhattan, taking with it millions. The Titans had said it was the doing of Olympus, a final act of defiance before they lost their crowns.
He would have believed it if not for the prophecy.
A life revoked and a prophecy undone.
A hero arisen to choose life or death.
Cryptic wording, holding no clear answer. The elusive nature of prophecy meant both sentences could mean quite literally anything.
With the world as it is studying the meaning of the prophecy was nigh impossible, time did not allow it. Nor did it let him try and find Percy. Monster attacks constantly threatened Salem, and his mother's strange and detached attitude throughout the years did not help.
Still… she was his mother.
As he was about to let out a pained exhale a voice suddenly rose to meet his hearing.
"It is a nice view, isn't it brother."
He turned to see Hannah, smiling at him. It wouldn't be hard to mistake her as Hecate, she was the spitting image of their mother. Ominously so.
"Sure, at least my senses can be enchanted whilst I wallow in my despair," He drily joked. His dark sense of humor returning.
"Why don't you just get it over with and jump then? At least you'll have a nice view of your death."
Alabaster rolled his eyes, his sister seemed to become more and more like him every year. Her cheerful and rather bubbly demeanor had been lost following Percy's disappearance. The dreadful state of the world did not help with that either.
"So," Alabaster said, raising a brow toward his sister. "You probably didn't just come here to egg on my suicide. What did you need?"
Hannah smirked, "It's news from Kronos himself. Iapetus reports the sight of the strange masked figure in the west, the province under his control."
Alabaster rose quickly, narrowing his eyes.
"How? Was he not just in the south a month ago?" Alabaster questioned, mouth agape.
Hannah shrugged, "Maybe they're separate sightings. Could be some stirring of the Resistance."
Alabaster shook his head, "No, the Resistance is barely offensive. They just offer shelter to deserters and lost citizens. Unless this is some sort of assassin of theirs, equally as unlikely considering he hasn't targeted any high profiled figures."
Lost in a sea of confusion Alabaster wished there was a readily available spell to tell of the unknown. Sadly the only one he knew of required sacrificing a goat during a blood moon. He had neither a goat nor an upcoming blood moon. So his mind was left to contemplate the matter alone.
"Send a group of demigods to the west, ones capable of reading auras and foresight. You lead them, Hannah."
He let out a quick command, knowing this masked man could end up being an issue for the Empire. Something told him he had to find him, somehow. Really he wanted to lead the group himself, but duty called.
"Why don't you come with?" Hannah questioned. "Get Faye to oversee the camp in your absence. She was practically groomed to keep records. Malcolm could take over command of the garrison…"
Her words trailed off target as Alabaster shook his head, in a momentary fervor generated by his high sense of responsibility.
"Mother entrusted this job to me, Hannah. I can not—"
"She wouldn't know," Hannah protested, cutting him off. "She only comes by once a year, at most. We don't even know what she has been up too."
Alabaster relented, his eyes returning to watching the passing shadows of the streets below. There was a thump in his chest, an old companion called adrenaline. One he hadn't felt in years.
"Fine," He felt himself muttering. "I'll see if they can handle it. If they agree then I will go."
A large smirk crossed Hannah's face as she jumped in excitement.
"Just like the old times!" She yelled out loudly, her voice echoing into the city below.
Alabaster found the long drawn out exhale finally escaping his lips as he facepalmed.
Guess she really hasn't changed all that much…
AN
As you guys can see, the story has taken a large turn. This is essentially my view of what would have happened if the Titans won. A bleak dystopian future, especially considering the disintegration of the mist. Monsters constantly at odds with human kind etc.
A lot will be explained, some plot points taking a bit longer to flesh out than others. The time skip I felt was somewhat necessary. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and the path the story is taking. Even if some people loathe it. Tell me what you guys think I'm pretty eager to hear feedback. As a side note, school is a bitch so chapters may take a bit longer to release.
Also, this next section will just be me responding to reviews so you can skip it if you want. See you guys next time(hopefully).
Mike: Nico is still his canon sexuality. Not sure if he will have a pairing in this story, he's sort of set up for other ventures.
BeOurGuest: I appreciate the well thought out criticism. Maybe I should have made it multi-chaptered just so people would have more time to process all the events. I can understand how Triton's death would seem rather insignificant in a sea of ten-thousand words(no pun intended). Though I didn't mean for it to be a very defining moment in Percy's development, more so the battle's development. Triton was just another casualty of his blind bloodlust. He never held any attachment to his father, to begin with, just hatred. Perhaps that's where the disconnect lays.
Also, the River Styx is admittedly a pretty lazy plot device but it sure as hell is convenient. Really there was no other way of making sure Ares wasn't just lying. It's not like Percy would've seen any signs pointing to it him not really being the killer when he's blinded by hate and resentment. His character this entire story has been defined by his hatred toward Ares. And who's to say there's even any evidence pointing against him being the murderer?
The reader's expectations are sharply subverted alongside Percy's, putting in any major foreshadowing for it would have made the reveal pretty underwhelming. I do appreciate your review, maybe you can see the logic behind my decisions somewhat clearer now. Also, thank you for the compliments on my fight scene. Good to know I'm doing something right. Have a good day/night, my friend.
Just a fan of fics: That'll be explained in detail soon enough.
RPHoeben: Who indeed? The question worth millions of lives.