The Chaos War

by DelayedInspiration

It is the worst case scenario: Tartarus, Nyx, and Akhlys join in the name of revenge, resurrecting the Titans, Giants, Kronos, Gaea, and the Triumvirate. The amount of energy released carries across time and space, freeing Loki and Apophis. These ancient enemies unite to defeat the heroes that defeated them, and their power is overwhelming. And so the game begins.

1. The Day the Earth Spun Faster

The Day the Earth Spun Faster

Welcome all to the first chapter of what is to be my biggest story ever! If you're new to me and haven't read all of my fics, don't worry, each character gets their own expositionary segment to grant the main idea of who they are.

Now, this story takes place one year after the end of the Trials of Apollo, meaning Percy and Annabeth are heading into the summer vacation post freshman year of college, weeks away from turning 19, canonically in the year of 2012. Which is unintentionally ironic considering that was the year the world was supposed to end due to the Mayans and what this story will be about.

As per the summary, this is a massive story, calling on all characters across the Riordan-verse, and due to other forces, characters across all of fiction in due time. I didn't put this under the "X-Overs" section because I'm fairly certain it never would have been found, and just calling it a crossover really doesn't cut it. You'll see why, assuming you stick around long enough.

An advance warning for those that don't know me: my stories are rated M not just for language, excessive violence, dirty jokes, and the odd sex scene, but also for sensitive material. Fanfiction has been my platform to discuss and share on the hot topics of our day, such as religion, politics, government, conspiracies, etc.

I do not encourage the idea of "don't like, don't read," because just avoiding things that make you uncomfortable is not an appropriate way to handle life. If you don't like what you're reading, share. I enjoy debates and discussions, and readily engage with questions and opinions with those who Review…with a name.

Replying to Guests in AN's gets annoying and eats up words.

So, if you don't mind a Percy Jackson story that's big on fights, violence, and higher topics of conversation, mostly (ironically) from an adult lens as opposed to the middle schooler-ish one that this whole series is based on, then read on…

Disclaimer: Percy Jackson and the Olympians is owned by Rick Riordan, and all other characters belong to their respective owners.

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Annabeth was in the shower, washing her hair, getting ready for this momentous June day late in the month. Her birthday was almost three weeks off, but it was being celebrated today since this was the day that everyone's schedules were able to line up. Everyone everyone, as in Frank and Hazel were taking the day off from the legion, Leo and Calypso were flying in from Indianapolis, Will, Nico, and Rachel were coming from Camp Half-Blood via the shadows, Thalia and Reyna had been given leave from the Hunt to enjoy time with their friends, Piper was bringing her girlfriend Shel from the reservation in Tahlequah, and Magnus was bringing Alex from Valhalla.

Other invitations had been extended, of course. Malcolm was too busy with college, taking summer classes, and the same went for Clarisse and Chris, and disturbingly enough, the Stolls. Despite being notorious pranksters during their camp days, they had matured into respectable young men upon entering college. Lavinia had also been given an invitation, but she already had plans for the day with her dryad girlfriend, Poison Oak, which had been made a month ago in advance. Carter and Sadie couldn't make it, both of them undergoing specific training in their Egyptian powers. Even Grover wasn't able to come to what amounted to Annabeth's birthday party, too busy with the Wild.

Percy was happy that so many were coming, but he also felt a bittersweet feeling as well. The feeling of life moving on, people that were once close friends now distant at best. It was hard to believe that today was going to be the first day in almost a year that he'd seen everyone, sans Frank and Hazel, but even then, he only saw those two sparingly, his college life keeping a far distance away from the operations of the legion.

It was a bit strange to Percy, how life moved. He had fought, bled, and almost died with all of these guys. He'd shared his secrets with them, and they theirs with him. He knew what their screams of pain sounded like, and he knew the look on their face when they wanted nothing more than to kill a specific being. All of them had been through war together, had burned the bodies of teenagers and kids younger than twelve together, and had scraped the remains of others into a big enough pile to carry to the flames.

Did Percy expect them to all be living together forever in some big mansion, going to school together, getting jobs at the same place, raising their kids alongside each other in one big, interconnected web of cousins? No, but he expected a bit more regular communication. Granted, he himself hadn't stopped down to flip a coin into a rainbow to call up someone for an Iris Message in a while, but no one had called him either.

It was just weird to Percy, how even friends bonded through war and blood could drift apart.

Knowing that Annabeth would be so many more minutes in the shower washing that beautiful mane of golden princess curls, Percy sat down at his desk on a whim, and pulled out a journal.

As part of their Writing class, they had been instructed to keep a journal of the whole year, writing down a summary of the day, noting the big events, reflecting on things they would different if they had the choice, things like that. Percy looked at the journal, just a spiral notebook with a blue cover, and he opened it in reflection.

The pages covering about the first three weeks of his college career made Percy frown in remembrance.

It would've been nothing short of fantasy to say that he and Annabeth had been welcomed back to New Rome with open arms and kind smiles by everyone there. There were some who did exactly that, but there were far more who didn't. Most smiled in a way that belayed underlying thoughts—Annabeth identified in their eyes hidden feelings, their smile being a mask. Others didn't bother hiding their feelings about their return at all.

"Where the fuck were you!?" a voice thundered in the courtyard.

Percy and Annabeth were having lunch together between classes, other New Romans enjoying the weather and a meal of their own. The vulgar demand, combined with its heat and rage, brought everyone to a stop. The two heroes both froze in place, looking at the approaching demigod.

Stereotypically, it was a son of Mars, tall, broad-shouldered, muscular, and combined with his buzzcut, made him look ready to eat a Green Beret. The look on his face was one of abject, personal fury, the look someone only reserved for the person that had killed their family. The young man marched right up to Percy and Annabeth, and hoisted them to their feet by the front of their shirts.

They were too stunned to retaliate.

"Well?" he demanded, drawing a crowd. "Where were you!? Fucking Leo showed up, and so did Apollo and his sidekick, and Jason and Piper took a shot at the fleet, but where were you two!? Where were you when Jason was fighting Commodus, when Tarquin was kidnapping our friends and turning them into monsters!? Why weren't you here to help us!?"

Percy could barely stammer a response, and while Annabeth faired a bit better, she had no good answer to offer.

"What's going on here!?" a new voice demanded.

Purple capes billowing around them, Frank and Hazel marched into the courtyard, a scared child, Julia, orphaned by Tarquin's attack and adopted by Terminus, following behind them and six armored legionaries. She'd been in the courtyard when the son of Mars blew up and had gone running for the praetors.

"What are you doing, Lance?" Frank asked, voice hard as steel.

Lance dropped Annabeth and Percy. "I'm asking the questions that everyone here has been asking, sir. I want to know what was so fucking important that the great heroes of Olympus couldn't be bothered to come and fight with us."

"They did, Lance," Hazel said. She opened her mouth to continue, but was cut off by the young man.

"Bullshit and you know it. We all know about how Apollo first came to Percy for help and was basically denied, and we all know that Percy was there at the Battle of Camp Half-Blood, fighting Nero's robot, and after that," Lance shrugged and spread his hands, "I guess that was enough for them. So what the fuck? What the fuck were you two doing!?"

He turned around to bellow in their faces.

"Stand down, Lance!" Frank roared.

Lance roared right back, a look on his face like a desperate animal. "I will not! Ever since they came back, it's been the question of everyone here. Now I'm asking, and we will have answers!"

Based on the look and feel of the gathered crowd, they were all totally on board with this. The praetors read the faces and knew that this could get really, really messy, really, really, really fast.

Percy's heart was thumping hard in his chest, because the answers to those questions made him feel guiltier than Judas. The worst part was that this whole thing had weighed on him since he'd learned about. Jason dead, New Rome attacked, so many more dead, others so much worse—all of this misery, pain, and suffering, and what were he and Annabeth doing?

They were graduating high school.

"You were what?"

Percy heard Lance breathe in abject disbelief, and that's when he realized he'd unintentionally muttered that thought aloud.

"Tell me that's a joke," Lance said, almost sounding like he was begging and pleading. "Please, tell me that's a joke…tell me…tell me you didn't let us die…for a fucking diploma!"

Lance demonstrated the power of an enraged son of Mars by bringing his foot down on the concrete, buckling the material, sending up a small cloud of dust.

Percy winced. That was what they had been doing—but how did he explain that he never wanted to be a half-blood to this distraught and angry demigod? How did you get someone to understand that you never wanted to be a hero with superpowers that had to go through a lifetime of pain and misery? Yeah, Percy had turned down Apollo when he literally came knocking, because he was knee-deep in a life that didn't involve gods and monsters, and was enjoying the heck out of being with his mom, stepdad, baby sister, and girlfriend.

But how did you say that without looking like a weak coward in the eyes of the Romans?

As Percy looked around, hoping, he supposed, to see a supporting face, he was severely disappointed, because all he saw were similar looks to those Lance's. Disbelief, betrayal, anger—they'd been fighting the forces of the Triumvirate, burying their dead, while he and Annabeth and Grover had been on a road trip across the country, seeing some sights and doing some things.

Percy wanted to get angry, in that next moment. He wanted to get defensive, he wanted to get to his feet and yell in Lance's face that he'd done his part, fighting in the Titan and Giant War, and that he'd earned his "retirement," as it were, that he'd earned a life for himself outside of wars and quests—and he had.

Hadn't he?

Lance didn't think so. "I don't know what the fuck you're thinking, boy, pretending you're some normal guy—you're not! None of us are normal! We've got superpowers, magic, and a whole bunch of dead family that might not be dead if someone realized that!"

"Well, I'm sorry!" Percy finally snapped back. "You know, I'm sorry that after living a life of constant mortal peril, getting kicked out of every school I've ever been in, worrying my mom sick, watching my friends get cut to pieces or eaten, that I wanted a life away from all that!"

"COWARD!" Lance thundered so loud that some actually held their ears. "You don't have a choice for that life, praetor! None of us do! We were all born demigods, and so we're required to live as demigods, and die as demigods! Our life is fighting for survival alongside our brothers and sisters—our family! And you abandoned us!"

"Lance!"

"Go fuck yourself, Frank!" Lance heaved, reaching hysterical levels. "You know I'm right—everyone here knows I'm right—that all the blood that got spilled during the battle—some of it could've been saved if these two were here."

"Well, they weren't," Frank snapped at his half-brother. "The emperors had sabotaged all communication and-"

"And that's a red flag to suit the fuck up and check in on everyone in person!" Lance interrupted. "They had Nico to shadow travel everywhere—and you!" he pointed at Hazel, "also could've started hopping between the camps."

Hazel. "I'm…not that good at shadow travel. That's really Nico's thing…"

Lance blew a jet of air from his nose. "Whatever. The fact remains that they ignored the signs, ignored the call, and because of that, our casualties are what they are!"

"Were," Frank stressed. "It's three months now, Lance."

