A/N: On today's menu, we're serving up angst with a side of...even more angst. Enjoy.


Percy's hands were red, the murderous glint in his eyes not yet extinguished. Innocent, child-like Bob stared widely, his lip trembling. Percy tilted his head toward Bob, all pretenses gone, slapped away from his face. His mouth twisted into an impressionable mix between scowl and smirk.

"P-Percy?" Bob questioned again, staring at the corpse before him. The blood had stopped leaking, forming a drying stain of red that melted in with Tartarus's floors.

"Oh, you've come at the perfect time!" Percy laughed, high off adrenaline and sheer joy.

He held the block of metal in his arms tightly, cradling it like it was a baby. It weighed Percy down a bit, and blood was starting to make a mess on its glowing surface. There was blood everywhere, but instead of that dissuading Percy, he was more excited than before—this blood was his to control, his to play around with. His own personal weapon.

"What have you done?"

Percy began to walk, toeing Ethan's corpse out of the ring, making the empty sack of a boy sprawl gracelessly outside the circle. Percy offered a single sparing glance at Ethan, and there was a tiny shred of pity there—somewhere—but he locked it away. Tossed the key out. And went on his way.

He held the metal to his bleeding chest. He forced the blood to work in his chest, and with extraordinary delirium banging in his chest, he ignored the pain.

"Percy!" Bob yelled. He was walking quickly towards him, making Percy bare his teeth. Honesty had always been Percy's forte, and he couldn't take one more second of lying to Bob. "What did you… What happened?"

Percy was sick of the Titan, and he wanted to slam the adamant on Bob's skull. To stop that tinny voice of betrayal and confusion.

"I killed him," said Percy, his voice clear and emotionless.

Percy continued to walk, and Bob chased to meet him there, earnest eyes furrowing.

"Was he trying to hurt you, Percy? Is that why?" asked Bob, confused.

"Yes," he replied simply.

The monsters close to Bob growled and snarled. Kelli smirked, self-satisfied, but she held a hand out in the universal gesture of wait. Despite everything, Percy felt prickles of nervous energy sashay down his spine. Kelli was beginning to pester him more and more, and he couldn't tell why. It was like…she was eyeing his and Bob's exchange like it was a personal show.

Percy paced away, a slight limp to his steps. He felt like a coward, walking away from the army of monsters, from Bob's heartbroken gaze. There were eyes wherever Percy looked, and the pressure was as intense as fire, all-encompassing and burning.

Percy just wanted to be in control again; he wanted to drain another traitor's bloodied system. Maybe he should've dragged Nakamura's and his exchange on longer. It'd been too…fast.

How could you think that, Percy? a part of his brain—that sounded remarkably like Annabeth—demanded.

Percy had never had one of those angel-devil conscience things; he lacked the concentration, and instead, he just had a stupid, reckless part of his mind control and instruct all of his body. Percy felt numb. Annabeth's words held very little sway in his head. This disease that'd started in his head had already spread.

Black spots appeared in his vision, but he ignored them. He needed sanctuary, shelter, somewhere his fears and anxiety would go to die.

Bob's eyes were big and crystal-like behind him, and it was obvious the amnesiac Titan was feeling a horrible mixture of emotions. Bob swallowed again, and just as Percy felt a gut-felt pain, Bob ran over and swooped Percy in a bridal carry. Percy heaved a sigh.

With a legion of contained monsters behind him, Bob held Percy and walked on. The blood seeped onto Bob's janitor uniform, onto his shiny mop, into the reflection of his eyes, but Bob forced himself onward. I must care for him.

As Percy blacked out from blood loss, Bob thought hopefully to himself: My friend.


"Sometimes there is no darker place than our thoughts, the moonless midnight of the mind."

- Dean Koontz


When he woke up a few hours later, he saw a sight for the ages. On the dirty, grainy, rough floor of Tartarus, lying there almost innocently, there was a yellow pack of peanut M and Ms. Percy felt himself quirk a drowsy brow.

Bob was next to him, wrapping cloth around his stomach. Percy scrambled away, as if he'd been stung (in some ways, being touched by that thing that was Iapetus was worse). Percy held a hand out, grabbed the fabric Bob had been trying to fasten, and tied himself his own makeshift bandage. Bob's eyes darted away, and he hummed a tune that sounded like Fly Me to the Moon, by Frank Sinatra. It annoyed Percy, but he let it pass. He needed some kind of distraction, after all, as he applied the wrap around his leg and stomach area. There was also a cut on his arm that needed tending.

