"A choice", whispered fate to him, "a choice must be made." What choice, they didn't classify, they didn't need to.
He could save his friends, or not. He could see to it that they would live on and see another day, or he could let them die and be swallowed by the earth. He could save Leo, who looked so tired that he might fall off his mighty dragon and impact so hard onto the earth that all his bones would shatter.
He could save Piper from the snake-legged creature that had managed to sneak behind her, or he could let the Dracaena plung down her dagger in Pipers back and let it be colored red. He could save Frank whose stick had ignited, how he did not know, or he could let it burn and watch as Frank's life dwindled right in front of him.
He could save Jason, whose winds looked weaker than otherwise, or he could let him work himself to over exhaustion and fall in a coma so deep he would not wake for months to come.
And above all, he could save his dear Annabeth who fought so brave, with only her drakon-bone sword, against the laughing Gaia who didn't even seem to be a little bit exhausted.
And so his choice was easy, he would save them, save them all.
"Then turn me," and so his choice was made.
But to his surprise, nothing happened, not even the littlest hair on his body changed. For the littlest moment he was happy, happy that he was not the second Hercules, a god that turned over the time so bitter, so so bitter.
But then he remembered his friends who stood at the brink of death, who stood one step before the Abyss.
He was so surprised that he didn't see the Minotaur (and where did he come from?) swing his fist down upon him. And then he did not see anything.
He did not see Leo fall off his dragon, he did not see Piper who fell with a dagger in her neck, he did not see Frank who stared in horror at his empty hand in which he held his stick, he did not see Jason who laid lifeless on the ground, and he did not see Annabeth impaled on an earthen stake.
He did not see anything until he saw. He saw the world, a world that didn't move, a world in which time stood still.
Three gray shadows drew his attention. The only things that didn't stand still, the only things that moved. And how they moved, they danced a dance so fast they were nothing but blurs in the air. Their ghostly fingers touched his skin and where they connected with his skin they left marks.
Golden points that seemed to cover his entire body, that spread, expanded, enveloped.
And then he saw. He saw what was, what is and what would be. He saw possibilities, thousands of them. He saw what could be if he stepped back, he saw what could be if he stepped forward. He saw all.
He saw his friends in a recording studio in Los Angeles, he saw them before the judging trio, he saw them in Elysium. He saw them happy, more happy than they ever would be on earth.
And in that moment he made another choice. He choose not to step back, not to save them. He saw the irony in that, not doing what was his reason to be turned.
And despite his willing choice, he still wept a silent tear. He would not bring his friends back, because they were happy. Nevertheless, he was allowed his revenge, or so he said to himself.
A touch, a scream, and Gaia was hurled in the endless flows of time.
And somewhere, somewhere unknown, time rumbled.