Title: When the Sun Goes Down

Summary: Fem!Percy. In the final battle against Kronos, something goes not according to plan, and the gods and their forces lose. With olympus razed down to the ground and camp half-blood reduced to ashes, Percy, now alone and without any guidance, has to find the few remaining weakened gods to end the titans' reign and bring about a new dawn. {Fem!Percy/Dark!Gods. Polyamory. Polympians. Mature.}

Pairings: Fem!Percy/Zeus/Poseidon/Hades/Apollo/Ares/Hermes/Dionysus/Hephaestus.

Warnings: Strong language, graphic violence, major character death, dark content, explicit sexual content, incest, polyamory relationships.

Author's Note: I'll probably go over this chapter in the next few days, as I am not quite satisfied with the way it ended, but I just wanted to have this out. I have been dying to get this story out and about, because I have been writing on it for the past few months of this year. I am a bit nervous about it, too, but I hope you will find pleasure in reading this lil' treasure of mine. I know there's a lot of fics out there where Percy Jackson ends up with a huge harem of female demigods and goddesses, so I thought – why not make Fem!Percy do the same thing? Just with the gods? So, there it goes. This story is also heavily inspired by works like Game of Thrones (both the show and the books), Vikings, Spartacus, so please don't expect a child's story.

This will be getting very dark, not just the content, but the characters, too. (And yes, when I write polyamory and Polympians, I do mean that Percy will end up with all the gods. Even with her father. Don't like it, don't read it. I write about it, yes, but this doesn't mean I condone it in real life. This is just fiction, nothing more, nothing less.)

Also, this story might be starting a bit slow, but just bear with me please; I promise it will be worth it.

Cheers, people!

THE BETRAYAL

(august 18, 2009)

"You have lost, little girl."

Kronos's words are the only thing Percy is able to hear as he advances on her, twirling his sword, Blackbiter, in his hands. His eyes gleam with power, and although he bears Luke's body, she cannot recognize the boy's once familiar features, now twisted and crazed, hungering for her blood, her death. He presses the tip of his sword against her throat, lips curling with something evil as the blade lightly penetrates her delicate flesh there, drawing a small trickle of blood, stark red in comparison to her pale skin. It slips beneath her armor, finding its way under her shirt, where the fabric soaks it in eagerly. "I have to admit, little girl, it truly is a shame," Kronos continues, never pushing the tip of the sword farther in, but leaving it at her throat in an unspoken threat. "Killing you will bring me pleasure, but it will be a shame to waste the world of your beauty. Perhaps … " His eyes leave the spot where his blade rests against her throat to meet her gaze, "perhaps I should spare you for now, give you away to my brothers for their own fun before taking a piece of you myself."

Percy blanches at his words, her stomach turning in disgust at the mental images the titan projects into her mind. "I would never bown down to you or your brothers," she hisses, cold streams of sweat trickling down her back when the blade digs in a little deeper, not enough to fully breach her skin, but enough to make her heart stutter and race in fear. "You wouldn't be able to break me, no matter what you do to me."

"Such spirit." Kronos releases a laugh, cold and cruel and inhuman. "Even in the moments before your death. I pity that you did not join me, for you could have been granted immortality, little girl. With powers as yours, you could have been truly great. You could have risen beyond what you think you are capable of now." His eyes gleam down at her, and he licks his lips in a slow deliberate motion. "I could have even made you my queen."

If there is a thing Percy does know at this moment, it's this one: she does not want to die. She does not want the blade buried in her throat. Provoking him any further will cause that to happen, so for now, she keeps her mouth shut and endures his nasty words, each one of them stoking the fire inside her gut more and more. From the corners of her eyes, she sees Annabeth, knocked out, sprawled across the cracked marble floor a few feet away from her. Grover, barely conscious, being held at bay by Ethan Nakamura. Black smoke curls and twists upward from Olympus's hearth, the fire completely snuffed out, carrying the smell of ash and coal and defeat over to her. The scene makes her almost lose hope.

