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Notes and Etymology

Ginnungagap – The primordial void from which everything emerged in Norse mythology.

Vili and Vé – Odin's brothers.

Horse of the Hanged – A kenning used to refer to the world tree, Yggdrasil.

Lord of the Gallows – A kenning used to refer to Odin. A reference to the story in which Odin hanged himself from Yggdrasil for nine days and nine nights. After doing so, Odin gained greater knowledge/wisdom.

Hnefatafl – A Norse board game that was popular before chess rose to prominence.

Hafgufa – The Hafgufa is a monster from Norse stories. They are very rarely seen, as there are only two of them and they stick to the far northern seas. They are depicted as fish so large they are mistaken for islands. They feed on ships, whales, men, and fish indiscriminately.

Fólkvangr – The domain of Freya where half of the fallen warriors would be taken after death in Norse myth.

Perseus Thrall-Born – Asgard, 885 CE

Asgard was, if nothing else, a monument to the decadence of the gods. From its lowest valleys to its highest peaks, the entire realm exuded wealth, culture, and class. Valhalla, the crown jewel of Asgard proper, was a city surrounded by high-reaching walls, plummeting cliff faces, and stunning vistas.

The streets were fashioned from bricks of pure silver placed in an intricate parquet-inspired pattern. Mortar born of once-molten gold held the streets together like glue made from frozen sunlight. Together, the metals that formed the streets of endless fortune created a fantastical feel, as if the city itself had been built upon the scaly hide of a great metal dragon.

Towering palaces carved from sunset stone rose toward tranquil skies. Sloped rooftops and elaborate carvings ensured each building was as unique and breathtaking as the last. Beautiful gardens framed polished pathways leading to crystal doors, and the whole city sparkled in the light of the dawn. Had Percy an eye for anything in the world that wasn't family or fighting, he might've been forever entranced by the city's splendor.

Among all the buildings' elegant arches and glittering gemstone mosaics, one construct stood out. A pair of hammered bronze doors inlayed with scenic depictions of ancient battles led into the largest palace of them all. Flanked by enormous banners and humming an ancient tune, the doors were the most impressive work in a city sculpted into being by the finest craftsmen in all the nine realms. Percy knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Odin lay on the other side of those doors. He knew that on the other side, he would finally reach the birthplace of his destiny.

He approached the great doors with even greater trepidation. During the climb, he had been filled with the courage of the gods. Halfway between worlds, a dead giant and a conquered mountain beneath him, he had been kin with the moon and stars. A hallowed power floating high above the world of men. Now, as he stood outside Odin's hall, he once again felt the crippling shackles of his own mortality.

World-shattering power waited for him on the other side of that beaten bronze. A being whose strength could not be stopped by steel skin or whispered prayers. Whose dominating aura could not be silenced by thick stone walls. He could feel the might of a true god – power far beyond the shadow of Aegir he'd felt in his dream – washing over him. The feeling reminded him of the weakness he carried in his mortal veins. It filled him with doubt. Ill thoughts drowned his mind, and yet his soul forced him to swim. He was doom-driven and so, with a single worn-down hand, he announced his presence to the divine.

Six seconds of silence followed his three-note knock. He raised his hand again, but before his knuckles could touch cool bronze once more, a booming voice resounded from within the great hall.

"By what right do you seek entry to the Hall of Odin, demigod?"

Percy had to force himself to keep his voice even keeled.

"I demand entry by right of conquest and blood. I have scaled the mountain that kisses the stars, slain the giant who guards the roots, and mounted the horse of the hanged. By these feats I prove my valor. I am Perseus Thrall-Born, son of Aegir. By way of birthright, I stake my claim. Now open the doors so that I may pursue my destiny."

For a moment there was no response. Percy could feel the eyes of judgement being cast upon him from the heavens. Like beams of molten starlight the sky's eyes pierced his skin, rooting around until they sniffed out his soul hidden deep within his being. When judgement was passed, the burning gaze faded from his spirit. Then, with the silence of a wolf on the prowl, the massive doors began to move. They swung in slowly, peeling back their shrouding forms inch by inch until the hall of the All-Father was fully revealed to Percy's mortal eyes.

