Prized Possession
9: In Kind
"A lost battle is a battle one thinks one has lost." - Jean-Paul Sartre
Percy lies on the bed, his chest heaving as he sucks at the air to calm himself down. His lungs aren't large enough to carry all the oxygen it would take to steady him, so he sinks both fists into the blankets and waits for the room to stop spinning and the ringing in his ears to quieten down.
It seems to go on for longer than should be possible, like he's trapped in the moment, reliving it over and over again, and every gulp of breath he tries to take in is interrupted by his body shuddering involuntarily, but eventually, the suffocating feeling disappears and the world goes back to the old nightmare that passes for normal these days. Kronos is gone, and Percy lies on the bed, his pants around his ankles, while Atlas stands uncomfortably at the door, evidently not knowing whether or not he should come to the son of Poseidon's aid.
The fact that the titan is just standing there is strangely calming to Percy, as he knows his panic attack can't have lasted for as long as it felt like it did. "Is it true?" he asks, once he thinks he can trust his voice, though it still wobbles dangerously on those three simple words. He takes a deep breath before continuing: "Have Malcolm and Clarisse got away?"
"Not for long," is Atlas' reply.
Percy's hands unwind stiffly from the covers of Kronos' bed to pull his clothes back up as he remembers that even if Atlas has saved him this time, the two of them are far from being on the same side. He's still shaking uncontrollably, but it's been a long time since that would have embarrassed him.
There is another long silence, which Atlas is the one to break. "That curse of yours is quite something," he says. "Lelantos' knuckles are broken after hitting you. Or, they were – I imagine he has healed them by now, and they will be the least of his worries when Kronos is through with him, but… even so. It's no wonder that Achilles is so revered amongst your kind."
"And what about me?" asks Percy. "What's the worst of my worries right now?"
"I would say that if you can keep yourself from provoking him again then you should have little trouble going about your life unimpeded."
"Sorry, provoking him? What, by getting attacked?"
"By giving Perses the slip, of course. The moment you were without a guard, you became a very tempting – too tempting, as it turned out – target for those elements in Othrys which were a little less than thrilled about your presence here. So, Kronos lost his temper, and… you know the rest."
"Yeah, and it's my fault?" Percy asks incredulously.
"When the one you provoke is the king, then yes, it is your fault," says Atlas.
"That's not how it works," Percy protests.
"I am – that is, I have been – the commander of one of the most powerful armies in history, Jackson. Meanwhile you are a child, even by mortal standards. So let me explain to you exactly how this works. The conquering force takes what it wants from the vanquished foe, and the weak suffer what they must suffer, because there is no one left to stop the strong, and they do not practise restraint. You are Kronos' spoil now – you know the kind of thing: the pelt of the lion, the horn of the Minotaur… the child of Poseidon. You keep your life by his grace alone, and so if your situation worsens, then the blame falls at your door, not his."
The idea of being owned is an awful one, even if Kronos himself has said it more or less outright himself. What's more, Atlas doesn't even seem to be trying to scare him: the words are delivered bluntly and matter-of-factly.
The titan loops an arm around Percy's torso and lifts him into an upright position. "Come," he says. "It is probably not wise to remain on his bed for too long."
The throne room the next day is almost totally silent despite the fact that pretty much every titan Percy has ever seen is there. Kronos leans forward on his throne, the fingers of his right hand tapping a beat on the armrest. The tension in the room seems to all originate with the titan king, and spread outward from him.
Percy himself sits by Kronos' left foot, one set of chains binding his feet to the throne and a second set around his hands and throat held by Kronos' free hand. He knows that one set would be enough even if he was inclined to escape, but suspects that the titan is trying to emphasise his power over Percy – though for whose benefit, the son of Poseidon isn't sure. Occasionally, Kronos will absent-mindedly tug on the chains, accidentally nearly strangling the demigod below him, but if there's one thing Percy's sure of, it's that he doesn't want to annoy his captor right now, let alone in public. He endures it as best as he can.