"That's no excuse! They-"

"Can do nothing about it now," Annabeth cut in coldly. She got back to her feet. "I'm sorry, okay? I really, really am. Jason was my friend too, remember? Or did you forget that we spent six months almost dying together during the Giant War? Or are you really so dense as to not think that no one here would love a break from the demigod life? Every demigod that fought in the Titan War, the Giant War, or the Imperial War has earned a lifelong break, a chance at a better life. Percy and I saw our chance, and we took it. We made our choice."

"And your choice cost hundreds of people," Lance snarled.

Annabeth just stared him down. She had no counterargument to that, because it was the truth. They had chosen to take a stab at a life beyond the terrors of being a hero; it was just they did it at the worst time possible.

Of course, the real counterargument could not be given, not here, not with all these people around. The counterargument was that Percy and Annabeth were free to choose how to live their life, and they weren't obligated to fight in wars or battles across the continent—they didn't have to be heroes. However, if they spoke that sentiment before this crowd, that they weren't required to have come to the rescue and save the day, then there might very well have been a riot, because as much as Percy and Annabeth hated it, the people of New Rome, especially the younger demigods, revered them as these awesome superheroes that saved the day.

"You've made your point," Annabeth said neutrally. "Percy and I are horrible people for trying to live our own life and take a stab at a little bit of happiness after a lifetime of suffering—"

"We've all suffered," Lance growled. "Some more than others, some less than others. The difference between you and those that suffered more than you, is that they didn't give up. Let it be known!" he raised his voice so that it carried across the courtyard and probably into the college, "that Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase are cowards who shirked their duties and responsibilities as half-bloods and as heroes, and because of this cowardice, every drop of Roman blood spilled during the Battle of San Francisco Bay IS ON THEIR HEADS!"

Percy stared silently at the journal. The next dated entry was several days later because after Lance's condemnation, he was thrown into a deep depression. Rational or not, logical or not, fair or not, right or not, Lance's words deeply troubled Percy due to his fatal flaw of loyalty. It was emotional response, and therefore devoid of logical argument.

The Romans had raised Percy up on their shields following Polybotes' assault during the Giant War, putting their faith, trust, and confidence in him as a powerful leader, and he had never been officially removed from office, just technically following Gaea's treachery and Frank's promotion in the House of Hades. Because of that, in a way, Percy had still felt responsible for all the Roman deaths, the people he was supposed to be loyal to as their praetor, and he certainly felt guilty for Jason.

Who had died on a boat.

That was filling with seawater.

While Percy was on the road, having a great time with Annabeth and Grover.

After Lance, Percy's guilt-ridden depression went so deep that Thalia and Reyna were allowed to visit him, Nico and Will shadow travelled Sally all the way from Manhattan, Leo flew in, Clarisse sent a threatening letter telling him to get his ass in gear before she came to kick it (which was very tender for Clarisse), and even Apollo himself secretly came down from Olympus to help Percy out.

Basically, the Romans knew the risks and accepted death with honor, and they were all happily enjoying their eternity in Elysium with their brothers and sisters and held nothing against Percy, who they all encouraged to find a happy life for himself and Annabeth. That was the irony to Lance's argument: yeah, so many Romans had died, but all those that did were eternally rewarded with paradise.

It was just a matter of time before they all got to see each other again.

As for Lance, he had been court-martialed, found guilty of conduct unbecoming of a soldier, innocent of disturbing the peace, and sentenced to banishment, which ended in tragedy.

Lance was a son of Mars, and therefore had many brothers and sisters, but also biologically related ones through his mother. Mars fancied her so much that he had three other children with her, Lance being the secondborn. His big brother died in the Titan War during the assault on Mt. Othrys, and his little brother died during the Battle of San Francisco Bay, having made it through the Giant War, which was where his anger chiefly stemmed from. Upon his banishment, Lance had gone back home to his mother and little sister, only to find policemen everywhere.

A robbery gone wrong resulted in the deaths of Lance's mother and sister.

Of course, none of this became known to the New Roman public until Lance's body was found by mortals a few days later washed ashore in the bay. Depressed, he'd flung himself from the Golden Gate Bridge.

Nico affirmed he'd been granted Elysium, that his heroics during the three wars outweighed his actions against Percy, and the Roman dishonor of suicide.

Life had been tough for Percy and Annabeth for the next month and change, everyone affected by Lance's tirade, his words ringing certain bells within everyone. But like everything, it blew over and became just a bad memory. As Percy flipped through the pages of his journal, that was clear.

School had been awesome. College was so much unlike high school, especially college in New Rome, where are the teachers were demigods who knew the struggles of ADHD and dyslexia, and knew how to keep the class entertained, and how to help struggling students. College in Berkeley wasn't as great, with the mortal teachers, but it was still a longshot better than Goode and certainly Alt High.

While Annabeth had certainly helped in his studies, for the most part, Percy passed his classes all by himself. With this new, helpful environment, full of peers that didn't think him a freak, and teachers that were more than willing to engage him and help him learn instead of treating him like some nuisance, Percy's grades had flourished alongside his confidence and self-esteem. Though he wasn't hitting straight A's in the lower 100's like Annabeth, he did pull only one B, an 87 in Math, the rest were all low A's.

Recalling Sally and Paul's earth-shattering cheer through the IM brought a proud smile to Percy's face, and it got bigger when he recalled his baby sister Estelle clapping and happily screaming because Mommy and Daddy were doing it.

Yep, all in all, it had been a good year.

Percy heard the shower cut off, indicating Annabeth was done washing her hair. It would be a few more minutes, drying off, clothes, makeup, and so Percy had a bit more time left.

He flipped through the last written pages of his journal, smiling in fondness at the memories, and when he reached the last page with text on it, his blood froze in his veins. Across this last page on the other side of the spiral were two words that he had certainly not written there the last time he'd logged an entry.

It was a simple question of two words, but ominous, and the possibilities of how those words got there had Percy's pulse quickening. A god? A spirit? A monster? Some other divinity? Maybe he just forgot he'd written them?

"What next?"

Annabeth's voice next to his year had Percy literally jumping out of his seat and adopting a battle stance almost six feet away, Riptide in its sword form. Annabeth stared at him, the corners of her mouth twitching upward.

"I didn't know you could be that deep in thought, Seaweed Brain."

Percy blushed. "Y-Yeah, just wondering…you know…what next?"

"Well, I think what happens next is that you leave the room so I can drop this towel and get dressed."

"Awe, you mean I can't watch?" Percy whined.

Annabeth smirked. "Not this time, but if you behave today, I might just let you help me take these clothes off tonight."

Percy's face lit up.

Best not to tell her about those two words or how they got there. This was supposed to be a happy day, after all.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Everyone met up at a bus stop outside of New Rome, arriving through their own various means. Hugs, handshakes, and familial kisses on the cheeks were exchanged between everyone, as well as fist and chest bumps. Everyone finally got to meet Shel in person.

Like Piper, she was Cherokee, athletically built, with dark hair cut in a way that made Thalia approve, with a rhinestone stud in her nose that caught the light.

"Good to finally meet all of you," Shel said. "Piper wouldn't shut up the whole drive over here."

Piper flushed as everyone laughed and giggled at her expense.

Leo put a hand to his chin in thought. "Hm…" he pointed at Piper and Shel, then at Will and Nico, then at Magnus and Alex. "L—G—B—T! Finally, I have them all," he said mysteriously.

Calypso smacked the back of his head.

"There's a few more letters after that, but yeah," Alex laughed.

Alex was a boy right now, wearing pink khaki pants and a lime-green polo tucked in. That was how Leo listed Magnus as the "B," since Magnus was with Alex whichever gender he chose to be.

The bus pulled up and the demigods piled in, all dressed in business-casual clothing because of the importance of the day and the venues on the itinerary Annabeth had made. They were celebrating her 19th birthday, and as such, they were first heading to the Berkeley Art Museum.

Because Annabeth.

When they were all on the bus, the vehicle became the home of the most diverse group of characters…ever, perhaps. You had Frank and Hazel, a mixed-race couple of Canadian/Asian and French/American descent, Leo and Calypso, another mixed-race couple of demigod and Titan, Piper and Shel, Cherokee lesbians, Will and Nico, technical pedophilia since Nico was born in the '30s, Magnus and Alex, bisexual necrophilia, Percy and Annabeth, sky-bearers, and then Thalia, Reyna, and Rachel, a couple of immortals and one who was housing an immortal spirit.

Of course, they all had their masks on, as per city ordinances.

Percy put his hand on Annabeth's leg when he saw the look in her eye at some of the masks their friends were wearing.

"Not today, please? We're all together to have a good time and celebrate your birthday, not talk about conspiracies or critique the system, okay?"

Annabeth offered no verbal answer, but she nodded her head.

What Percy was referring to was that Annabeth, on principle, could not take anything the media put out at face value. Everything must be double and triple-checked, sources must be verified, independent research must be conducted, data independently compiled, and conclusions exclusively arrived at. This sentiment didn't just extend to COVID-19, but to everything that happened.

Every mass shooting.

Every bill introduced by Congress.

Every action of the president.

Everything that was reported by the modern media must be scrutinized and extensively examined to determine what was really the truth, as far as Annabeth, daughter of the wise Athena, was concerned. Percy thought that led to a bunch of unnecessary stress since Annabeth seemed angry a lot of the time over this or that thing that happened, and where he hated seeing her upset about anything, he also wanted to hear nothing about the pandemic, shootings, or government.

He wanted to tune all of that bad stuff out and just focus on building a happy life with just him, Annabeth, their future kids, and a decent plot of land with a pond and some horses.

It was hard to forget all of that bad stuff when you attended a public university in Berkeley, California.

Luckily for Percy, everyone else shared his sentiment, as all topics of conversation revolving around the hot topics were consciously avoided. No one brought up COVID, Leo and Calypso avoided talk about the mass shooting in Indianapolis just last week that took the lives of three people before concealed carriers put the shooter down, Will, Nico, and Rachel didn't talk about the gang-coordinated hit that killed seven police officers in Manhattan, and Piper and Shel didn't talk about the racist Cherokee man that went on a serial killing rampage that claimed eight white people for trespassing on Cherokee ancestral land.

And certainly no one talked about the most recent bill going through Congress, the proposal of the 28th Amendment, which was to the 2nd Amendment what the 21st is to the 18th.

Much to Percy's relief, the bus ride to the museum was occupied only with conversation about fun happenings at camp and high school. No monsters attacked, though expectations of that happening were extremely low, because no monster would be stupid enough to try and take on this many powerful demigods. Granted, the flip side to that was that if there was a monster attack, it would be a big one, the monsters combining forces for an all-out assault in the name of dinner.

The art museum was not as busy a place as it used to be for obvious reasons. Banners were hung framing the main entrance, advertising the unveiling of new piece of art, anonymously donated, which was the chief reason Annabeth wanted to come here today. While in-person viewings were limited, you could watch from your computer or smart device at home through set up cameras for a low fee of five dollars!