A thick silence pulsated around them, so Percy peered again at the rainbow-colored candies on the floor. He tentatively took the pack in his hands. It looked extremely old, dirty and ripping around its edges: months old, at least.

"What's this?" Percy asked Bob, whose eyes were downcast.

"Candy. Food from the above world appears every once in a while, Percy, though nothing comes anymore."

Percy inspected the MMs with a quick once-over. They looked real enough, and Percy's stomach was aching for sustenance. Even fiber from something like candy would do favors for his gut; he hadn't eaten in... Percy furrowed his brows: where had the time gone?

He swallowed down his resistance, plopping a bright red M and M into his mouth, savoring the melt of milk-chocolate on his tongue. It was old and soft, but it was like heaven to Percy. Percy could write ballads and haikus about the taste, and he eagerly scrambled more, taking a fistful, drowning in the taste of sugary chocolate, in confectionary ecstasy—

"Percy," Bob interjected quietly, "was it right to kill the boy?"

Percy's tongue tasted like ash, washing away the sweet taste. Sleeping had momentarily made him forget their little fight.

Ethan deserved it. He was a human-shaped monster, the devil on his shoulder told him.

He was just a boy, Annabeth echoed in reply.

And to all his thoughts, Percy replied with: Whatever.

Percy was sick and tired of asking himself what was morally good and bad. He was sick and tired of consequences, ethics, and pep-talks that consisted of does this make me a bad person?

"I don't know. I don't care actually." Percy's brows drew together. "He's a bad, bad person. You can hurt bad people, Bob."

"Really?" asked Bob. His naivety was both a blessing and an annoyance.

"Yeah. The world is split down the middle, you know? Good and bad—heroes and villains. The bad guys try to hurt people, and sometimes, we have to play their games in order to win. Even heroes do bad things for the greater good."

For the greater good, for Camp Half-Blood above, for Annabeth, for his own survival.

Percy would do anything for them. Athena once warned him that loyalty would be his downfall, but Percy saw it as a strength. He had something to fight for, something to die for, and wasn't that the best part of living? A cause?

"And we're the good guys?"

"Bulls-eye." In his head, Percy knew this to be false. He was the good guy, the hero, Camp Half-Blood's last hope; Bob was a stupid, amnesiac villain, who needed to be dealt with. As soon as Iapetus's memories flooded back in, Percy could say bye-bye to Bob's innocence.

He was playing a fragile game with the fates—a countdown until Bob regained his old life.

Stunningly, Percy found more food on the floor. Little packages of cute fruit snacks, a plate of tomato-spattered spaghetti, an uneaten chicken leg. They were all rotting away, months old, but Percy scavenged around like a crow, chewing and biting and feeling strength return to his bones.

"What is that for?" Bob asked. He pointed innocently at the chunk of adamant, tucked away in Percy's arm.

"For killing very, very bad bad guys."

"Oh," Bob said.

"How long have we been in here, in Tartarus?" Percy asked, trying to get off the topic of killing. The realization could dawn on Bob any time, that Bob himself was one of the "bad guys" that Percy spoke of.

Having the Titan pliant like clay was Percy's goal. Bob would not even notice when Percy killed him, so innocently waiting for Percy to "save" him. For now though, as Percy was still extracting usage from Bob, Percy settled for obedience.

"Time works funny here," Bob said with a little giggle, shrugging. "Hours, days, weeks, months, years."

Percy felt his chest clench heavily at the words. Years. Percy could not spare years. He could not spare any more time for letting Kronos grow half a brain to invade Camp Half-Blood.

He had a brief, second-long vision of the light draining out of Annabeth's eyes, and he shuddered violently.

Another thought hit him. He felt like panicking. What if Percy had spent one hundred years in hell? He would go back to a wasteland: all his friends dead, all the human settlements destroyed, Kronos on top of the crumbling world, everything gone.

"We need to get back," Percy said roughly. "Get up."

Bob tilted his head. "What?"

"Get up," Percy ordered angrily, his eyes dark with fury.

"Oh, uh, okay."