Four titans lie in chains of their own in the middle of the throne room floor, chains of celestial bronze, stygian iron, and other metals that Percy doesn't recognise. The only sound in the room comes from Menoetius straining against his bonds as if tearing them off would solve all his problems, but the already-taut chains barely move and his own sounds of exertion are as audible than their clinking. Along with the drumming of Kronos' fingers, these are the only noises in the room.
Lelantos and Eos, meanwhile, are motionless. So is Mnemosyne, but instead of their downcast, defeated expressions, her face bears an angry glower, directed straight at Kronos, fury the only emotion on her face. Part of Percy wishes she was free, because she'd surely give Kronos the fight of his life in this mood. Another part of him is glad she isn't, because anyone caught in the crossfire of that fight would be dead in an instant.
Kronos has been sitting, tapping, flexing his muscles and narrowing and unnarrowing his eyes for several minutes, but the silence persists and all eyes in the hall remain fixed firmly on him.
It seems like an eternity before Kronos' tapping finally fades away, and he speaks.
"These fools defied my rule," he begins. "They distracted my guards and attacked my property. I therefore propose that they suffer the just punishment for treason. Does anyone disagree?"
There was silence. And then: "Kronos, you know I had nothing-"
"SILENCE!" Kronos bellows. The titan standing next to Mnemosyne – Percy can't remember his name – lands a vicious blow on her back with his spear, and she slumps in pain.
Kronos stands abruptly, his scythe appearing in his hand as he does so and the chain in his other hand jerking Percy uncomfortably to his feet. The titan fortunately has the presence of mind to detach Percy's feet from the throne so he isn't torn in half by the movement, but he still stumbles as Kronos drags him into the centre of the room.
"Perseus, are these the ones who attacked you?" he asks.
Alone, before the other titans arrived, he'd ordered Percy to agree with whatever he said in the 'trial', so the half-blood nods. "Yes, my lord," he says.
Kronos tosses the end of Percy's chain to the titan who hit Mnemosyne. "Then I condemn them to Tartarus," he says. He spreads his arms wide and chants words in a language which sounds ancient and ugly. Percy realises with a start that it's the same one he heard at the edge of Tartarus on his first trip to the Underworld, which seems so long ago now: it's the language of magic.
Suddenly, there's a wind in the throne room, and Percy staggers slightly as he tries to keep his balance. There's a rumbling in the distance like thunder, and the ground shakes slightly.
Then Mnemosyne lurches to her feet, the great weight of chains rattling like the sound of a far-off army as she does so, almost bent double beneath them. When she speaks, it's in a low tone, rhythmically like she's making an incantation of her own, and sounds just as terrible as Kronos' own words.
"Kronos, I condemn you," she says. "For a lack of faith in your own followers, and for a failure to inspire their faith in you, your empire will fall even as it begins. Your own fear and loathing will consume you, and your enemies will not have to lift a finger. I will remember the insults you have dealt me, Kronos."
The floor tears open behind the prisoners in a rift of darkness which somehow makes the rest of the room darker too. Lelantos and Eos are dragged wailing through it, and Menoetius follows them with a furious roar. The titans vanish into the void almost as soon as they enter it.
But Mnemosyne stays standing there, her hair billowing in the gale that is tearing through the hall, defying it.
"Go to hell," sneers Kronos.
She bares her teeth in what might be a smile or a snarl. "I'll see you there," she tells him.
The titan king lets out a wordless yell and strikes her with the butt of his scythe. It knocks her backwards, and the rift finally consumes her, snapping shut the moment she is out of sight.
The winds die down and the trial is over, and Kronos collapses to the knees that were once Luke's in the middle of the room, panting.
"You," he says, and to Percy's surprise, Kronos is pointing at him. "Astraeus, you're guarding him now." That's the titan now holding the other end of Percy's chain. "You're relieved," he says to Perses, who steps forward at that.