The group of friends moved from exhibit to exhibit in a pack, knowing that splitting up was the fastest way to get killed. Being a veteran of quests and wars instilled survival ideas that were nearly impossible to break.

Annabeth offered architectural critique on every painting and sculpture, speaking of symmetry and lines. Everyone let her have her moment, not really caring too much for art critique so much as looking at something and thinking it was either really good, or really ugly, aside from Calypso, who had a better eye for the arts, coming from literal Ancient Greece.

There was idle chitchat amongst the group, the boys and girls throwing in some one-liners and some quips every now and then about one thing or the other, but when the announcement came on through the museum's intercom system that they were going to unveil the new art, Annabeth made a beeline for the exhibit, everyone struggling to match her excited pace.

People crowded into the exhibit hall by the dozen, everyone in the museum coming to see the art. As it continued getting more and more packed, Leo leaned over to Percy, lowered his black cloth mask that had "Team Leo" written on it orange sequins and said with a smirk, "As you can see, your health is our top priority, which is why we have no problem cramming all of you into this one room."

"Social distancing is a big concern of ours," Frank added.

"I love social distancing," Nico grumbled.

Will pecked his cheek. "Be nice, Neeks."

Nico's cheeks turned red.

"All of you shhh," Annabeth insisted.

A woman spokesperson was stepping up to the podium blocked off by velvet ropes. A microphone was before her, connected to the speakers around the room in the corners of the ceiling and walls. Behind her was a big red curtain, hiding the art from view. The idea was to raise the curtain in a grand show of spectacle.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," the woman smiled brightly, speaking clearly.

"What if we're neither," Alex muttered under his breath, making Magnus elbow him, making him smirk.

"We're so pleased to see so many of you here today to witness the unveiling of this new masterpiece, anonymously donated. And a big thank you to all those watching from home! Your support and generosity keeps us able to have our doors open to everyone, everywhere! Now, without further ado, we of the Berkeley Museum of Art are proud to unveil…The Seven Masters!"

The curtain was raised to thunderous applause and excited cheering and whistling. Phones went off left and right, taking videos and pictures, and the reporters' cameras were going off faster than some guns, bathing the painting in light.

It was a very beautiful in an ominous and foreboding way. The painting was arranged on a half-circle canvas, with six lines splitting the painting into seven distinct sections, each with its own unique art.

The bottom left depicted a hazy figure standing under a noose that dangled from a rusty truss bridge. It was hard to tell if it was a child or an adult, a male or a female, but they were wearing a pair of shorts that looked like they could be longer, a pair of combat boots, and their arms were splayed to the sides, black shapes in the hands that were most likely guns. A ray of sun was painted across the section to obscure the upper body.

The bottom right of the painting saw images of the past all fading into one another from left to right, starting with Masyaf Castle in Syria, Castel St. Angelo in Rome, the mainmast of an eighteenth-century galleon, Notre Dame Cathedral in France, Big Ben in England, and finally a Zeppelin blimp from WWI faded seamlessly in the silhouette of the side of a person's face, showing nose, cheek, and chin, everything else covered by a beaked hood.

The middle left was comprised of black and red paint, a tan arm sitting in the middle, severed, blood oozing from the stump of shoulder. In the hand was a silvery scalpel, the blade dripping crimson. Along the forearm were twelve distinct red slashes.

The middle right seemed to be a derivative of Queen's cover art for their Bohemian Rhapsody album, with three obscure faces tilted up, a light source below throwing a shadow over their features. There were green pinpricks of light where the figures' eyes would be, green veins spreading from their eyes. Behind them was a swirling mass of green and black, like tentacles.

The last three sections were the scariest.

The top left of the painting showed an army of shadowy monsters, unseen light hitting them in a way that showed elongated skulls, claws, tails, and dripping maws with what looked like daggers inside their mouths. Seemingly crouched on a hill above the horde was a dark figure, leaning on their right hand, their left hand held out, holding a spear with two tips, and bladed prongs near the hand. The figure had a tail like the creatures, arranged in an "S" behind them.

The top right showed a mighty conqueror in a pose of victory with a burning city behind him. Clad in golden shin guards, a white kilt with a golden belt, a large black cape with a purple interior spread behind him, and a golden gorget, the figure's face was thrown into the shadow created by his huge claymore sword, held aloft in his left arm, his right clenched into a powerful fist. Though his face was in shadow, his eyes glowed, the left eye glowing silver, the right eye glowing the same sea green as Percy's.

Finally, the middle image, the crown of the painting. It was the most close up of them all, a face taking up almost the whole section. Seemingly wearing a black garment, the young man had healthy skin, lips pulled into a tight line, glowing red eyes against white sclera, a third eye on his forehead, vertically oriented instead of horizontal, a solid oval of deep emerald. Small horns jutted from the forehead at the hairline, and black hair stood straight up in a collection of spikes, silhouetted against a black sky by orange-ish red lines, like fire. Across the midnight sky, vermillion clouds drifted about.

The expression of the young man was one of sadness and anger.

While the crowd ooh'd and awe'd, the demigods of Greece and Rome were totally stricken with terror, leaving Magnus and Alex totally confused.

"No," Percy whispered quietly, "no, no, no…"

Piper had her hand over her mouth in shock, Shel worriedly gripping her shoulders.

Nico was pale as milk, Will's pallor not much fairer.

Hazel had tears brimming in her eyes, and Frank's mouth hung open, his eyes wide.

Leo was leaning on Calypso for support, support she was barely able to provide as scared as she was.

Reyna and Thalia were likewise leaning on each other, their legs wobbling as trauma wriggled through their memories.

"Annabeth," Magnus said urgently. "What's going on? What's wrong?"

Annabeth turned to face him, and she looked so haunted, her face so taught and ghoulish in terror that the son of Frey jerked back, thinking he was facing a draugr.

"We need to leave," Rachel breathed. "We need to leave right now."

There was no further encouragement needed past Rachel's near-sprint for the closest exit, the demigods following closely behind, their speed prompting several people to yell at them so slow down. They didn't, not even when they were outside in the sun, catching Apollo's attention with their panicked pace.

"Hey, kids! What's the rush?"

Percy broke stride to look at the homeless man with the scraggly blonde beard and bright blue eyes.

"It's starting," Percy rasped. "The Third Great Prophecy is starting!"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Are y'all good enough to explain what just happened?" Alex asked.

They were seated at a restaurant built into the bottom of a skyscraper, as was typical of huge metropolitan areas.

Percy, tapping his foot, sweating, looked at Alex. "The First Great Prophecy said that a half-blood child of the eldest gods would reach sixteen against all odds, and see the world in endless sleep, a cursed blade his soul shall reap, and a single choice would end his days, Olympus to preserve or raze. That was the Second Titan War, when Kronos rose again and almost took over the world and destroyed the Olympians. My sixteenth birthday."

"…and the second?" Alex hazarded.

"The Second Giant War," Annabeth said. "Seven half-bloods would answer the call, the world to fall to either storm or fire, foes bearing arms to the Doors of Death, and an oath to keep with a final breath."

"And the Third Great Prophecy?" Magnus tentatively asked.

Rachel shifted. "I'm the Oracle of Delphi, the most powerful oracle of prophecy under Apollo. Last year, after the Triumvirate was defeated, and you guys stopped Loki from starting Ragnarök, the Oracle possessed me, and I spoke the Third Great Prophecy:

The fall of the sun; the final verse

Though the ancient lord will coerce

The Seven Masters to answer the call

And begin the war to end all

Ancient enemies will unite

The young heroes unable to fight

Their suffering is without measure

With it, they guard their greatest treasure

Battles hosted across the stars

Leaving behind all of their scars

The Dragon forcibly woke

All of creation to choke

A new world the unknown enemy will shape

If the Abyss cannot escape."

Like you were probably doing, Magnus and Alex were trying to make heads and tails of the lines, while the rest of the demigods had their PTSD written on their faces.

Of course, they weren't at all looking forward to the Third Great Prophecy and its implications! The war to end all? Ancient enemies uniting? Young heroes unable to fight? A space battle of some kind? A Dragon that threatened creation? A unknown enemy that was going to reshape the world if the "Abyss," which was supposed to be a place, couldn't escape?

Even Annabeth, who was thigh-deep in modern conspiracies revolving around the government, guns, and the pandemic, wanted nothing to do with this prophecy, considering the last two she almost ended up dead, and she had to burn the bodies of her siblings, some of them so torn up they were identified by default.

That went for everyone, the veterans of one or both wars. They didn't want to see the mangled bodies of their friends, brothers, or sisters. They didn't want to have their lives all over the line while the gods sat comfortably up on their thrones. They didn't want any of the new campers, little kids as young as five and old as twelve, all with their own hard stories, to face a war of monsters, to face such gruesome death.

Magnus and Alex completely understood. Though they were fated for bloody death on a daily basis in Hotel Valhalla, and eventually Ragnarök, on the battlefield of Vigridr, they were in no hurry to hasten the inevitable. Their own quests against Loki and preventing a premature Ragnarök had been full of their own dangers and hardships, and they had their own scars to show.

Perhaps, however, what scared everyone the most right now was that the Seven Masters had been revealed, and none of them looked friendly.

"Hey, guys."

The demigods were all so deep in memory of the wars and the dead that the voice of the waiter made them all jump in place.

"Woah, woah, sorry!" the waiter apologized.

They all laughed it off (nervously), and told the young man it was no fault on his part; they should've all been paying better attention. The waiter was dressed in the refined uniform of the restaurant, a moderately expensive and classy place, and the majority of his face was covered up by his black cloth mask, but his eyes were visible. There was a glassy sheen over them, making them like mirrors, every half-blood seeing their reflection when he looked at them to take their order.

"Alrighty, I'll put this in right away, and it should be out in twelve minutes or so."

The waiter smiled behind his mask and left for the kitchen.

"He has a mole on the back of his head," Shel noted, being able to see said mole due to the waiter's buzzcut.

It was just a random observation, truly, but it was what everyone needed to pull themselves out of their reveries of prophecies and the pain that came with them.

"So…" Leo trailed off. "I think we shared all of our best stories on the bus. Anyone got anything fun to talk about?"

"Why is the mandate simply for a facial covering instead of the N-95 or better, the only mask rated as being tight enough to keep out the viral particles?" Annabeth asked lucidly, making Percy internally groan.

He did not want to hear about this. At all.

He had so much distaste for these conversations that he almost interjected and suggested that they start making plans for the prophecy, because he knew Annabeth liked making plans.

"I heard that the cloth masks are like chain-link fences and the virus is like a bunch of mosquitoes," Rachel offered.

"I heard that the virus rides on water droplets," Piper said, "and the mask blocks the water droplets, which blocks the virus."

"That was debunked," Leo shook his head.

"Oh."

"Yeah, the virus just travels through the air, which goes back to the fence thing."