Almost.

Percy stops the hopelessness creeping into her heart like a disease and transforms it into fury. She steels her spine and blends out the screams and shouts from under Olympus, where mortals run for their lives and monsters jump from the shadows, no longer obscured by the mist. She remembers the way the sea churns right before a storm, the way powerful waves crash against rocks and cliffs, and she prepares to die, because what she's about to do will either be her biggest victory or her very downfall. Her hands snap up and close around the sword's blade, and she doesn't even feel the pain when it cuts her palms open, blood oozing out from between her fingers. She gathers all her strength and, in one swift quick motion, knocks the hilt of the sword into Kronos's face. He staggers back, momentarily surprised by her move, and Percy uses the moment of opportunity to jump to her feet and grab her own sword.

The adrenalin and power coursing through her veins dull the pounding pain in her hands, where the blade cut her palms open.

"You bitch!" Kronos snarls and comes at her with a speed that is entirely inhuman.

Percy manages to dodge. "You should really quit with all the dramatic speeches and just come straight down to business," she taunts him, ducking as he slashes down at her again. "Listening to your threats gets tiring after a while."

Kronos roars, his fury shaking the entire world at its very core. He kicks her in the chest, and she lands on the floor from the force of it, skittering across the cracked marble, gasping as all the air leaves her lungs. That, however, is his mistake. He raises his sword, about to bring it down on her, but Percy is smaller and lighter, and just as the sword is about to penetrate her chest, she rolls to the side. Kronos's rage causes more cracks to appear in the floor. He stomps his foot, and time slows down in an instant as he raises his sword again, ready to hack into her. A spark of triumph goes off in Percy's chest, having anticipated that move. She thrusts her sword out, aiming for the spot underneath his arm, where Luke's body is the most vulnerable, and then …

And then a swirl of blonde princess curls darts between them, knocking Percy's sword out of her hands.

Time resumes its normal speed, and a deafening silence spreads through the throne room.

"Annabeth," Percy breathes, her eyes wide as she stares at her best friend. "Why did you –?"

Even Kronos seems stunned by the unexpected turn of events.

"You promised," Annabeth whispers and turns toward the titan, ignoring Percy's words. "You promised to me, that you would give him back."

Understanding passes through Kronos's expression. He twists his lips into a cruel grin and twirls his sword expertly, his eyes flashing from Percy to Annabeth in almost child-like anticipation, as if his greatest wish is being served to him on a silver platter. "That I did, young daugher of Athena," he purrs, edging closer to her. He raises a hand and touches Annabeth's hair, winding a blonde strand around his fingers, examining it in utmost fascination. Percy blanches when Annabeth leans into his touch, her eyelids fluttering. "I will give Luke Castellan back to you, unharmed and alive, once I sit on my throne. That was our deal, and I am a man of my word, after all." Kronos removes his hand from Annabeth's hair, only to place it on her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin. When he continues to speak, he almost sounds tender, "But do you remember what you promised me in return, sweet girl?"

As Percy heaves herself up to her feet, Annabeth hesitates for just the briefest of moments, before … "Yes," she croaks, "I remember."

"Very well." Kronos leans down, his lips touching her ear. "What are you waiting for, then?"

Something clicks inside Percy, the realization striking her true and hard, and she cannot believe … she's afraid to even think about it. Her gaze never wavers from Annabeth, her best friend, even when she slowly spins around to face her, gray eyes against green ones. "Annabeth," Percy whispers, and there is a burn behind her eyes, the stinging sensation of tears welling up. "Please … please don't."

"I'm sorry, Percy." Something gleaming appears in Annabeth's hands, something sharp and dangerous. "But this is Luke. I love him."

With one quick move, quicker than Percy can realize, Annabeth drives her knife into her best friend's stomach.