"Sire," he objects, but Kronos is having none of it.
"OUT!" he screams, voice betraying him as it cracks slightly when he tries to hold the shout. "Get Hecate in, and if any of you even think about staying to listen I will throw you into Tartarus myself!"
Percy turns to go, but is frozen in his tracks by Kronos' next words: "Not you."
He turns slowly, and sure enough, the titan lord's finger is pointing straight at him. Astraeus looks conflicted for a moment, but Kronos dismisses him with a wave of his hand. "Wait outside," he says.
Kronos waits until the throne room has completely emptied, the titans and spirits inside either walking out or vanishing from the spots on which they stood, and it is only the titan and the demigod left.
"Do you think I'm stupid, Jackson?" asks Kronos.
Percy swallows. He can only think that the jailer must have told Kronos about him seeing Nico. It was a risk he'd had to take, but now he thought about it, it might have been too great a risk. If Kronos is angry enough, he might just execute Nico, and any chance they had of getting away from Othrys is gone just like that. "No, my lord," he says.
"So what was the plan?" asks Kronos. "Was there a plan, or were you just making it up as you went along? Did you use Eos' feelings for you to encourage her to distract Perses, or did you just take the opportunity when it presented itself? Her actions were treasonous whoever they were intended to aid, but I'm curious as to your involvement."
Percy shifts uncomfortably. "Sire…" he begins.
"Just having said you don't think I'm stupid, I hope you're not about to try to deny that you tried to escape, are you?" asked Kronos.
"No, my lord."
"I suppose I should be grateful that you tried to go through the dungeons. You wouldn't have escaped any other way either, of course, but it would have caused some consternation for my subjects to see you running down Mount Tam, and I would probably have been forced to punish you most severely. It's really to your own benefit that you were so idiotic."
Percy bites his tongue. "Yes, my lord," he says.
"You should thank me for my mercy, I think."
"Thank you, my lord. For your mercy, my lord."
Kronos smiles as if he's forgotten what a smile is supposed to look like. "That wasn't so hard, now, was it?"
He waits for an answer, and Percy knows he has to give him one. "No, my lord."
The titan hooks one of Luke's fingers into Percy's shirt and pulls him in until their faces are almost touching. "It will be suspicious if you suddenly stop making your public appearances," he says, "and you are still useful to me when you tell the mortals what a kind ruler I am. But just because I cannot lock you in a cell and leave you to rot does not mean that your actions will go unpunished."
With no more than a flick of his wrist, he throws Percy to the ground. "Astraeus!" he calls.
The titan pokes his head into the throne room.
"Fetch Hyperion," Kronos orders him, before turning to a presence Percy hadn't even noticed before. "Grand-niece," he welcomed, a smile on his face but not in his voice.
"Uncle," acknowledges Hecate. "What is your purpose?"
"This body," he says. "When will I be rid of it?"
Hecate looked sceptically at Percy, apparently wary of letting him hear their conversation. He notices that her eyes are a rich navy colour, like the evening sky just as the stars are about to come out. They're eyes unlike any belonging to a mortal – and unfortunately, Kronos sees their direction.
"Jackson is nothing, you understand?" he demanded. "Nothing! He's vermin, he's an insect! He is nothing and he has nothing! I could fuck him on the floor of this throne room and have him thank me for it afterwards if I so chose, because he's mine and he knows it!" As he spoke, his voice gradually nearing a yell, he stepped towards Hecate. Luke's body might only have been a demigod's, but with all the other gods and titans on Othrys in their everyday human forms, he still loomed over the goddess as she kept her face carefully blank against his tirade.
That cold feeling Percy so often seems to get when Kronos is talking has settled over him again, but the demigod thinks he must be becoming desensitised to it, as it's less terrifying now than it would have been to hear the same words at the start of his stay here. Still, dread roots itself in him as firmly as ever when he sees Kronos turn and stalk towards him.