"Forget the masks. What about the deathrate?" Frank said. "All the media reports on is how many people died and how many cases there are, not how many people recover."

"COVID's mortality rate isn't even five-percent," Annabeth said. "Almost everyone that dies of COVID is because they have some underlying condition already, like lung cancer, pneumonia, regular flu, obesity, etc. There have been people that died in car accidents, and an autopsy was done that said they had COVID, and so those people are part of the official body count."

"I heard the hospitals are getting 14,000 for every COVID death, leading to false numbers," Calypso added.

"Yeah, and nevermind the amount of people that die every day in car accidents, and of smoking-related lung cancer," Nico said.

Rachel shook her head. "The government shut down the economy, put millions of people out of work, all just to get rid of Trump."

At the mention of the former president, the whole atmosphere of the table changed. Instead of everyone dogging on the pandemic, now everyone became polarized about the election.

"Hey, just saying, Trump was an arrogant asshole, but he was an arrogant asshole that did his job and didn't bow to the media or the corporations," Rachel said.

"It's the part where he was an arrogant asshole in the first place that's the problem," Hazel sniffed. "The President of the United States has no place being that rude or vulgar."

"I agree," Rachel said, "but like I was saying, he did his job as the president, boosting the economy, getting people off welfare-"

"You mean screwing people out of welfare?" Leo interrupted. "The reforms he made almost got people killed of starvation because what little welfare they were getting, they didn't get anymore."

Thalia and Reyna were silent as they watched this go back and forth like a tennis match. They were mostly amused, because when you're a Hunter of Artemis, immortal and beyond mortal society, modern politics became just a joke. The same went for Magnus and Alex, whose focus wasn't a virus they were immune too, being dead already, and their only interest in politics extended solely to how politicians treated LGBT kids.

"Not to mention that stupid wall," Calypso said, supporting her boyfriend.

"Walls are defensive measures meant to keep invaders out," Annabeth said.

"Migrant families aren't invaders!" Leo insisted.

"Depends on the family. If they're coming over the border to start peddling weed and cocaine, join a local cartel, and kill people, then they need to be kept out of the country at the very least, arrested and jailed at the most."

"And what about those that are just trying to make a better life for themselves and their families? Those border facilities are as bad as some prisons!"

Percy's feet were tapping like Thumper's underneath the table. This was not what he wanted to talk about. This was supposed to be a good day, a great day, a day that friends gathered in the name of their friendship, talked, caught up, swapped stories, made new memories together, not get into these messy conversations and start yelling at each other. Percy could see it on everyone's faces as Annabeth and Leo went back and forth about illegal immigrants, their own opinions on the subject driving them to choose sides.

When Percy saw their waiter approaching out of the corner of his eye, a humongous tray of food in his hand, he released a sigh of relief.

"Lunch is served, my friends!"

Glowers were exchanged, making it clear this conversation had cut deep and it was not over, but a ceasefire was agreed upon in the name of food.

The ceasefire ended as soon as the waiter walked off, because outside, angry chanting and marching almost shook the glass of the windows. The demigods and patrons watched in mute shock as a mob of black people took the streets, waving signs and holding banners.

Justice for Jack was the theme.

"What is this?" Will asked.

Annabeth pinched her nose in exasperation.

"Three days ago, this black guy called the police for a noise complaint coming from next door, so the police get there, two white guys, they knock, and then they get shot from the inside. One officer gets shot, and he's still in the hospital by the way, and the other officer manages to dive away and shoot three times through the wall. The shooting stops, the officer calls for backup and an ambulance, and when everyone gets there and goes inside, they find Jack Standish, the owner of the house, dead, along with his girlfriend, who he was beating.

"Those people outside are members of Black Lives Matter, who are insisting that A) the gun Standish used was planted, the gun in question being an Uzi Carbine—illegal in California, B) it was the police that beat his girlfriend, using intimidation to get her to say Standish was beating her, C) that there was no noise complaint call, and D) this was a racist act of police brutality. The basis for all these claims is that Standish has no official criminal record…official as in his official time as a criminal was when he was a minor, so when he turned 18 his record was sealed by the state, then unsealed following his death."

Hazel let out a disgusted snort. "These guys have no idea what real racism looks like."

As a black girl from the '40s, no one argued with her.

Lunch was reserved and tense, since everyone's eyes kept darting to the outside, the violent reputation of the BLM movement keeping everyone on the ready line to run for their lives.

The waiter came back. "How is everything? Tasting good?"

There was a chorus of yeah, absolutely, yessir, fantastic etc.

The waiter hummed and turned a critical eye to the march outside. "Fascinating, isn't it? The reasons mankind will use to justify anything they do."

"Uh…yeah?" Percy said, suddenly feeling uncomfortable, along with everyone else.

"I'm curious: if you happen to walk past an alley, and see a man being beaten to death by someone else, and you just walk on, and that man dies, is his death your fault? Assuming, of course, you had the physical ability to save him—you know, like you aren't disabled or something. In other words, if you had the power to save a life, and you abstained from using that power, is that death your fault?"

And just like that, lunch got really uncomfortable.

Everyone looked at Percy, seeing how that question affected him, dredging up memories of Lance, and Annabeth took action at seeing her boyfriend's distress.

She stood up, rising to her full incredible height of six-foot-even, bolstered by her heels, towering over the waiter who was standing only at midway between five and six feet. Her grey eyes were severe and her presence menacing as she put out the same energy she did when in combat.

"Go get your manager. I would like to have a word with him."

Air rushed out of the waiter's nose as his lips quirked into a grin. "You have far more pressing concerns, I'm afraid. Look."

Annabeth risked a quick glance behind her to the window, and what she saw made her scream.

"GET DOWN!"

Four masked men of the mob were standing atop a car and had AKs aimed down the street at the police barricade.

They opened fire.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They should've known it was a mistake to try and sleep that night, but they were all exhausted after escaping the warzone that Berkeley became when riot police fired back at extremists and bullets went everywhere to create a red tidal wave. Watching all the news coverage was another big mistake, as the demigods got to witness firsthand how the media twisted things around in the name of money and ratings.

Video clips showed police firing first, other clips showed there to be no gunfire, just police marching through a tear-gassed crowd, beating and tasing people, different clips showed the extremists as heroes, trying to save their fellow blacks from being shot, yet all of this footage was coming to the screen via smartphone shaky cam, and was all blurry and indistinct, so there was no real way to tell what exactly was happening, and people were left to go on the words of the newsperson.

The scariest part was that not a single story was told the way the demigods had witnessed it firsthand, that the four gunmen climbed atop a car and used illegal weapons to open fire on policemen in the middle of a march.

In the wake of another episode of injustice, another one in which the gods continued to screw mortals and each other instead of doing something about the state of the world, sleep was viewed as the only way to escape. As already stated, that was a mistake.

A beautiful city sat in the horizon's light, gleaming, clean, fair, equitable. It was a utopian society of clean energy, clean products that didn't become litter or a mountain of garbage in a landfill. Everyone had plenty through the power of sharing and compassion, and kids grew up without knowing what it was like to be picked on, bullied, mistreated, abused, or wronged in almost anyway. The sidewalk still skinned knees when you fell off the bicycle.

People of different walks of life got along fine, like gays and straights, religious and nonreligious, white and brown, yellow and black. There were no conflicts in the churches, the mosques, the synagogues, the workplaces or the schools. There were no dirty and cheating hobos, no rapists or murderers, no conmen, no whores, no pimps, no drugs.

It was a perfect place.

The large pool outside Utopia reflected its other side.

Gehenna was everything that Utopia was not. Here, people were liars and cheats. They were evil, full of lust and greed. There was conflict, the different people inflicting harm on others because of these differences, whether that difference was a belief in a different god, or for possessing a different haircut. There was corporate evil, choking the life out of anyone who tried to start their own business, evil in the streets in the forms of mobs and gangs, evil in the home, rife with infidelity, alcohol, and belts.

Factories belched pollution into the skies and rivers, contaminating the life-giving rain and fertile ground, making the healthiest sources of food those that came from said factories. In the schools, the children were taught how to hate, how to inflict pain and instill fear, which carried to younger siblings. At work, everything was a competition for the sake of status, image, wealth, and power.

There were only two kinds of people in Gehenna: those who were wicked and unrighteous, and those who were on their way to becoming such.

Those who were on their way looked up at Utopia, and wanted to go there, to escape their pain and suffering. And so these young ones, through blood and tears, entered Utopia. When they did, Utopia ceased to be, and became Gehenna, because the people of Utopia rejected the children of Gehenna, and in doing so, became like the people of Gehenna. The children, unwilling to ever go back, fought to stay, and in their fighting, more came from out of Gehenna.

It was not long before flags were made, flags of all colors of the World that represented all factions and facets of the people of the World. And in the Field outside of Gehenna, where the pool had dried up and only dirt remained, the flags marched, their bearers marching behind them against the bearers and marchers of other flags.

As these armies approached, untied only through mutual hatred of something else, Seven Riders came thundering over the hill.

Mounted on horses white as snow with red eyes and black hooves, fire flying from their nostrils, the Riders were clad in black cloaks, their forms hidden, but each of their left arms were held out, a weapon in each. The far left Rider held a pistol in their hand, the far right holding a glowing sword, the pommel of which was shaped like an eagle's head, the middle left held a gleaming scalpel, the middle right held a black whip laden with pulsing, green veins, the left Rider held a double-ended spear with bladed prongs sprouting from either side of the center grip, the right Rider held a huge claymore sword, and the center Rider held a sword that was thin and polished as a mirror.

The Riders thundered down the hill and plowed into the armies of hate.

The dream shifted, showing the Riders on their horses, now at a walking pace. Behind them lay a carnal pit of gore, every soldier in the armies of hate destroyed, every flag soaked red and no longer discernable, and behind these bloody death field lay the smoldering skeleton of Utopia and Gehenna.

The Riders had come to do their job, and that was to destroy everything.

When the demigods woke the following morning, they had no time to process and discus their collective dream, because Julia was frantically banging on the door to Percy's and Annabeth's dorm, the resting place for the whole group for the night.

Percy groggily opened the door, revealing the little girl, panicked, pale, and shaking.

"Turn on the news!"

Everyone gathered around the couch as Percy turned on the TV and set it to the news. When he did that, the remote clattered from his hand.

"It is with regret that I inform this great nation that President Biden passed away in his sleep last night, his good heart unable to handle the evil that has gripped us all. And so, it has fallen to me to take up the mantle and become leader. It has fallen to me to take up arms against the true enemies of the world, this twisted cult that considers themselves to be the offspring of the false gods of the ancient worlds that takes innocent children like Percy Jackson and turns them into expert domestic terrorists. While my heart is heavy for what will be done, I assure you, my resolve has never been stronger! These demigods will be hunted down and defeated! In order to ensure your security and continued stability, the United Nations have agreed to be reorganized into the first, global, EMPIRE!...for a safe…and secure…society!"