The floor alone was a masterpiece. A myriad of precious metals and gemstones both mortal and godly combined to form an ornate mosaic that spanned the entirety of the great hall. The image was one of reflection and divination in tandem. Everything in time was pictured, from the end of the Ginnungagap, to the birth of the All-Father, to the moment when Odin, Vili, and Vé created men. The story in the tiles went on until the days of Ragnarök, when Odin was destined to be consumed by Fenrir. The story went passed the end and to the beginning again, when the world was flooded, and life could begin anew.

Pillars of marble extended from the oracular floor towards a lofted ceiling. Each column was encircled by the winding body of an onyx-carved effigy of Jörmungandr. Each world-serpent swam towards the ceiling, where a large scrying glass constantly shifted between wide-sweeping panoramas of each of the nine realms. Some images were ancient, and others newer than the worlds as they existed now. The mirror, Percy realized, reflected past, present, and future all at once. To stare at it too long pained his mind, and so at last he turned his attention to his divine welcoming party.

The first god he saw fully was a brute of a man. A rugged face hid beneath a beard the color of blazing embers. Lightning eyes crackled from under a heavy brow. In the man's ham-sized fist, a massive hammer hummed with unbridled fury. Thunder echoed in Percy's mind, and he knew he was staring at Odin's favored son, the all-mighty Thor.

A smaller man stood next to the Lord of Thunder. He was handsome – even despite the venom-burns on his face – and his eyes were alight with mischief. Though his build was slight and his aura more subtle, there was a faint resemblance to the behemoth beside him that made his identity unmistakable. This had to be the ever-devious Loki, mayhem made flesh and bone.

Unlike the others, Percy recognized the third figure immediately. Big, blue, and grim beyond reason, there were few who could match the Lord of the Seas. Though he'd only met him once, Percy's father was familiar in a way that made him unremarkable. The same could not be said of the woman standing by his side.

Tall, gorgeous, and clad in pristine armor, the woman was everything Percy had ever imagined a valkyrie would be and more. A single plait of golden hair cascaded over one of her small but powerful shoulders, and a perfect smile stood out on an even more perfect face. Her eyes – sky blue and flickering with an alluring glow – were the final piece that elevated her beyond the standards of normalcy. No being, be they mortal or divine, could hope to match her. That could only mean that the woman before him, the sole goddess on this 'council of fate', had to be Freya. War and beauty given divine form.

Unlike his companions, the final member of the quintet did not stand. He instead sat in a hulking throne perched atop a raised dais. He was a barrel-chested man with a square-cut beard, a hard-set mouth, and a one-eyed stare that could only belong to the Lord of the Gallows. Percy met the gaze of the god king. His very soul felt seen beneath Odin's watchful eye, but still he dared to approach. He had no choice. Fate guided his path now.

"Long have we waited for this day, demigod." Odin boomed. "Finally, we may reap the reward of our patience. Our promised weapon has arrived at last."

Percy bristled at the word 'weapon'. It wasn't that he misunderstood his role, but rather that he understood it too well. He was a weapon, but more specifically, a weapon aimed at an enemy that even the gods seemed to fear. He couldn't help but feel that he deserved some gratitude for the risk he was taking unto himself, and 'weapon' simply lacked the grand appeal that 'savior' or 'champion' would have held.

"Your 'weapon' would have come sooner had you called on him. Though now your 'weapon' wonders why only five gods have come to greet him."

If Odin was offended by Percy's attitude, he didn't show it.

"Summoning you to Asgard was a tremendous risk. Larger dangers are certain to follow. The gods and goddess you see before you are the only ones bold enough to face these perils."

"You think me that volatile? That my mere presence could endanger your realm?"

"Yes and no." Odin answered. "While we have no doubt as to the potential within you, it is a power far more ancient that we fear. There exists a set of ancient laws that even we gods must abide by. Bringing you here, meeting with you, and preparing you for the coming challenges are all acts in direct violation of these laws. For gods to sin to such magnitude is an act never before been seen, and it is that which the other gods feared. The consequences we are inviting upon us could range anywhere from devastating to apocalyptic."

Percy felt all the blood drain from his face.

"Then why summon me at all? Why bring me here if I'll do more harm than good?"

"Because things are never so definite in the world of the divine, Thrall-Born." Loki smirked as he spoke, as if the ideas of destruction and divine punishment were endlessly amusing to him. "Bringing you here could prematurely begin the onset of Ragnarök. It could also put off our end for an extra three-thousand years. They are betting on the latter. I am simply hoping for something interesting to happen."