The titan's boot flies into Percy's face, and were it not for the curse of Achilles, his nose would have been shattered by the blow. As it is, he still goes sprawling from his sitting position down to the ground. Kronos pins him in place with the same foot, and for a moment, Percy fears he intends to prove his words to the goddess of magic. Instead, he asks her a question: "Shall I demonstrate?"
She shakes her head. "My lord, I've told you everything I can. There is old magic binding your soul to the boy's body-"
"I don't care how old it is. Every moment I'm stuck in this demigod is a moment of weakness. Traitors like those" - here, he gestures at the spot Mnemosyne, Eos, and Percy's attackers had been - "think they can act against my rule, and I'm barely strong enough to send them to the pit for it. This mortal prevents me from attaining my true power, and even my most loyal subjects begin to wonder if I am capable of leading Othrys to war any longer. All the while the Romans still hold out against us and there are rebels in the Midwest disrupting out supplies. I was almost freed when I tore Olympus down – more than a year ago! I could feel the boy's body begin to melt away, and then Jackson dropped us both out onto the streets of Manhattan."
"My lord, I doubt that any demigod would be capable of-"
"Just get me out," the titan snaps. "I don't care how. And Hecate…"
"My lord?"
"If anyone else hears of this, I will see to it that you beg merely to be sent to Tartarus."
"I will be discrete, my lord." The goddess of magic bows, and disappears, and Kronos turns his gaze back to Percy, who is doing his best to look unthreatening on the throne room floor. He feels like he's doing an uncomfortably good job of it, but being the only other occupant of the room, it's still not enough to keep Kronos' attention away.
"I had been prepared to wait for things to solve themselves naturally," says the titan. "Millenia of waiting for my revenge has taught me extraordinary patience, among other things. But you had to go and provoke open rebellion against me, didn't you?"
"What did Mnemosyne do then?" asks Percy, half curious, half snarking, and totally unable to keep his mouth shut when he needs to.
"It's pronounced Mnemosyne, you degenerate," Kronos says scornfully, spitting out each syllable. "She aided your would-be assassins."
"How?"
"She just did," says Kronos, smirking like he's won something from Percy.
Percy realises two things:
First, he realises that Mnemosyne's offence was, if it existed at all, nothing to justify her being thrown into Tartarus. Perhaps she had questioned one of Kronos' decisions, or made one of her own of which he disapproved. The titan king can condemn anyone he wants to the pit, and any disagreement will be taken as further disobedience.
Assuming the first point is correct – and he's certain it is, from Kronos' reluctance to name a specific crime and the general sense of mad dictator-ness that Kronos is exuding – then the titan is paranoid. He feels uncertain of his own security to the point that he'll send one of his inner circle to Tartarus for… what, exactly?
For all of the teeth Kronos is showing, it feels rather more like it's Percy who's won something from him. Then the titan speaks again. "Brother."
Hyperion, whom Percy hadn't noticed enter, steps forwards into the light. "Sire," he acknowledges. If he's annoyed to have been summoned back almost immediately after leaving the throne room, then he doesn't show it.
"Perseus here has information regarding my soul's release from this host. Torture him until he is willing to share it." He turns to go.
"My lord," says Percy. Kronos turns back, eyebrow quirked. "I don't know anything," he tells the titan. "I don't understand magic, or…"
Kronos sighs. "I'd like him to continue making his public appearances," he tells Hyperion. "So be sure not to do anything too permanent."
The beating that Hyperion deals Percy once Kronos has left is a vicious one, though the titan is visibly disappointed in the extent to which the Achilles curse shields the half-blood from damage. Percy isn't convinced the titan has a whole lot to regret, since Hyperion's blows would be enough to kill any ordinary demigod, and their blunt force still leaves him aching and exhausted on the floor.
A few steps away, once more holding the chains to stop Percy fleeing, Astraeus watches disinterestedly.
"Why are you doing this?" Percy asks Hyperion, gasping for breath.