The camera covering the speech panned out, showing a crowd in the hundreds of thousands occupying the front lawn of the Capitol Building, cheering and whistling with thunderous applause. The camera cut back to the podium, showing Emperor Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus, better known as Caligula, raising his hands to the approval of the masses.

On either side of the emperor were Nero and Commodus.

The Triumvirate had returned.

That's when New Rome was rocked to its foundations in a mighty explosion, tearing the demigods out of their horrified stupor. Together, they ran outside the apartment to bear witness to something scarier than if Typhon was looming over them: the sky darkened by a horde of American attack helicopters, the hills around the city teeming with tanks and assault jeeps.

Left and right, missiles and tank shells and bullets destroyed buildings and tore people limb from limb.

Amidst the orchestra of chaos, Annabeth and Percy heard a particular sound, the same kind they'd heard when Tartarus destroyed the Titans Hyperion and Khios and absorbed them, the kind of sound a rocket made when it was getting closer.

They whipped around just in time to see said rocket no more than a hundred feet away and coming in way too fast for them to move any kind of safe distance from the explosion. It struck the two heroes that they were going to die in the next instant. The Triumvirate had returned and was using the American military to attack New Rome, and most likely Camp Half-Blood, the Waystation, Brooklyn House, and the Chase Mansion, and they were going to die not on the field of battle alongside their friends, but in a surprise attack.

Then there was a blinding light.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

When the spots in their vision cleared, they were nearly rendered deaf by Zeus's bellow.

"What is the meaning of this, Apollo!?"

Percy looked around and discovered that everyone was in the throne room of the Olympian gods. The campers of Jupiter and Half-Blood, the citizens of New Rome, the occupants of the Waystation and Aeithales, the home of Meg and her adopted siblings, the Hunters, and the Amazons, along with older people and kids that looked totally lost and confused. Percy concluded that they had to be demigod kids and assorted parents.

Speaking of parents, relief flooded through Percy when he saw his mom and stepdad and baby sister.

"Mom!"

"Percy!"

"Dad!" Annabeth cried.

The throne room exploded with communication as everyone found family and made groups, the various campers unwittingly forming up, the Hunters and Amazons occupying the fringes, and the rest filing into the back so as not to be seen by the big people in the fancy chairs. What's going on was the most prevalent question.

Zeus slammed his fist on the armrest of his throne. "Silence!"

And silence there was.

The master of the house looked at his son. "What is the meaning of this, Apollo?"

"The emperors are back and were attacking everyone," Apollo said tersely. "We cannot allow our children and their families to be destroyed during this new crisis."

"And so you brought them to our throne room?"

"I would think that the veterans among them have a right to convene with us during this council of war."

"And the mortals?"

"Nothing the Mist can't handle."

Percy marched right into the center of the stage. "Hey, Aunt Hestia."

"Hello, Percy," the hearth goddess said with a shaky smile, tending her flickering flames.

The gods all stared down at Percy. Based Poseidon's haggard look, he could only assume that Atlantis had come under attack. Percy repressed a shudder at the thought of dozens of submarines launching dozens of torpedoes at the underwater kingdom, and quite possibly at Camp Fish-Blood.

"Yeah, what the Hades is going on?" Percy demanded.

He heard a cough off to the side and blanched when he saw his uncle had popped up, sitting at the edge of the U in his black throne.

"S-Sorry, Uncle."

"Hm," Hades hummed unhappily.

"The extent of our knowledge," Athena said tightly, looking pained, "is that the Third Great Prophecy is officially underway, and that the Triumvirate, thought to be destroyed, has returned, and has cemented themselves as the ruling body of the planet, overhauling magic to turn the hearts and minds of nearly all 7.5 billion people into thinking they are benign humanitarian saviors. Their return implies powerful help, alluding to the fifth line of the prophecy, that ancient enemies will unite."

A cannonball of dread settled in Percy's stomach at the conclusions he was arriving at. "If we're at this point, then doesn't that mean the ancient lord is supposed to get us some help?"

"Yes," Athena nodded. "Who the ancient lord is supposed to be, however, is…only speculated."

"Meaning Owl Head doesn't know something for a change," Ares smirked, making his sister glare at him.

"This is hardly the time, brother."

"Agreed," Zeus intoned heavily, leveling a cold stare at his wild child of a son.

Ares fidgeted in place.

"Apollo," Hera said, "you are the god of prophecy with all of your Oracles restored; what do you know?"

"That as soon as Caligula's broadcast started, I felt Python attack Delphi, the Grove panicking, and Trophonius vanished, meaning we have some very serious problems mounting one by one."

"Python has returned?" Zeus asked, just as flabbergasted as literally everyone who knew the story was.

The Olympians weren't stupid enough to believe that Apollo had erred in some way when he managed to cast the serpent down into the Primordial Chaos, down into true death, as such a fall destroyed the essence utterly.

Apollo grimly nodded. He looked cool and controlled enough, but he was about to crack the armrest of his throne he was gripping it so tight. "He's back, Nero with him, and there's no telling who else is too."

The campers felt that in their souls.

Another war on the horizon, and the veterans couldn't say they wanted to go outside and face it, not after the last one, or the last two, or the last three for those that fought the Titans through the Triumvirate.

"Any ideas on who the ancient lord is so we can start organizing?" Percy asked.

"I've got one!"

All attention was instantly on the speaker, and the demigods that were there for Annabeth's birthday felt their hearts stop. It was their waiter, maskless, but no less identifiable, devoid of his waiter's uniform and now in an ensemble that grabbed Nico's attention: black polo, black cargo shorts, black Nike tube socks, and black Nike shoes.

The waiter strolled forward, left hand hanging halfway out of his pocket, a little smile on his face that made his gleaming eyes seem almost manic. During his stroll up to stand next to Percy, he cast a comment over his shoulder.

"I would like to point out that none of you are wearing a mask, or social distancing."

A rippled went through the assembled crowd.

"Who are you, boy?" Zeus rumbled, staring down his nose.

"I am the ancient lord," was the simplistically delivered answer.

Zeus's nostrils flared and his eyes glowed. "This is no time for games. Either speak seriously, or step back before I destroy you."

"Oh, it is a game, to me anyway. I am Chaos, you're great-grandfather."

Zeus stared for all of two seconds before he raised his Master Bolt. You can imagine his surprise when it was yanked clean from his hand, shrank midair, and came to rest in the ancient lord's hand. Everyone went very still when they saw that happen, and Percy very well almost peed his pants knowing that he'd been about to get into it yesterday with Chaos.

The deity sniffed the Celestial Bronze cylinder and recoiled. "Ew, where have you been keeping this thing? Your ass? Here, get this washed."

Chaos tossed it back to Zeus.

That's when the change in the eyes was noticed, at least by Percy and the Olympians, since Chaos's back was to the crowd. Instead of the hazel irises they had been, now the eyes were solid black, twinkling lights that were distant galaxies against the void of space.

Chaos rubbed his hand against his shorts. "Oh, relax, Percy, I was just messing with you yesterday. Lighten up and learn to accept things. Like, seriously, learn to accept things."

Percy decided it was best to take this cryptic message from the Greco-Roman deity to heart.

"Where were we? Ah, yes, I need to coerce the Seven Masters into starting World War Three."

"A-Ah, my lord?" Athena failed to hide her fearful stutter. "Who are the Seven Masters?"

"I highly suggest getting acquainted with the Multiverse Theory," Chaos smiled. "The possibilities are amazing."

He snapped his fingers and everyone braced for anything. Nothing happened.

"Um…" Percy started.

Chaos just smirked.

The temperature in the throne dropped as a cold wind began to whip through. Arcs of lightning began snapping out at random places, and it had nothing to do with Zeus. The lightning picked up, more bolts, bigger, brighter, until there was one big one that had everyone shutting their eyes. The wind stopped and the temperature began to climb back to what it was.

When everyone looked again, there was someone new standing next to Chaos and Percy.

Black pants were tucked into red legwarmers that were stirruped around black, open-toed, high-top boots. A black, military-esque coat clad his upper body, tight but not squeezing across his chest, shoulders, back, and arms. Three coattails hung down to the middle of his calves, framing the sides and back of the legs, revealing a red interior to the coat. On the chest and the middle of the back was a stylized red cloud outline in white. Each finger had a ring on it, each band being silvery grey, a different colored stone with a unique kanji engraved on it on every ring. His skin was a healthy tan, his hair black and pushed backwards, arranged in dozens of needle-like spikes.

When he opened his eyes, he revealed white sclera and glowing vermillion irises, three black commas swirling around the black pupil.

"Shin'en Yūrei," Chaos greeted. "Welcome."

Standing at 5'10, slightly shorter than Percy, Shin'en looked down at Chaos from the corner of his eye.

"You. What do you want now, Chaos?"

"I want you to save the world. Some things happened and you're the best guy for the job."

Shin'en's answer was delivered flatly. "No."

"Oh, don't be like that!"

"I'm busy."

"Doing what?"

"Things that don't involve these idiots."

"Yeah, but this is a really big mess."

"They made it, they can clean it up."

"Well, they really can't, actually. Look at it this way: the sooner you get this done, the sooner you can go back to whatever it was you were doing."

A low growl rose in Shin'en's throat. "Why do I not believe you?"

"It's not that you don't believe me, it's that you feel there's more to this than just kicking some other planeswalker's ass and calling it a day."

Shin'en continued to stare at Chaos.

"It's just some global stuff, easy to deal with, in retrospect."

Shin'en rolled his eyes. "Fine."

He turned and headed for the exit, everyone gasping when they saw his face, now understanding why Percy and the gods were so quiet during the exchange. Shin'en's face was Percy's face. An alternate Percy from the Multiverse.

"No, you can't fly into high orbit and destroy the planet," Chaos said.

Shin'en paused, then took a step.

"No, you can't create two singularities on either hemisphere and tear the planet apart."

Another step.

"You can't trigger a supernova that'll destroy the planet."

A step.

"Nor can you ram the Moon into the Earth."

A step.

"Nor Venus."

A step.

"Nor Mercury."

A step.

"Nor Mars."

A step.

"You also cannot teleport any moon of the gas giants and use them as battering rams either, nor can you condense the Asteroid Belt or the Kuiper Belt into a distinct body, and fling it into the Earth."

Shin'en took another step, making Chaos groan.

"Come on, dude. Yes, the problem I want you to deal with can be solved by simply destroying the planet, but this is something that needs to be handled with a more hands-on, boots-on-the-ground approach."

It clicked it many minds that when Chaos was telling Shin'en no to those things, he wasn't saying them as if Shin'en couldn't do them, he was saying them as restrictions, that Shin'en could not go and do them, which implied that Shin'en was somehow capable of travel through space, and had enough power, or some kind of power, to pull off those listed celestial feats of mass destruction. Which also meant that Shin'en had apparently had no problem with destroying the Earth entirely, killing everyone on it.