Percy grabbed Bob's arm and dragged him. He stopped by the River Phlegethon for another quick sip of burning liquid. He walked on, his throat stiff and his feet aching. The pain ebbed away slightly, and fierce determination took control of his body.

I will get out of Tartarus, he told himself, forcing sincerity into that one thought.

"Oh, really?" said the voice, as if reading his mind.

Percy's eyes flicked to the sky, and he suppressed a shiver, walking forward with a more insistent pace. He dragged Bob along, ignoring the naive Titan's fumbling, until he stared right on ahead into the red expanse across him. To someone's face.

In the desert that was Tartarus, Luke Castellan stood there.

A cocky grin spilled across his handsome face. He wore a sophisticated kind of silver armor, so startlingly different from his casual camp shirt, with an attached scabbard that held Backbiter. He twirled his CHB necklace innocently, pulling and playing with the nostalgic beads.

Luke blinked innocently. Gold eyes gleamed.


"But even an angel has to put her halo down from time to time."

- Adam Silvera


Silena had a crush. To be fair, this wasn't truly anything special: Silena had had many crushes on boys, and she was unapologetically unabashed for having so many. Her mother, Aphrodite, was the goddess of love, so naturally, Silena took after her. Silena loved to love. She loved to pine from afar and hope for a romance as beautiful (and hopefully not as tragic) as Romeo and Juliet.

According to Aphrodite, Silena had a romance written in the stars.

She thought her one true love was Luke. He was incredibly dashing with a sharp jaw and baby-blue eyes, and Silena just...fell. When it came to Luke, she turned into a giggling school-girl, writing pretty pink cards decked with romantic poems.

Key phrases like "Mrs. Castellan" and "forever and ever" made their way into her heart. After all, Silena was Aphrodite's daughter. She did everything Luke asked because wasn't that what love was? Doing anything for your lover?

She wanted to be loved...so she played the long game, waiting and waiting. Even when Luke was busy sulking, would barely pass her a glance, Silena still drew red hearts around their initials and wrote romantic songs, all dedicated to Luke. This distance was surely a phase, an interlude, before Luke would take her into his arms, and a symphony of bells and symbals would play. They had something there, and Silena waited for it to nurture and grow into a beautiful blossom...

When Kronos awoke, a part of Silena was still on stand-by...wondering if Luke was still biding his time to declare his love to her.

Embarrassingly enough, it'd taken an excruciatingly long time for Silena to fling her head out of the gutter—her dreams died the minute she saw Luke's mismatched, blue-gold eyes. There was no coming back from this.

She'd been easily manipulated, played on by a bitter boy with a penchant for waking up evil Titan kings.

Then, soon after that, in a cruel twist of irony, she realized her "romance written in the stars" was supposed to be with her friend Charlie. It'd always been Charlie.

Luke used that against her with thick blackmail ("I'll kill him, you know. Don't you dare tattle, Silena."). She bent under the pressure, and she reported to Luke over everything she'd heard from camp.

Silena had been a traitor to camp for years, and every time she looked in the mirror, she burst out crying.

Charlie would be so ashamed of her.

Love made fools out of men, but she was the biggest fool of them all. In her quests of love, she had ruined herself.

Silena redirected, sitting there as Percy's funeral took an unexpected, bold turn.

"My son will lead us into victory," said Zeus in that self-assured, confident tone of his. The boy, Jason Grace, tilted his head skyward, and he did look like a leader—very princely. "With the strength of Camp Jupiter, we will defeat my father."

Silena cringed. This would surely be information Luke—no, Kronos—would desire to hear. Two God-led camps, uniting?

It might turn the tides of the war; Silena could be free again. Free from the chains Luke had put on her, the chains she'd put on herself.

Next to her, Charles Beckendorf squeezed her hand with warm brown eyes. There was a gash on Charlie's cheek, but Silena thought he couldn't have looked more handsome at that moment. She kissed his brow, ignoring the wrenching guilt in her stomach.

"We're going to take him down," said Charlie softly. He was so passionate that it almost hurt.

"Yeah..." She offered a crooked smile.

He kissed the corner of her mouth, making her sputter out a giggle. How had she thought Luke was her Prince Charming? "We're gonna save the world, okay, Silena? Don't you worry." Silena smiled fondly, and she watched the barest spark of hope in Charlie's—in the campers'—eyes. They had a chance to win...Silena had a chance, too, by extension. "Aw, princess...don't leave me hanging."