Really, the titan should just tell him to shut up, or else simply ignore him. Fortunately, he's about as bright – what was it Percy told him before?
You Titans are about as bright as my gym socks.
That was a long time ago in Percy's reckoning, but Hyperion doesn't exactly prove it wrong, and he takes the bait. "What are you talking about?" he asks.
"This can't be much fun," says Percy. "Beating up a defenceless prisoner. Wouldn't you rather give me a sword and fight me on an even footing?"
"Do you think I'm stupid, Jackson?"
"No," says the son of Poseidon. "But I do think you've got some pride. I think that pride was stung when you were beaten by a demigod in Manhattan. I think you want to prove that you're the stronger warrior in a straight fight – no lake this time, no satyrs. Give me a sword and let the best fighter win."
Hyperion's tempted. He tries to hide it, but the silence that follows Percy's offer would make it obvious to anyone with working ears, and the expression on his face would tell anyone with a sense of sight. Percy, being in possession of both of these things – oh, Percy can tell alright.
"Don't let him goad you, Uncle," says Astraeus, and Hyperion looks away. The spell is broken.
"I am not as great a fool as you think, Jackson," he spits. "It would be no contest anyway – a weak demigod, this time unaided by his friends, against one of the greatest titan warriors. There is nothing to decide between us."
Percy thinks that the titan might have taken up his challenge were Astraeus not here to stop him, but he's stopped from trying again as the haft of Hyperion's spear shatters against the back of his neck.
He sprawls to the floor and does his best to endure the barrage of blows that rain down until the titan realises he's hurting himself as much as Percy. He steps back, and Percy has a chance to catch his breath. He hears bones snapping back into place in Hyperion's hands and feet as the titan heals himself, and Percy suspects that he's even angrier now. This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you isn't exactly a torturer's motto.
"I didn't realise you were a coward," Percy tries again. "I mean, it's not as if I could escape, so you must just be scared of-"
He's cut off as Hyperion seizes him by the arms and flings him across the room. Astraeus lets go of the chains just in time, and the demigod flies into a column that he's pretty certain he hears crack somewhere at the impact. He raises his head to see Hyperion bearing down on him once more, and only has a moment to be disappointed that even Hyperion, who hates Percy more than most, is beyond his power to manipulate. Then he's flying through the air again in a scene that manages to both be a grotesque parody of torture an effective torture in its own right. Something cracks as his hits the wall, though he's not sure if the sound came from him or not.
"I'm going to beat you into the clay you crawled out of," hisses Hyperion.
"You're welcome to try," says Percy. That was probably foolish, he realises a second later, but it's the least he could do in return for the idea Hyperion's given him.
"There's nothing to be gained from this snake," Astraeus tells Percy.
Prometheus' temple is smaller than most of the other titans', but still one of the largest buildings on the mountain. It looms over Percy, Astraeus, and the goat the son of Poseidon bought as an offering a little way down the road.
"I just want to ask him a couple of questions," says Percy.
Around the temple's edges, mortal priests and priestesses guide worshippers and petitioners around. Most offer animal sacrifices of some kind, but those too poor to afford even chickens are trying to attract the titan's attention through dance, music, or other arts. Percy suspects that their efforts are in vain.
He also spots three fingers on the floor. He knows Kronos has reinstituted human sacrifice, and can't quite muster up the energy to hope that their owner met with a happy ending.
"You're free to ask," says the titan, "but don't expect anything helpful or trustworthy in his answers."
Percy leaves the goat with him, as titans don't intrude in their fellows' temples, and limps up the steps up to the building, still aching from his beating earlier but reluctant to delay any longer than necessary. He'd always assumed that because only a couple of myths were taught about Prometheus at camp – namely, his creation of humans and his theft of fire – the titan of forethought and crafty counsel had spent the rest of Greek history either relaxing or having his liver eaten as punishment for the aforementioned fire heist. Judging from the friezes which circled around the temple roof, though, he'd clearly had plenty of time to forge some legends about himself when Kronos had ruled the earth.