Shin'en turned around. "Does it ever occur to you that yanking people across time and space to wipe someone else's ass is wrong from an ethical and moral standpoint?"

"Yes, but being the supreme overlord of all things Percival Johansson means that I don't care because there's nothing anyone can do about it. Besides, you haven't even asked me what it is exactly that I need to you to do."

"I'd imagine it has something to do with your many problem children."

"Bingo."

Shin'en turned back around to go out and do battle with the Primordials, and Chaos timed his comment perfectly with Shin'en's stride.

"Did I mention Nero's part of it?"

When Shin'en foot next collided with the ground, the whole of Olympus shook from the impact. The people in the throne room stumbled about, dust raining from above. The temperature instantly plummeted, Hestia yelping and scrambling to her hearth, the fire going from blazing to embers, and everyone found themselves shivering, their teeth chattering, hugging and clinging to others for warmth.

Shin'en's head slowly turned around to where he could look Chaos full in the eye. His mounting fury was palpable, a couple bolts of lightning arcing from him to strike at random places about the ceiling.

"What?" he said in a whisper that echoed about the deathly cold throne room. Shin'en's eyes travelled to Apollo, making him shiver under the chilly vermillion gaze, and then Meg found herself struggling to breathe when the weight of that gaze settled on her, Shin'en searching her for something. He looked back at Chaos. "At this point, the only way for Nero to live is if you resurrected Python."

"Yep," Chaos smiled.

Shin'en moved, pushing off the ground so hard the marble splintered beneath him, going so fast he seemed to teleport. His hand slammed into Chaos's throat and he hoisted the ancient lord clean over his head, squeezing hard. If Chaos had been anything less than what he was, his neck would've imploded.

"You dare use Nero against me!?"

"Had to find someway to keep you involved," Chaos said casually, seemingly unaffected by the enraged being that was crushing his throat. "Like you'd pass up the opportunity to go after Nero."

Shin'en growled. "Where. Is. He?"

"In order to find him, you're going to have go after Caligula, who is currently the President of the United States. I should warn you though: he's far more powerful than when Apollo fought him. Now he's backed up by the power of 7.5 billion people. You should know all about the power of human belief."

Shin'en flung Chaos into the ground so hard it buckled and rattled the throne room. He planted his boot on the god's chest, driving him further into the new crater. "When this whole thing is over, I will come for you."

"It's just a little bit of emotional manipulation, hardly worth getting this worked up. Speaking of emotions, you might want to reign yours in before you announce your presence prematurely. In games like this, they have to know you're a player. The question is when."

"Bastard."

"I don't have any parents."

With another growl and a shove of his foot, Shin'en got off Chaos and closed his eyes, schooling himself. The temperature rose back up again, and the fires of the hearth reignited. The gravity of the tense air lessened, letting people breathe normally once more. Shin'en let out a frigid exhale and opened his eyes.

Murderous determination radiated from him.

He clasped his hand behind his back and walked forward with all the authority and gait of a great commander, as one with power and prestige, discipline, as one that commanded respect with his mere presence. He walked through the crowd, eyes never leaving the door, all the people, teeming with questions, yet all too terrified to open their mouths, moving out of his way. The huge, heavy doors opened under no visible application of force, and once Shin'en cleared their path, they closed one their own.

Percy raised a shaky finger, mouth hanging open. "He…hah…face…me…uh…whanahuhguhdeh?"

"A very astute assessment," Chaos said, picking himself out of the marble indentation of his body.

Apollo finally found his will again and he shot forward, shrinking to human as he grabbed Chaos in a panic. "You're letting him go after the Triumvirate alone!? We must help him! He'll be killed!"

"Goodness, Apollo, imagine the state of the world today if only you and the other gods I allow to breathe had shown this much concern over people since you came to power," Chaos said in one rushed breath with a flat, mocking tone. The deity laughed at the look on Apollo's face. "Relax, sunshine, I'm messing with you. You've done a good job since being Lester, and I applaud your efforts, but do you really think I'd come here to help you guys out and bring in help that couldn't help? Shin'en will be fine…mostly."

"Who is he?" Percy asked, finding his voice.

"Multiverse theory, kiddo. He's you if things had been different. Shin'en Yūrei of universe DI-1."

"If he's the first of the Seven Masters…that means that the other six are…also me?"

Chaos looked at Athena. "He's not as stupid as you think he is, baby girl."

Athena squirmed in her seat as the power gap was made evident in nothing but words.

"I'm the god of healing," Apollo said, grabbing Chaos's arm. "I'm not as good as my son, but I can still discern a person's medical problems. Shin'en has-"

Apollo suddenly found himself unable to speak, instantly rendered mute by the mere will of Chaos, who was smirking.

"No spoilers. Instead, let's watch some TV."

He pointed above him and created a magic viewing bubble, so that everyone could watch and follow Shin'en.

"The Tower of Nero?" Apollo balked. "It's back? How?"

"The Triumvirate is far more powerful than when you fought them, being backed up by the power of billions of peoples' belief in them as benevolent saviors. That kind of power allows for some special power."

"Why is he going to the Tower?" Percy asked. "Isn't Nero in D.C.?"

"Shin'en has some very personal issues with Nero, so much so that he is going out of his way to pull off this stunt."

"What stunt?" Apollo asked.

"Oh, you'll see," Chaos grinned, the lights in his black eyes glowing brighter with morbid anticipation.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

There wasn't an inkling of hesitation on his Shin'en's face as he walked the poisoned streets of Manhattan. They had only risen overnight, but they had amassed so much power that they'd warped reality. All over the city were banners and signs bearing the emperors' faces in red, white, and blue, all the people drowning in propaganda and magic.

Shin'en could care less about these things, his sole concern being on Nero. As he ascended the steps to the tower foyer, he was fighting to keep down the memories of what the walking sack of sexual depravity had done. Frost crept across the concrete under his feet as he steadily lost the battle.

He didn't have to do this, he knew that, he knew that Nero was in the capitol, but he didn't know exactly where. It seemed Nero was being hidden from Shin'en's senses, no doubt Chaos's doing to ensure his assistance in the matter with the Primordials, like dangling a carrot before a rabbit, but Shin'en would address that in due time.

Right now, this monument to Nero and his vanity needed to be torn down.

As but a single first step.

Shin'en went inside, and a few minutes later he came back out.

As he descended, a field trip of first graders and their parents were walking up, the kids all chittering excitedly about their chance to see the house of the greatest emperor, like, ever!

"Mommy, Daddy, come on! I don't wanna miss seeing Empror Nero's house! It's so big! Come on, come on, come on!"

"Slow down, sweetie! Emperor Nero's house isn't going anywhere."

There was a flash of light in the foyer, before an explosion unheard of in decades rocked Manhattan. Through the viewing bubble, Chaos slowed down the footage, so that everyone could see firsthand the level of destruction Shin'en unleashed.

They saw the blastwave followed by the fire, ripping through the field trip and the bystanders on the streets, going so fast that everyone was stock still in place and motion when they were instantly vaporized. Parking meters instantly vanished, the glass of vehicles shattered outward and the vehicles themselves exploded then vanished into gas so fast it was hard to tell what happened first. The windows of the neighboring skyscrapers shattered, fire surging into the offices and apartments, the denizens not even knowing what happened. Several blocks down, people were knocked to their feet, ears bleeding, car alarms going off.

Emergency vehicles didn't even get the chance to turn on their sirens before the fiery tower rumbled and then crumbled, collapsing under its own weight, its foundations completely destroyed in the blast it was so powerful.

As for Shin'en, everyone watched as his pace never changed as the fire and the force washed over him, and when the dust cloud of the collapsing tower rushed in all directions, they saw Shin'en engulfed, his eyes glowing red as his form obscured before vanishing, leaving only his scarlet eyes until they, too, vanished in the thick cloud.

As people ran around screaming and coughing, Shin'en emerged, not a speck or blemish on him.

Without so much as a sparing glance around him, he vanished, deconstructing his whole mass down into molecules of water, sending himself flying through the air under divine power, reconstructing himself perfectly at the base of the Capitol Building's front steps.

Water travel, the child of Poseidon's answer to shadow travel.

At the moment, D.C. was locked down by the Triumvirate, in the name of protection from the demigod threat, and to show how serious they considered this threat, they didn't have the National Guard or the Army in the streets, they had the Marines. The premier killers of men in the world, and Shin'en just appeared right in the middle of the hottest zone in the country, full of tanks and helicopters and patrolling drones and a whole bunch of soldiers trained to kill anything that posed a threat to their brothers and their country.

As Shin'en walked up the steps to the halls of power, fury revolving around Nero yet unquenched, his footfalls left spreading collections of frost on the ground. Across the capital, the temperature dropped like lead through air. The drones sparked and shut down, their systems not meant for this kind of cold, and the helicopters went crashing down, the rotors unable to function in the new air pressure. The Marines fared no better as they froze to death where they stood, the liquid of their bodies solidifying from the cold.

Shin'en's hands were at his sides now, unclasped, fists clenched. His eyed were different, the iris ringed in black, two red, overlapping nine-pointed stars creating the tight image of an eighteen-pointed star.

Her screams and cries echoed in his ears, and Nero's perverse face couldn't be blinded from his mind's eye.

He still couldn't sense Nero's location, and so he was going to beat it out one or both of the other two who would know.

The doors to the Capitol Building opened, and no well-dressed person inside were spared from Shin'en's frigid wrath, secretaries, receptionists, security personnel, interns—nothing and nobody lived as the air became so cold it froze their lungs. Pipes in the walls, floors, and ceiling froze solid, and the lights burst, spraying the area with glass. The lights that erupted and spewed shrapnel on Shin'en as he walked beneath them only shattered harmlessly against him, the little shards shooting out at so many dozens of miles as hour failing to even so much as grace his skin.

Shin'en practically glided into the House Chamber, the proceedings halting entirely, every member of Congress turning to face the demigod.

"Where. Is. Nero?"

Caligula smiled, Vice President Commodus smirking with him.

"The first blood," the President said happily. "Attack!"

Every Congressman shuddered and changed, the Mist warping their appearance dropping to reveal them all for what they were: pandai, the furred, humanoid, eight-fingered and toed, Dumbo-eared warriors from ancient India, all armed and armored with Imperial Gold, so skilled in combat that they easily defeated the likes of Jason Grace, and came with a warning from Apollo himself from Dionysus to never engage them.

Shin'en had 535 swarming him.

Where were the real members of Congress? What had become of them during the reign of the Triumvirate? Shin'en didn't care; as far as he was concerned, the national crime rate plummeted in their absence. With an annoyed growl at the nuisance of an obstacle, his left eye glowed exceptionally bright, and there was a rush of white wind through the House Chamber. It dissipated as fast as it whipped through, and its wake were the hundreds of pandai, only they were grey with patches of white frost on them.

Then every single one of them shattered apart into millions of icy particles that shimmered and shined in the light.