Silena's smile slipped into something more grim. "Hey, Charlie...y-you know I love you, right?"

He plastered on a faux-surprised look. "I sure hope you do, considering I'm your boyfriend."

Her hand was tight in his. The truth needed to come clean. The first person she needed to tell was Charlie. Charlie's dark eyes flickered. Silena leaned in and saw sparks of bright gold in them, glittering and bright. The gold was strange, but she didn't push it.

"I..." she trailed off. Charlie's eyes glinted again. "I—I need to tell you something."


"It is better to be feared than loved, if you cannot be both."

- Niccolò Machiavelli, The Prince


Kronos stared at Percy Jackson, smirking triumphantly. Tartarus had not changed one last bit from his last visit, and although he hated the place with a great, burning passion, there was a comfort in knowing hell would always stay the same. Perhaps death was the one thing that always stayed the same, and wasn't that truly such a sobering thought? Kronos smirked, all teeth. Tartarus had been an eternal time-out zone Zeus—his own son, his cupbearer—had placed him in. It was all truly very backwards.

Perseus Jackson stared at him. There was a quiet fierceness in his eyes, and immediately, Kronos knew Perseus was looking not at him, but at the boy. Kronos curiously tilted his head in Luke's body, his golden eyes flecked with interest. His grandson looked shaken, releasing his hold on Kronos's brother.

Iapetus blinked, and in a very indiscreet whisper, he asked, "Percy?"

The boy couldn't even say anything. He was frozen to the spot in rage, and he was clenching his fists so hard... It was quite entertaining to watch the gods' little poster boy fall apart. For the Olympians' precious hero to stand there, unmoving.

Still smirking, Kronos strolled nearer casually. He felt Luke's muscles tense around, and he loosened them. Kronos could easily overpower his older brother, Iapetus, should it come down to a fight. Perseus would also easily fall, though he would be a stubborn brat about it. It was admirable to stand one's ground, but Perseus Jackson often took that lesson at face-value, standing even when loss was inevitable.

Perseus balled his hands into tight fists, his unclipped nails peeling at the skin.

"You," the son of Poseidon spat, venom thick in his tone. "You were... You were the one talking to me."

Kronos raised an amused eyebrow. He'd thought that much had been obvious, but Poseidon's brat liked to think with his fists, not his mind. If Perseus Jackson had only taken a mere moment to think, he would have known.

"How observant of you," said Kronos dryly. He inspected the boy with lazy golden eyes.

"What do you want?" Perseus bit out, his voice coming out slurred.

He glanced at Iapetus, then back at Kronos; Kronos's own brother looked incredibly torn, and Kronos sighed. He'd heard that Iapetus had accidentally fell into the River Lethe, and looking at Iapetus's blank face, Kronos could attest to that. What a fool his brother was.

"Percy...?" his brother tried once more, quieter, more subdued. "There's nothing there. What are you looking at? I—"

"Not now," Perseus blurted angrily, his gaze razor-sharp and focused on Kronos. He could see bloodlust there, and he was reminded of his feelings for Ouranos...for Zeus, even. His family line was a tangle of betrayal and anger and revenge, and this little spawn of the sea was another string of yarn in an already complex bloody quilt.

"Hmm," hummed Kronos, noncommittal. A sharp gaze was his reply. "How interesting."

"What?" Perseus's eyes were slits.

"You have blood on your hands," Kronos noted casually.

"Yeah," Perseus said, "we're the same now, yeah?"

"You seem to be misinformed, Perseus," said Kronos, an edge to his tone. "I have ichor on my hands, not blood. I have never killed a mortal man."

There was a long, answering pause. "You haven't killed anyone? I...don't believe you."

"Your old friend..." Kronos started, making Percy tense. "Luke Castellan, was it?" This had an intriguing effect on Percy, and Kronos's smile was little more than clear, unfiltered malice. "He has killed—not eagerly, not for his own enjoyment. I, on the other hand—"

"—are a blessed fucking saint, aren't you?" Perseus answered vulgarly.

Kronos felt his lips twitch upwards. "The Olympians' pet dog sure does have a mouth, doesn't he?"