He notices too a scene of a titan, a giant, an empousa and a demigod negotiating at a table with three other demigods. Between them sits Pandora's box, a tiny spirit visible within.
Percy looks away and continues walking. He doesn't know what happened to Hope.
Inside, the building is more or less bare. There are further designs on the walls and a couple of priests and slaves wandering around maintaining the spotless environment, but it's hardly the hub of activity the exterior was. The main attraction is a statue of Prometheus in the centre of the room's far end, several times the size of a normal human. He is bearing a flaming torch, wearing only a loincloth, and looking rather more muscular than Percy remembers him being, though admittedly those abs could have been concealed beneath the tuxedo the titan wore at their only meeting.
"I do look marvellous, don't I?"
Percy turns to see Prometheus himself standing next to him, gazing up at the statue. He isn't totally sure whether the titan's talking about the statue or not, but in truth, he can't argue with either option. At some point in the last two years, the Prometheus has ditched the tux in favour of a less flashy, but better-fitting suit, which goes better with the large sunglasses over his eyes. His hair, meanwhile, has been trimmed down from the greasy ponytail he wore at their last meeting, and instead hangs loose just above his shoulders. He looks less like a magician now, and more like a reformed hippy.
Even more noticeable, however, is the change in his body. In Manhattan, the titan was as tall as he is now – a little over two metres – but slim with it, even gaunt. Immortals don't generally look malnourished, but Prometheus had come close. Now, though, he's filled out, like he's reached comfortable middle-age and stopped exercising. It's not an attractive look in the conventional sense, but it gives an unmistakable impression of being entirely at ease with himself and the world, which Percy can't deny is an appealing prospect.
When Prometheus says he looks marvellous, he doesn't mean it aesthetically – unless, of course, he's actually talking about the statue, which has ramped up the sex appeal somewhat – he actually means he looks comfortable. Percy can only guess that being in power, the titans are reaping the benefits of worship, fear and sacrifices from the mortals. They're enjoying better pickings than they have in a literal age.
There's one thing which hasn't changed, though: the scars on his face, of which Percy knows the sunglasses will be hiding the worst.
"Why don't you heal the scars?" he blurts out, unable to stop himself.
Prometheus frowns. "The correct response was 'yes'," he points out dryly. "But if you must know, there are some wounds which exist on more than just a physical level. I could make the skin flawless, but I, and every other immortal on this mountain, would still know they were there. Why did Hephaestus never fix that limp of his? Because it's as much a part of him as your heart is of you. The only way I could ever heal these is by getting hold of the thrice-damned bird that gave them to me in the first place. It's still out there, somewhere. Heracles killed it, for a while, but not for long. Not nearly for long enough to pay for the millenia it tortured me."
Percy nods, not really sure how to respond.
"Now, what would a son of Poseidon be doing in my temple?" asks the titan. "Or did you only come here to insult my looks?"
"I need a favour," says Percy, slowly, realising he probably shouldn't ask too many personal questions of someone who could hold his life in their hands.
"Oh?"
"I need my sword," admits Percy. "I need Riptide."
There's the gambit. Prometheus could choose just to report Percy to Kronos, in which case Percy has not only failed this time, but also blocked off the possibility of any future attempt to escape. He's betting, though, that without Astraeus' presence, Prometheus might help him – out of self-interest, if nothing else.
"Anaklusmos..." muses the titan. "That's quite the request."
"If you can't do it, just say and I'll leave now."
"That's not what I said, Jackson. No titan would dream of giving out weapons to our prisoners anyway, but Kronos has expressly forbidden allowing you near so much as a butter knife. Tell me, why should I betray my lord's trust for you? I trust you have quite some sacrifice lined up?"
"I brought a goat-"
He's cut off by Prometheus laughing. "Yes, a goat, the traditional price for risking your immortal existence," he sneers. "It's not even thirty pieces of silver, really, let alone an empire of my own, is it?"