The head of a huge war hammer slammed right into Shin'en's ear from behind, releasing a shockwave that instantly obliterated the Capitol Building, sending debris flying everywhere. Shin'en's head slightly tilted to the side from the destructive impact, him standing in a crater with his assailant.

"The lapdog," he growled.

He turned around, making Commodus's eyes widened in shock.

His fascis was in his hands, transformed from an axe bundled in wood to a mighty hammer with a long shaft and a huge, solid black block for a head. He had swung his symbol of power, juiced up with the power of billions of believers, with the intent to kill, to strike so hard with his might as the New Hercules to completely atomize Shin'en, and for all the effort and power he put into it, all he'd managed to accomplish was irritating the demigod and destroying the American Congressional building.

Commodus swung again, and Shin'en raised his arm, stopping the hammer dead in its path via the palm of his hand upon the head. Shin'en gripped the hammer, reached with his other hand to grab Commodus's wrist, yanked the emperor forward, and delivered a headbutt so powerful that Apollo's former dom went flying down the street, ichor gushing from his nose.

The hammer was still in Shin'en's grasp, and he broke it over his knee like it was a stick. The explosion of divine power right in his face had him reaching up to put out a burning eyelash with his fingertips. Shin'en turned around the look Caligula in the eye, his own a smoldering scarlet, but before anything else could happen, Commodus came sailing in from above with a battle cry.

Shin'en's hand came up and intercepted the emperor by the throat.

"Grk!"

"You just don't know when to quit."

Shin'en slammed Commodus into the scorched earth, and before the emeperor could even think to try and get up, the bottom of Shin'en's foot smashed in his divine face. Ichor erupted everywhere, Commodus's lower jaw left to dangle, many teeth missing. His eyes had liquefied, and the portion of his skull that was the upper jaw, nose, and eyes, had caved in, leaving a distinct ridge of a forehead, gooey golden bits oozing out. His brains.

And just to make sure, Shin'en grabbed the top of Commodus's broken skull, twisted, and yanked hard, tearing head and vertebrae clean from the body. Shin'en tossed the golden-bloody mass off to the side like a rolled-up McDonald's bag.

"I know who you are now," Caligula said, all traces of mirth and arrogance gone.

"I doubt that very much. Now, where is Nero?"

"I do know you. I was warned about you. You are Shin'en Yūrei, last surviving member of Yūrei Squad, the block-ops death unit of the Bloodline Civil War, infamously known as the Ghosts of the Bloody Mist, for your methods of torture, execution, success rate, and penchant for slaughtering everyone on both sides of a battlefield, whether they were adults or child soldiers. You are the destroyer of worlds. You are-"

"Losing patience. You done yet, Baby Booties, or should I just get to the part where I beat the information I want out of you?"

Caligula smirked, eyes flashing with light. "Do not presume it will be so easy. I am leagues more powerful than before, bolstered by my allies, and the belief of all the people of the world!"

For that boast, he was far too slow to react to the backhand bitch slap that Shin'en delivered when he crossed the distance between them over the crater. Caligula smashed through solid concrete, digging a trench a football field long before friction slowed him down to a stop. A hand grabbed his hair and yanked him up.

Caligula released a shout of power, unleashing a blinding flash of light and a scorching wave of heat that brought fire to half of the whole District of Columbia, settling buildings and houses and people ablaze, and from there the inferno spread on its own.

Shin'en stood up from where he'd been knocked back to, cracking his neck. "You absorbed Helios."

Caligula smiled. His eyes glowed white as the Sun, his hair now a mane of fire, his body naked except for a garment of fire around his groin. His muscles rippled, body radiating light and blistering heat. He had become what he always wanted to be: the God of the Sun.

"My time in Tartarus was quite beneficial. I was hoping to save this little surprise for the attack on Olympus, but circumstances have arisen. I hope you understand."

Caligula invoked his powers as a sun deity, and moved with the speed of light, but with none of the destructive tailwind, and delivered a fiery punch right into Shin'en's face, melting skin and muscle. With fast-as-light reflexes, Caligula grabbed Shin'en by the front of his coat before he could go flying, effortlessly hoisted him over his head and slammed him into the ground at Mach speeds. Debris went flying everywhere as D.C. shuddered under the impact, a crater even bigger than the one Commodus created with his hammer blow now added to the cityscape.

Caligula spread his hand, a little ball of light appearing, sparking and whistling with heat, and then that little ball of light became a star the size of a baseball, blinding, hot, volatile. Caligula slammed it right into Shin'en's face, and the resulting unleashed energy flattened everything for a half a mile surrounding the Capitol Building.

Shin'en looked worse than Anakin when Sidious found him on the bank of Mustafar, with skin burned away to reveal blackened bones. An excruciated wheeze left him.

"Still alive?" Caligula balked, genuinely amazed and awed.

Shin'en reached up a shaky, mostly skeletal hand at the emperor's face, his eyelids melted shut, and with his black bones that were his fingers now, he pointed over to the side. Caligula looked over and felt his heart stop.

Sitting comfortably in a lavish throne of ice with one leg crossed over the other, hands casually resting on his knee, was Shin'en Yūrei, unharmed, untouched, and very much alive and well. His eyes glowed scarlet as he stared at Caligula.

The emperor looked back at the crispy thing he was standing over, and he squawked, flailing his arms as the burned bones and melted flesh turned into a flock of frigate birds that took to the air, battering him with their wings and beaks before flying off into nothingness.

"What trickery is this!?" Caligula demanded.

"Mist-based genjutsu."

"What?"

"Figure it out."

Caligula roared, conjuring another miniature sun, this one the size of a basketball, and hurled it. Shin'en's left go glowed brightly, and the celestial fireball slammed into a shock of white wind and instantly vanished, the gas flash-frozen. Caligula took a reflexive step backwards.

"W-What…?"

"Even the stars can freeze," Shin'en intoned heavily.

Caligula let out another, louder roar, thrusting his hands before him to unleash a torrent of sun's fire. The infernal tidal wave scorched he earth and lit the sky ablaze, its heat so intense that concrete near-instantly sublimated. Again, Shin'en's eye shined, and a hurricane of the icy white wind erupted to life around him. The fire struck this special wind, and for all its power, it bowed.

The wind froze the fire faster than the fire melted the ice, and when Shin'en put more chakra into his jutsu, increasing the width of his frozen hurricane, expanding it so fast that it effortlessly tore through Caligula's flames, and tongue of the wind licked across the emperor's hands, Caligula went stumbling back, crying out in agony as his hands froze.

His hands.

The hands of a sun deity.

Frozen.

Caligula stared in shock at his greyed, solid hands, patches of white frost here and there. Shin'en's own hands came out of nowhere, gripping the emperor's, and with but a small application of force, no more than what was required to pick a fork off the table, Shin'en shattered Caligula's hands. The emperor felt no pain, the nerve endings all dead, but he was transfixed as he watched his hands disappear into icy particles that sparkled in the light.

Perhaps the scariest part was that Caligula was still putting out the same heat as when he had first revealed his new powers, perhaps a few degrees cooler since he wasn't focused, but a few thousand degrees Celsius was still very hot, and Shin'en was right there in his face.

"Where is Nero?" the First Master asked.

Caligula's brain started back up. "Like I'd-"

It felt like an invisible freight train slammed into him, which shouldn't have been saying much with how durable he was as a god, but it made more sense if you read that statement from the lens of Caligula being a normal man. In that kind of sense, Caligula felt every bone in his body crack, break, and/or splinter, peppering his divine organs with shards and shrapnel. Skipping across the ground for almost over a mile, going right down the middle of the National Mall before rolling to a stop between the National American History Museum and the Jamie L. Whitten Building, both of which were still burning from earlier, did not help his body.

"I know this might be very amusing for you," Caligula groaned under his breath at the ground, transformation undone, leaving him naked and normal, "but I feel I need not remind you that our success depends on cooperation."

Shin'en had already taken out Commodus, was well on his way after Caligula, and was still gunning for Nero. And there wasn't so much a scratch on him.

The earth shook slightly under Caligula, and the emperor smiled.

"And what has you in such a good mood?" Shin'en asked as he came to loom over the broken Caligula.

"You'll see," the emperor smirked.

Dull thumping was felt in the ground, like the footsteps of something very heavy was coming.

Shin'en let out an annoyed growl. "I only want Nero, yet I am plagued by mosquitoes."

Caligula sunk into the earth, spirited away by his new allies.

The footsteps got louder and clearer, and out of the smoke and flames of the burning buildings emerged the Giants, reformed and ready to rumble. Polybotes, Enceladus, Periboia, Clytius, and Hippolytos.

Shin'en's eyes travelled to the side. "And the runt thinks he's being quiet."

Clasping his hands behind his back, Shin'en walked forward, the five Giants crossing most of the distance with their longer legs.

"This explains why the Triumvirate returned."

"Bah!" Polybotes dismissed the emperors. "Means to an end. Once the Olympians have been dealt with, along with the snake and the trickster, Mother Gaea will once again be sovereign over the cosmos."

"Means to an end is an odd way of referring to the ones who did more damage to New Rome than you did."

The other Giants snickered at Polybotes, who bristled and shook with anger. Deadly basilisks fell from his dreads, hissing and destroying the grass with their acid. Shin'en paid them no heed.

Polybotes schooled himself. "Irrelevant. We are here to deliver a message: surrender or die. There are no gods to help you."

Shin'en chuckled. "Someone hasn't read the rulebook. Inner-Pantheonic Law dictates that the magical restrictions of one pantheon do not apply to members of another pantheon. As such, the restriction that a Giant can only be slain be the combined efforts of a demigod and a god do not apply to me."

"…what?" Polybotes asked.

"It means I can kill you and send you back to Daddy."

"Die it is!" Polybotes declared happily. "Another dimension or not doesn't matter. A Percy Jackson is still a Percy Jackson!"

The bane of Poseidon thrust his huge trident forward, and was stunned through his core when a huge, glowing, emerald green skeletal hand appeared and intercepted his weapon just behind the prongs. Emerald fire danced around Shin'en's form, blazing higher and wider. Around, a ribcage of dark emerald chakra formed, connecting to the arm. The other arm formed, and then the skull. A pointed chin, a maw of serrated teeth, bull's horns curling forward from the temples, and ram's horn curling back and around from the forehead. Strands of muscle curled out and about the ethereal being, forming biceps, abs, back, and everything else. After muscle came armor, the segmented plats of the Roman lorica segmentata covering the torso and shoulders, vambraces around the forearms, and the traditional plumed helmet. From the black depths of the visor, green lights shown menacingly.

Its 40-foot height put it ten feet above the gathered giants.

"The Susano'o," Shin'en said.

The chakra warrior born from the Sharingan was big and mean. It radiated a sense of foreboding and dread, the air around it cold and the wind carrying whispers of distant, wailing screams. In its right hand, a large, chakra gladius formed.