"What Loki failed to mention, is the precautions we have taken." Aegir intoned. "Normally, those who violate the ancient laws go largely unpunished. Our divinity protects us, and so it is the mortal world – and most often our children – who suffer the consequences. To prevent the calamitous dangers that would befall the mortal realm should we shield ourselves, we five have agreed to forego tradition and accept the punishments for our transgressions."

"So, what does that mean exactly? What happens when you realize how awful these 'punishments' – whatever the hell that means – are? You start letting them slide like water off your divine backs and suddenly I'm stuck dealing with the consequences?"

"Precisely!" Thor cheered.

"Fear not, young Perseus." Freya soothed. "While our role in the plan will be… unpleasant, we all understand it's necessity. The greatest danger we have ever faced as a people looms on the horizon, and to defeat it you must be able to act with impunity. We will hold strong, and so you will be free to protect us as we protect you."

While Freya's words were comforting, they didn't completely assuage him. She seemed sincere, but Thor clearly wasn't so committed, and Percy seriously doubted Loki was willing to put up with punishment when he could see chaos rain down instead. His father must've sensed his doubts, because the giant chose that exact moment to fix him with a stare that reminded him of exactly how much choice he had in the matter.

"So, you five truly believe it was worth it to bring me here, even in spite of all the danger and pain it will no doubt cause?"

Odin nodded.

"We do. We have risked everything to bring you here, but that is because if we do nothing, everything will be lost. That is why your training must begin at once. In two years' time the enemy will start to gather. You must be ready, or else we'll all meet an early demise."

Percy blinked. He had expected the gods to meet with him, maybe thank him for his service, and then send him on a series of dangerous quests. What Odin was suggesting – an entire training regiment overseen by five powerful gods – was far more intimate than anything he'd imagined. It was that intimacy which frightened him. If the gods were willing to brush shoulders with a mortal for two years, violate ancient laws, and put their own realm at risk, it could only mean that they were even more afraid than they let on. Percy started to wonder if somehow, even despite his horrific nightmares, he wasn't as scared of the future as he should be.

"What training must I complete?" he dared to ask when he'd overcome his shock.

"A multitude of things." Odin told him. "From Thor you will learn what it means to lead men into the heat of battle. In the absence of Forseti's wise counsel, you will learn to sharpen your tongue from Loki. Your father will help you unlock your budding powers, and Freya will ensure you bridge the gap between warrior and demon."

"And what of you, Lord Odin?"

"From me you will learn the intricacies of divination. For eons I have looked beyond the bounds of time and peered into events unlived. The knowledge you need is beyond a mortal's reach, but I will help you find it. Together, you and I will pry into the nature of your nightmares and unlock the truths hidden from even my all-sight."

Percy swallowed the lump in his throat. Suddenly, he was longing for the days where his life was as simple as a few hours in the training yard.

"I assume I need not ask if I may refuse your generous offer?"

"You assume correctly." Odin agreed. "You have been chosen for this fate since before your own birth, demigod. It is your destiny we all must adhere to. For any of us to shirk it would be to welcome doom upon us all. To accept it will be to challenge hell itself in the pursuit of ultimate salvation. So, I ask you this then. Are you prepared to accept fate?"

Percy fought the urge to roll his eyes. It's not like he had any say in the matter.

"My axe is yours from this day until my last day, All-Father."

Odin grinned a disquietingly wide grin.

"Then at last let gods become tinkerers and mortal become machine. Destiny waits for us all."

Perseus Thrall-Born – Asgard, 886 CE

It was almost a year before Percy tested himself against Freya. Despite his numerous complaints, the Goddess of War had been insistent that to improve as a combatant, he must first improve as a man. She had implemented a rigorous training regimen complete with intense physical training, complex delvings into the furthest reaches of art and philosophy, and even an emphasis on the importance of meditation and self-reflection.

Freya's borderline tyrannical training protocol had culminated in a sort of identity renaissance for Percy. He had emerged from the other side of her tutelage greater than he once was. His opinions were now colored with histories and philosophies no thrall had ever before been privy to. His ideas were now tinted by the most innovative and ingenious pieces of art from countless cultures. And of course, he was now stronger, faster, and more agile than he'd ever imagined possible. Yet, for all that he'd grown thanks to Freya's guidance, Percy still felt like he'd failed to learn the one thing she'd set out to teach him. How to improve not as a man, but as a warrior.