Perseus bared his teeth, a guttural sort of sound escaping. Iapetus seemed to lean back a bit at Perseus's gesture. Kronos could not blame this meek version of Iapetus—Perseus was truly a sight to behold, blood caked under his fingernails, a yell stored in his throat, ready to be released.

"Percy..." Iapetus tried again. "There's nothing th—"

But Perseus was too rageful; he was too determined to say his piece. "You're a lunatic. A psycho. You know, the only goddamn good thing Zeus did was butt-kicking you down here in itty-bitty pieces. You killed my mom and my dad. You're a fucking murderer."

Tears seemed to glow in Perseus's sea-green eyes. Kronos almost cackled at the sight. It surprised Kronos how stupid demigods could be.

"Do you genuinely believe that, Perseus Jackson?" asked Kronos, delighted. "Why would I kill your parents?"

"B-because," Perseus seemed to sputter. "To get to me. To hurt me. When the prophecy was still about me..."

"Oh, please, I wouldn't bother with some mortal woman and her mortal husband." Kronos, using Luke's bodily machinations, eyed Perseus thoughtfully, his gaze as assessing as a watchful hawk. "Is that the sort of propaganda my children have been feeding you? That I wish to kill all humans?"

Kronos took a step closer, his movements refined and assured. A crater formed upon impact, the strength of a Titan clear for Perseus to see.

"What a pointless endeavor," Kronos crowed aloud, continuing when Perseus didn't entertain him with a response. "They are like weeds, you know. Vermin. You pluck one off the lawn, and another takes its place."

"Be careful where you're treading," Perseus snapped. Ah, Kronos realized. The boy was still hung on his human family.

Yet...for some reason or another, Perseus Jackson had not raised a hand to fight. To reach for a weapon, to hit, to kill... Kronos was still particularly in Perseus's mild good graces.

"It would be boring without mortals," said Kronos. "I have no wishes to eradicate them. Why would I purposefully target the least of my concerns?"

"Then what is your greatest concern, huh?" Perseus was all assertiveness and nerve. "Killing all demigods? Wow, you've made me so sympathetic of your cause." Perseus clapped dramatically, a sardonic tinge in his expression.

"Only those that fight against my armies. I have no qualms with demigods," said Kronos smoothly. This was his political tone, the one he had used to convince his siblings to kill their father, Ouranos, near the beginning of time. "You, of all men, know the consequences of war. I welcome the demigods who join me with open arms. I even possess one of your own," Kronos said. He gestured to the body of Luke in languid, fluid motions. "If my son Zeus were forced into a demigod body for eternity, the world would never see the end of his stormy tantrum."

"You didn't have much of a choice picking hosts, you know."

"I am a fair ruler, Perseus—"

"Percy." It seemed like an instinct when Perseus corrected him, and Kronos raised one of Luke's blond eyebrows.

Calling Perseus "Percy" would greatly dissatisfy Jackson's namesake. "Percy" was a nickname, a short two-syllable roll of the tongue, of French descent, the meaning being the one who pierces the valley. "Perseus" was the name of the hero of old, and even though Kronos had been neatly tucked into the corners of Tartarus by then, he recognized the name.

Perseus. The destroyer.

"—my son Zeus plays around with things he cannot control. He has been a better playmate to mortal women than he has a king of Olympus. He is inclined to infidelity at every turn, and if he cannot even stay faithful to his own wife, how can he be faithful to any other cause?"

"Sure," Percy said. "He fools around, but every politician does that. You want to kill everyone. And I think I'd rather take a slippery politician instead of Titan Hitler."

Kronos scowled. "I have killed my father...and I do plan on throwing Zeus and his sycophants into these fiery pits of hell. I have no concern over mortals; I do not plan to dwell on mortals like my children have. I can be sadistic if you wrong me, but I have no interest in squashing ants, Perseus Jackson. They do not affect me, the way they affect your mighty Olympians."

"Then," Perseus spat, "what do you want from me? Stop singing your own praises, and get to the point."

"I wish for you to join me," Kronos said.

Perseus's green eyes flickered with hesitance for a single, earth-shattering, mere second. Kronos took this and pulled on the fishing line, delivering—what was the phrase?—oh, yes, hook, line and sinker.

"When I kill the gods, I can bring your mother back."

"What?"

"When I defeat my eldest son, Hades," Kronos pressed on, "I will have the ability to control what goes on in the Underworld. I can bring your mother back from wherever the gods have stowed her off in."