"I didn't know what you'd want, but I can get more-"
"You're pathetic, Jackson. Really, you don't have anything I want, but I expected more than a goat," he spits. "There is no number of sacrifices you could make to persuade me. Now get out, before I throw you out, and if you don't want me to tell Kronos, then-"
"What happened to Hope?" Percy asks. Another gamble.
"What?"
"Elpis. What happened to it? You said that all I had to do was release it, and you'd take it as a sign of peaceful surrender and have mercy, right? Did you get it?"
"What are you talking about, Jackson? We both know you lost the pithos in the Battle of Manhattan."
"Except I didn't. I entrusted it to a friend."
"A friend?" asks Prometheus sceptically.
Percy nods. "And then I carried on fighting for another year. And now, even though you've been had me here for months now, I still haven't given it up. Can you think of any reason why I would keep it safe, even though I know that telling Kronos where it is would probably encourage him to loosen my guard a little? I haven't given up hope yet, Prometheus, and nor has any other demigod."
"Then you are either a fool or a liar," says Prometheus. Behind the sunglasses, his expression is unreadable.
"Am I?" asks Percy, ploughing on. He knows that there isn't a back-up plan after this one. "You were there this morning, weren't you? You've seen that your king can't access his full power. You've seen that he can't even keep his own subjects in line. You've seen that he's so paranoid that he'll banish loyal titans to Tartarus for no reason at all."
"Those titans tried to kill you, did they not?"
"We both know Mnemosyne had nothing to do with it."
Prometheus doesn't respond to that, save saying "It's pronounced Mnemosyne, Jackson."
"There are rebels in the countryside. You can't defeat the Romans." Percy can't pretend to know just how these so-called Romans he's somehow never heard of feature in the titans' war, but the fact that they make Kronos angry is good enough in his book. "The titans may have won the Battle of Manhattan," he continues, "but most of Othrys doesn't even realise that the war's still going on – and that's the most dangerous thing of all. You're totally unprepared."
"Then I shall have to encourage our people to prepare."
"You and I both know they won't listen to you. You're the trickster, remember?"
Prometheus fixes him with a look. Percy can tell from the set of his face that behind the glasses, his eyes are smouldering angrily.
"I don't have any big sacrifices to make, but I can promise you two things. The first is amnesty when we win."
"A worthless promise from a coward who knows he'll never have to deliver on it."
"The second thing..." Percy continues, undeterred. As he speaks, he deliberately traces a finger along his cheek in the shape of one of the deepest marks on Prometheus' face. The titan watches unmovingly, but Percy knows he has him.
"How would you like to be able to heal those scars of yours?" he asks.
Woohoo, the goat is spared!
Guest, who had doubts about Kronos assaulting Percy in ch7, yeah, I dunno how well I handled that. I'm planning on chatting a little about how writing the story went once I finish it, but glad you're enjoying it mostly!
NONAME2002, I know what you mean about there being some similarities to Confused by Time, but I don't think this one will get any closer to that than it already is. I haven't read all of that one, so I can't be certain, but as far as I know Kronos and Percy end up as a pretty stable couple in that one, whereas Kronos ain't gonna stop being an evil villain here. I do generally like to tell people to wait and see for themselves, but honestly I can't see any way I could convincingly get Percy to like Kronos, having established him as a pretty unpleasant dude so far.
Zephyr, glad you're enjoying it!
ShadowsClaw, thanks for the review as always. Honestly I am really proud with a lot of how writing Kronos has gone - I feel like I could probably have clarified his plans for Percy a little better as they change, but honestly at the start I was still figuring out how it would evolve, so oh well, and I've had a lot of fun making him be generally villainous. Hope you liked this chapter too!
Marie, thanks also! I know November isn't exactly 'soon' after that review you left in, uh, February, but glad you liked it, and hopefully you're still reading!
As always, reviews are hugely appreciated, thanks to the follows and favourites, and I'll see you all at the next chapter!