It was that feeling of failure that had incited one of the greatest errs of his young life. Fed up with his feeling of stagnation, Percy had demanded that Freya teach him to fight. He cited that in his dealings with his other instructors – Aegir, Odin, and the rest – he'd made astounding progress, working day and night and growing thanks to their wisdom. But with her, he'd only grown frustrated. He wasn't any better a fighter than he'd been a year ago, and so then what was the point?

Freya had been unnaturally calm in the face of his demands. While she and Percy had long become friends, she was never one to back down in the face of a challenge. And yet, as Percy shouted his frustrations to the skies of Asgard, she had only watched on with sullen eyes. When his tirade had finished, she had heaved a heavy sigh. Then, with the enthusiasm of a man facing the executioner's block, she had finally given in to his desires.

That had been this morning. Now, as the burning sun of Asgard touched down on the horizon, he realized the folly of his former self. Countless hours had passed, and he had yet to win a single bout. Landing even a single blow was difficult. To defeat her was a passing dream. In all his losses, she had yet to utter a single word of guidance. His defeats were a lesson as clear as they were numerous. To defeat a goddess was to surmount the insurmountable, and Percy, himself half divine, was only a shadow of a god.

He found himself desperate to succeed. Trying valiantly with each passing moment to take a single match from her. The harsh reality was, fighting the Goddess of War was much like fighting the flood of a sinking ship armed with only a cup. He could scoop and scoop, and at times he could almost pretend he was doing some good. Almost. But no matter how good he got at tossing out the water, he was still an idiot holding a cup instead of swimming to dry land. Still the idiot lying flat on his back, a sword tainted by his weakness lingering at his neck.

"Surely, you must be growing weary of this by now." Freya guessed. "Countless defeats and still you lack even a single victory."

She lowered a hand for him – dainty but calloused – in a silent gesture of good will. 'I am your teacher and I am your better' the hand seemed to say, 'but I am still your friend'. His ego told him taking the offering was a sin. His better half told him there were no better friends to have than gods. He walked on the side of wisdom. Without even a hint of effort, Freya hoisted him back to his feet, dignity still mostly intact.

"I almost had you that time."

"Not so." Freya told him. "The match was never in doubt. You fought perfectly, and that was your greatest failing."

Percy scowled.

"The first advice you give me all day, and it's to fight imperfectly?"

"I realize that it seems paradoxical, but it is the truth. The only obstacle that stands between you and perfection is perfection itself."

"That's… Cryptic and unhelpful at best."

Freya cocked an eyebrow.

"Is it?" she challenged. "You fight perfectly, but you do not fight well. With each action I take, you respond with the most optimal counter. Against a fool you would be perfect, but against an opponent greater than yourself, you become the fool. If I know how to punish my own actions, then I in turn know your next move before you make it. How can you expect to win when you grant your enemy future-sight?"

Percy blinked. He searched for any signs of mirth in her perfect features, but he saw none. Her eyes, normally alight with kinship and joy, were dark and stormy. Her mouth was set in a grim line, far from the upturned crescent moon that had grown so familiar. This was a serious matter then, and one he could only hope to understand.

"You're telling me I need to make mistakes?" he asked, not even bothering to hide his incredulity.

"Not mistakes. Calculated missteps. Artful deviations." Freya corrected. "There is no greater advice I can confer upon you than this: The worst action executed with vigor is superior to the best action executed timidly. For you, the best action is the only action, and yet you take it with the ferocity of an aged man playing Hnefatafl. You move with power, but not with passion. To you, battle is a science, yet from the very start I have been trying to teach you that it is an artform."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning you should treat it as such. Like any great artist, you need to tap into your ingenuity. Embrace the fantastic. To truly excel, you must fail. Dare to try something truly unorthodox. Something irrefutably wrong. So long as you act with conviction, and with the vigor of a man who will die should he fail, you will stand victorious."

"Right." Percy told her. "That makes sense." It didn't.

"I am glad. And now, with your newfound understanding, I hope you will not begrudge me one last spar."

"Of course not."

"Take up your position then." Freya said with a grin, suddenly his friend once more. "And this time, please be so bold as to fight me imperfectly."