There was a long, eerie pause where Perseus's eyes stared off at Kronos, but they did not really see. He was frozen, the only movement being that of his fingers twitching erratically, wanting to hold something. Possibly a sword to swing, given Perseus's violent tendencies and mood-swings.

"No, n-no, you can't!" Perseus yelled. "You're lying! You're...you're lying!"

Suddenly, a soft Iapetus was at Percy's side, holding his shoulder gently. "Percy, what's wrong? Is the imaginary bad guy being mean? I'll fight him! Fight bad guy for Percy!" Warm eyes narrowed, and Iapetus stared off, but Kronos was a vision that only met Perseus's eyes. Only met Percy's ears.

His brainwashed brother held no power in their conversation. He was little more than a blank-slate for Perseus to talk to.

"You killed her!" Perseus yelled into the expanse ahead of her. "You're a liar. You just want me to join your side!"

Kronos tilted his head again, oddly curious. "Am I?" he asked, quiet as wind. He paused, and Perseus let out another screech of Greek curses.

Perseus grabbed the silver-glinting adamant from Iapetus's arms, and he ran over to Luke's...body. He took it and swung it over Kronos's head, but just as the hit was made, the metal passed through, like the vision Kronos was. The adamant hit the ground with an unsatisfying clink-clink-clink.

"Percy?" asked Iapetus.

"I'm hallucinating," Perseus said in the direction of Kronos, and the boy laughed, high and cold. "Oh, my gods, I'm fucking hallucinating. You don't even exist." He sounded deranged, mad, but Kronos could easily manipulate the madness into something he could work with. Something controllable, tangible, and potent with power.

"I can assure you," said Kronos, "this is not a hallucination. Rather...a vision."

"From what? From you?" Percy let out another shriek of pitchy laughter, his eyes clouding over, manic energy spreading in the form of tics, spasms, and twitching. "No, no. This is all me. My mind's just making up a Kronos talk to. Isn't that brilliant?" Perseus flopped to the floor unceremoniously. "Oh, my gods. Is this place seriously getting to me?"

Some combination of heat-stroke, lack of proper food, and bodily exertion was doing this to Perseus Jackson. Kronos sighed, but he let it go. It would not do to push Perseus over the edge, when the boy could easily, accidentally tumble there by himself.

He softened his voice, until it almost sounded like Luke Castellan's. "You have time to think...Percy, should you choose this path." Kronos felt his lips form a smile. "We may not see eye to eye with one another, but that can be remedied. Fighting for the gods? You have seen their corruption, have seen it first hand, and I believe you can come to a more reasonable conclusion. Though I suppose..." he finally said, "only time will tell."

Perseus gritted his teeth, his knees pressed to the floor, holding the metal in his hands like it was a lifeline. It would have been endearing, if it wasn't such a blatant sign of weakness. Iapetus was next to Perseus, pressing his hand to Perseus's back. Perseus was futilely trying to inch away from the Titan's grasp, and in Perseus, Kronos did see a lot of prejudice against any entity that was not a god, demigod, or human. It was odd to watch, but also very telling of what they taught at that silly little half-blood camp Percy had lived a great portion of his life in. Iapetus continued, oblivious, telling Perseus to forget about the "dream demon" and "very, very bad man."

Staring at Perseus with dark golden eyes, he smirked slightly. He offered a short, polite wave, just for the sake of formality.

Kronos blinked away from Tartarus, satisfied with his doing.

Doubt had been planted, and he only had to leisurely wait for it to bud.


A/N: Hey, I'm back. I've been on a trip, hence there was no update. As soon as I came back though, I had the strange need to write about Silena's perspective (lol), so there was that. Even though I didn't write it here specifically, Silena's friendship with Clarisse is honestly the most precious thing in the world.

I'd love some feedback because this story's taking wings, and I don't know how to rein it down and make it make sense :P

Also, I had a question in the comments on if Percy's going to get immortality...I usually don't like spoiling, but it's a yes. Someone also PMed me about content warnings, and to answer, it's mainly gore/blood/murder that might make certain readers squeamish. Some kissing. Cussing. Morally questionable situations. Some suggestive dialogue. A dark Percy who throws many goody-goody morals down a very steep cliff.

Signing out,

cold-as-ice22