(one week later)

When Percy awakes, it's still dark out, a quiet night, hushed only by the whisper of wind and the call of an owl somewhere high in the trees. The sky is pitch-black, not one single star visisble in its vast span, just a few impending clouds gathering at the horizon, promises of a rainy morning ahead. It's cold, too, even though it's late August, but any warmth from the previous weeks has vanished from the world; at least, that's what it seems like to Percy.

She remains lying on the tiny, narrow cot, gazing at the opposite wall shrouded in darkness.

She doesn't know how late or early it is.

She doesn't know what day it even is, if it's already Monday or Tuesday or … gods, she doesn't even know the date.

The only thing she knows is that, for the past few days, she has been housing in this tiny cabin, somewhere in the woods that are not familiar to her. It's not the woods of Camp Half-Blood, she knows that. But she's not even sure she's still in America, for that matter. All she knows is that … that Annabeth … Percy turns her head to the side, pressing her face into the smelly, yellowed pillow. She doesn't dare to think on it, to recall the memory of what had happened, even though she has nightmares about it every night she manages to fall asleep. Her fingers curl around the edges of the mattress, just for the slightest of moments, before she releases a deep breath and pushes herself up to a sitting position. The left side of her stomach protests at that, pain shooting through it in sharp waves.

Percy leans back enough to lift her black tanktop, biting into the flesh of her lower lip as she slowly pulls off the piece of discarded cloth she'd found in the cabin and taped over her injury, a makeshift band-aid, examining the wound on the flat of her stomach. It's a thick, angry red cut. Water had helped with closing the wound, but it's still healing, still fresh and stinging and pulsing at every sudden movement she does unintentionally.

She doesn't know when the curse of Achilles had worn off.

Someone had done something to her before the battle, someone who had known about her Achilles spot and who had been smart enough to find a loophole, some poison perhaps, to wear the curse off.

Blonde curls flashed through Percy's mind, the face of a person she had trusted more than anyone with her weak spot, and something inside her chest constricts painfully. She presses the heels of her hands against her eyes, blinking down the onslaught of tears, and when she is certain that she won't break down, she swings her legs over the edge of the cot and heaves herself to her feet. She winces at the sharp pain firing through her injury, but it's okay, Percy tells herself, it's fine, she has endured much worse than this.

Swaying on her feet, she takes a moment to take in her surroundings, her eyes flickering from one corner to another. Everything is shrouded in darkness. The cabin is not large to begin with, but in the quiet of the night, it almost seems oppressing. She hates it here, honestly, but she doesn't have anywhere else to go. As far as she knows, this is the safest place for her right now. Opposite the small cot that stinks of iron and old piss, a rickety wooden desk stands at the wall, its surface cluttered with discarded blank papers. There is a lamp, too, but electricity is down in this cabin, so it's not of big use to her. In the other corner, a creaky chair with its white paint half peeled off, and a dresser. The dresser has been of most use to her. She had found some old salt crackers there, expired for years probably (she hadn't even bothered to check the expiration date), a pack of rock-hard onion rings, and some other things that have considerably helped her to survive the past few days, like paper towels, shears, tape, knives, and even rolled up wire.

Percy had never thought she would, one day, be that thankful for such basic things.

She has no idea how she came to be in this place. After the knife had pierced through her skin and flesh, she had been certain of death. She remembers blacking out and …

And then she remembers waking up in this cabin, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, far, far away from the throne room of Olympus, bleeding and weakened and in desperate need of help. There hadn't been any help, though. With as little knowledge of medicine as she possessed, she had treated her wound the best she could, only aware of the fact that water would be able to help. Lucky for her, she had found a small stream not very far away from the cabin.

So she had spend the past few days here, on the moth-eaten cot, trying to speed up the process of healing as best as she could, living off old crackers and onion rings and stream water, lost in this darkness with her own maddening thoughts. Nightmares about the events on Olympus plaque her every night. Why did it have to come so far? How could she not have seen the first signs of … of betrayal?