Faster that Polybotes could think, oh no, that gladius came down and split him from shoulder to hip in one disastrous swing. The other four giants were sent tumbling away from the transcendental force. The Whitten Building and the History Museum were obliterated.

The Susano'o held up the trident, Polybotes' body still clinging to it because of his hand, and the chakra warrior tossed the whole thing away. Through Shin'en's will, the gladius transformed into a bow. The Susano'o pulled the string, an arrow of chakra forming, and released. The arrow tore through the air like a rocket and took the upper half of Periboia's body away before she could get up.

The other three met with similar fates, though Hippolytos managed to dodge the first arrow fired at him, his status as being the bane of Hermes, the god of speed, accounting for something, but he did not escape the second arrow, which took his legs, and certainly not the third, which obliterated his head.

A hail of enemy arrows big as rakes struck true against the Susano'o, each one shattering harmlessly against its form. Another hail of arrows came from another direction, and another, and another, and another, and every arrow just broke against the chakra construct. When the ground was completely littered with broken arrow shafts, a single arrow came sailing in and landed several feet away from the Susano'o. It glowed, and every splinter then glowed and exploded like a busted piñata. A thick cloud of noxious green gas enveloped Shin'en, held at bay by his chakra warrior.

Shin'en rose a brow when he saw that the Susano'o was actually melting, the gas steadily corroding the chakra away.

"Oh? We're learning."

He jerked his head to the side when a streak of red light went zooming where his face used to be. It was an arrow, a special arrow, and with the Susano'o weakened as it was, that arrow went tearing straight through. It went through and kept going, going right through the Washington Monument, burning a perfect circle right through the base, streaked across the reflecting pool, causing the water to boil and splash in its wake, before it struck the Lincoln Memorial and exploded, destroying the whole building.

"And upgrading," Shin'en added.

He made the Ram sign and executed a wordless Wind jutsu, blasting the gas away. He also released his Susano'o, letting the corroded and goopy-looking thing fade away. The gas dispelling revealed Orion, standing not fifty feet away, another glowing red arrow knocked. He released it and Shin'en caught it just behind the arrowhead. It still had all the speed and force of the previous arrow, and it even exploded like the previous arrow, and Shin'en came walking out of the fireball, hands clasped behind his back, eyes softly glowing red.

"The runt of the litter. Tell me where Nero is, and I'll let you walk away from here intact."

Orion was not quite right, judging from his ravenous countenance, rapidly dilating mechanical eyes, and posture. He looked crazed and obsessed.

"You are not who I want. I want Reyna!"

"You know she's seventeen, right?"

"That's not what I meant!" Orion insisted, voice cracking.

"Really? Because I can feel the sexual tension from here."

Orion let out a battle cry. "I'll kill you and then take her!"

"I find your obsession with a minor to be highly disturbing."

"RAAAGH!"

Mind now clouded and sufficiently off-balance, Orion tossed his bow and pulled his hunting knives from his belt. He pushed forward, breaking the ground under his foot. Shin'en effortlessly dodged the diminutive Giant's wild slashes and stabs, the clean blades catching the firelight to appear as streaks of orange through the air, like a couple of miniature lightsabers Orion moved them so fast. After a few seconds of weaving through the Giant's crazed attacked, Shin'en sidestepped and then stepped into Orion's guard, striking the center of the abdominal region with an open palm.

Orion was launched backward, but he righted himself and landed on his feet, stumbling a little before regaining his balance. He leaned to the side and puked a puddle of ichor.

"Well, I'll give you this much, Orion: with that level of power, you certainly would've had no problem killing a seventeen-year-old girl. Been training with Daddy, have we?"

Orion's mechanical eyes shined with fury. His muscles tensed in preparation for attack, and Shin'en handed him the beating of his life…so far as up to this point. Because now Shin'en was beyond words. Nero's location was being intentionally hidden from his senses, and there was only one deity who would know to do that, and now he was sending the message that his patience was exhausted.

Orion screamed as he flew through the air, his legs severed below the knees, his arms snapped at the elbows, his ribcage practically crumpled, his spine splintered, and both of his eyes torn from their sockets and crushed, both by hand.

"Don't worry," Shin'en intoned, standing over Orion, golden blood splattered across his form, "the next cut won't kill you, or the next."

His sword was in his hand, a black handle a foot long, ovular in shape, two inches by one inch, and the blade itself was four feet long, an inch wide, an edge thinner than a sheet of notebook paper, and so polished it looked like the glass of a mirror. The blade dripped with ichor.

"THE CHURCH!" Orion cried desperately. "Caligula and Commodus were to take America, and Nero was to control the populous through religion, and turn the belief of the mortals to us! He's at the church!"

Shin'en stared down his nose at Orion. "…is that supposed to be a joke? Are you hoping that if you make me laugh, I'll spare you?"

"He is!" Orion wailed. "I swear it on the Styx!"

Shin'en blew a jet of air from his nose. "If you're lying, I will drag you out of Tartarus."

He flicked his wrist and split the Giant down the middle.

With a hard swat of his hand, Shin'en cleaned his sword, all the ichor spraying off. He sheathed the blade, and made the whole thing vanish in a puff of smoke, sealing it away in the Storage Seal on the palm of his hand. With no more interruptions, Shin'en focused, and was nearly floored.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Orion was telling the truth.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

True to the Giant's word, where Caligula and Commodus had become president and vice president of the country, and then replaced all of Congress with pandai to assume total control of America and start drawing on the power of human belief, Nero had basically become the antichrist version of Billy Graham, preaching a gospel of sin.

It just a couple of hours, the Triumvirate, backed by their divine benefactors, had warped the whole planet with Mist and magic, with Nero being hailed as a prophet, Caligula as a messianic figure, and Commodus as the warrior angel, and it seemed to all the people that this had always been for several years now. While Caligula and Commodus had been hosting a "session" of Congress, televised for the people of the world, Nero had been in a newly built megachurch of wood and stained glass, all depicting the famous scenes of the Bible, but with characters that looked suspiciously like the emperors.

The centerpiece was over the pulpit, depicting what looked like Nero leaving the tomb with God watching from above.

The church was empty right now except for Nero himself, who was shaking, twitching, pupils dilated, sweat dripping down his face and his whole wardrobe soaked to his body. Nero was scared to the point of madness as he fervently rifled through the gospel books over and over. He had seen the might of Shin'en, watched as he effortlessly destroyed Commodus, Caligula, and the Giants, beings who were supposed to be leagues more powerful now than in previous years thanks to the belief of the mortals.

For all this supposedly increased power, they'd been handled like ornery children by their bodybuilding father.

More than that, Nero had felt Shin'en's malice, his loathing, his fury, his hatred, all aimed at him.

All that power, all that intent to kill, all for Nero, had driven the confident and arrogant emperor mad to the point that his psyche cracked and he was clinging to his own lie, that he was a prophet of God, and it was his duty to know the gospel to lead everyone to Christ, and that all nonbelievers were to be punished by way of fire. That was what was happening outside, that a cleansing was underway.

Nero looked up, becoming still and calm, when he heard the creaking of the doors. The red glow of the fire outside shined through the stained glass, painting the whole interior of the church in various shades of dark red, orange, and yellow, obscuring the approaching figure in the gloom.

Their footsteps echoed through the wooden sanctuary like the shots of cannons.

"Caligula, is that you? Is the heretic dead?"

"No…"

"Well, get back out there! You need to defeat him before the sun goes down and you are weakened."

"The sun is already down."

The figure walked into the same light that Nero stood in, and the emperor began to shake once more when he saw that it was Shin'en, eyes shining like red stars.

With his crumbling mentality, Nero stuttered, "Y-You cannot e-enter the House of God…demon…"

"God is not here. This is an empty box…"

"God is in all his churches!" Nero insisted, voice cracking in fear and desperation.

"God knows that I would not be here without you. My presence is your fault…sinner…"

"I am no sinner!" Nero squeaked, choking on his words. "I-I-I am loved by God! I-"

"God's love is not unconditional," Shin'en interrupted. "He does not love me, and he does not love you."

"B-But I am repented! I am saved!"

"Lies?" Shin'en mocked. "In your House of God? No wonder he has abandoned you…to me."

"No-! I…I have done his bidding—my life's work has been in the name of the Lord! I have purged the nonbelievers and the heretics in the holy flame!" Nero shouted, now completely deranged as he found mad ground to stand on.

"Your life's work…makes him puke," Shin'en's eyes glowed a little bit brighter.

He advanced on Nero, stepping up the alter to stand before the podium. Nero gripped the wood and shook so much the Bible bounced and flopped off the side, landing with the pages on the floor. Shin'en's hands came up and gripped either side of the emperor's head, making him still.

"God…have mercy on me…" Nero squeaked pitifully.

"I'm all out of mercy."

Shin'en squeezed, dozens of bad memories shooting through his mind, all regarding Nero's sexual depravity and how the scum had no boundaries when it came to sex and fetishes. As the pressure increased, blood starting to spurt out of his nostrils, Nero desperately punched at Shin'en's chest with his own godly strength. It just pissed Shin'en off more.

The pressure increased, Nero's teeth cracking, his left eyeball popping free of its socket. The emperor's hands broke, unable to make fists, but he didn't stop, and his punches became desperate clawing with mangled fingers. Cracking was heard as Nero's skull began caving under the pressure of Shin'en's unrelenting anger. Then, right as his other eye was starting to slip free, Nero's head finally imploded between Shin'en's hands, splattering the man's face in golden fluid, brains and bone fragments still with skin and hair attached to them flying all over the pulpit.

Meanwhile, the image of God silently watched from above.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Shin'en left the church, face, front and hands covered in Nero's blood. Caligula's fire burned down the city, ending thousands upon thousands of lives. He could hear the distant wailing of sirens, but the emergency crews could not get in. The fire was too strong and too hot, and many roads were blocked by debris and wreckage. D.C. was isolated by the flames.

Shin'en drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. He tilted his head up, and one drop of rain struck his forehead. Then another, and another, and in a matter of seconds, rain came upon the city. The fire hissed and steamed as water choked it out, and before too long, the city was cool, only charred wreckage remaining of the American capital city.

Shin'en stood there as the rain tapered off, his form washed clean of divine blood. For all the damage he'd done and the brutality he'd shown, in this moment, he looked peaceful and serene. One could even say he looked tired and burdened. He tilted his head forward, hair falling across his face in a way that erased any doubt as to whether this was an alternate Percy Jackson.

Running a hand through his hair to slick it all back into place, Shin'en opened his eyes, once again emerald green, and full of cold resolve.

"It begins."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I did not mean for this opening chapter to be this long, but I hope that did not scare anybody away.

Shin'en's story is told in my Backup Plan trilogy but will be explained in this story for the convenience of those who don't want to suffer through 600k words, as will the stories of all the alternate Percy's that will appear. Since two of said stories are incomplete, it will be a while before this one kicks off in earnest, but there is enough material to continue on to the second chapter in due time.

For now, Fav, Follow, and Review please!