Even thinking the word makes Percy sick to her stomach, and she sinks back onto the edge of the cot, closing her eyes as a bitter, heavy taste spreads inside her mouth, the taste of despair perhaps, if that's what despair tastes like. She opens her eyes again and looks at the dor, wishes for someone, anyone, to come in. She wants her mother, most of all. She wants Chiron. Grover. Thalia. Her father. She thinsk she would even cry a little in relief it happened to be Zeus to appear in the doorway. The thought makes her laugh, almost, because for her to feel relieved at seeing Zeus; gods, she truly has to be desperate. The truth is, she doesn't even know if any of the people she holds dear are still alive. She has no idea what the world outside this cabin looks like, what had become of the gods and her friends. She doesn't think they have won. If they had, then surely her friends wouldn't let her sit out her days in this miserable cabin, would they?

Then again, Percy can't help but think, the person I used to call my best friend stabbed me in the stomach.

Who is she now, to know who her friends are and who her enemies? Perhaps, at the end of the day, they are all the same anyway.

Groaning, Percy buries her head in her hands, hissing sharply when her forehead touches her palms. She had bandaged her hands with the same piece of cloth she'd found on her first day here. Like the wound on her stomach, water had helped with the worst of it, but it's still far from being healed. But this has to end. The solitude, the uncertainty of it all, is slowly but surely making her mad, she knows it. The thoughts she has taken to thinking are not good for her sanity at all, and she needs to take care of herself now, needs to get away from here and out of those woods.

Percy stands from the cot and, with a glance back at the cabin, opens the door and steps out into the night. It's eerily quiet. Wind rustles the dead leaves, and the quick shadows of rabbits scurry through the bushes, snapping twigs in their wake. Owls hoot from high up in the tall trees, and everything smells like old pine, like wet earth and wild berries, like mushrooms and moos. The tree crowns are so thick and dense that Percy is only barely able to recognize the sky, which is no longer a pitch-black, but rather a deep, dark blue, the first sign of dawn hesitantly approaching. It's weird, she finds, to see nature still working its magic despite everything that's happened, despite the chance that titans reign over the world now.

She goes to find the small stream, hidden by dense bushes and fallen over tree trunks. The closer she gets to it, the better she can hear the sprinkle and quiet rush of water, something so calming and familiar about it that a sense of security settles over her. Checking the back pocket of her stained jeans, she ensures that Riptide is still in there in its pen form. Percy drops to her knees when she is by the stream and leans forward, cupping a handful of water that she splashes over her face. Her hair, gathered in a messy ponytail, is unwashed, greasy, her skull itching in various places, and she longs for the luxury of a hot bath, of soap and shampoo. She also longs for a comfortable bed and the feel of soft sheets and blankets, for a clean set of clothes, and for a sumptuous, warm meal.

She would kill to have those things right now.

When she lowers her hands, Percy sees her own reflection staring back at her from the clear water. She barely recognizes herself. Her skin has lost its glowing ivory complexion, has turned ashen, and dirt and dust smears cover her face. Dark circles expand beneath her brilliant green eyes, and her cheeks are hollow. She has lost considerable weight over the past weeks, and she suddenly misses her old self with such vigor that she is momentarily stunned by it.

Back in the cabin, she misses no time. She finds an old, moth-eaten backpack in one the dresser drawers, and stuffs all the things she deems necessary into it. She scissors off a few pieces of the remaining cloth and tapes it over her wound on her stomach, bandages her hands anew with it before slinging one strap of the backpack over her shoulder. When she leaves, she doesn't spare a last glance at the cabin, knowing that she won't miss it. Outside, the sky has lightened considerably, and birds have started singing their songs somewhere high above her head. Percy takes only a brief moment to absorb that kind of goodness before she sets on the path that will, hopefully, lead her to the last piece of civilization, back to home.

Home.

The words sounds strange to her now, because she's not entirely sure she still has one.

TBC