Percy's head spun as he returned to his place. Fighting imperfectly to win? To do so conflicted with every moment of torturous drilling he'd gone through in his short life. All his efforts had been in the pursuit of flawlessness. Always making the right move. Always being prepared. Always being perfect. And now, after defeating countless Vikingrs and standing atop a mound of dead Saxons, he was being told that his perfection made him predictable. It felt wrong in so many ways and yet, somewhere deep down, despite all his revulsion at the idea of acting 'incorrectly', he dared to wonder if maybe Freya had a point.

"Okay Percy." He muttered to himself. "Dare to be imperfect."

"Are you prepared?" Freya called out.

Percy nodded, and Freya smiled.

"Then dazzle me."

He needed no further instruction. Dashing across the training yard at full speed, Freya scarcely had time to react to his overhead swing. Her shield managed to intercept the blow just in time, but not without leaving her midsection vulnerable to an attack. Thinking quickly, Percy aimed a kick right at her gut. Freya – with grace only a goddess could manage – danced just out of range of Percy's boot.

Her dodge carried her to safety, but in turn left her feet off the ground. His practiced mind told him to chase her. To close the distance like any soldier would and carry on the fight from there. Her divine agility and speed meant that she would recover long before he closed the gap, but at least he would be pressing an advantage, albeit a small one. He almost took his first step, but then he heard his opponent's own words echoing in his mind.

'Dare to do something truly unorthodox. Something truly wrong.' And so, as Freya touched the ground and she began to recover from her fleet-footed evasion, Percy did something certifiably stupid. With one motion of his arm he unslung his shield, rolled it into his hand, and launched it at the retreating goddess like an oversized discus.

His shield cut through the air, whistling as it closed in on the goddess at a blinding pace. Freya's eyes widened as she saw the projectile approaching. It was then Percy realized the genius in her words. He was without a shield, true, but for the first time today he'd managed to surprise the Goddess of War.

Surprised or no, Freya was still a goddess. A normal person would've been clobbered by his shield, but thanks to her divine physiology, she was able to duck underneath it. Though his shield was avoided, its purpose was still served. While Freya was distracted, Percy was able to reach her, swing his axe in a sideways blow aimed right for her side and…

His axe slammed home, sinking deep into the fleshy portion of Freya's side. She let out a yelp of pain, leaping backwards with his weapon still imbedded in her side. Percy watched in a stupor, unable to believe that she hadn't reacted in time. For all that he'd been hopeful, he had also been certain she would somehow get through his assault unscathed. His certainty it seemed, was unfounded, as now Freya stood before him, golden ichor dripping from her axe-stoppered wound and leaving a trail of dappled sunlight on the dirt underfoot.

"Shit." Percy cursed, darting to the goddess' side in an instant. "I didn't-"

Freya held up a hand to stop him.

"No apologies necessary."

With a grunt, she yanked the axe from her side. Ichor spurted from the wound, but the gnarly gash closed almost as quickly as it had formed, leaving behind only a hole in her garb and a patch of unblemished skin. She handed him his axe – the head now stained gold – with a forgiving smile.

"Here in the realm of the gods, I am nigh untouchable. It would take more than an axe to truly harm me, and even more to upset me. However, were I a mortal, the wound would most certainly have rendered me unfit for battle, perhaps even life."

Despite the fact that he'd just wounded a major goddess – an offense that for most people would mean incineration of the highest order – Percy felt himself starting to smile.

"Which means…"

"Aye." Freya agreed. "It means that you have successfully won your first bout and, I hope, learned a valuable lesson."

"Right. Fight recklessly." Percy said.

Apparently, that was the wrong lesson. At least if Freya's frown was any indication.

"I do not believe I ever used the word 'reckless'." She chided. "There is a fine line between boldness and recklessness. I advise you to mind that line. It is important that you prepare to pay for victory in blood, but do not think to waste a single drop. Fighting fearlessly is good. Fighting with individuality and unpredictability even better. Fighting recklessly is asking for death."

"So, no more shield throwing then?"

"No more shield throwing." She agreed. "It was a cute trick, true, but one I will not forget. That aside, I think it best you find ways to surprise me that do not involve surrendering your only means of protecting yourself."

"It was a cute trick, wasn't it?" Percy asked, choosing to focus on the good. "Cute enough to beat a goddess even."

He was grinning now, and though Freya's face was schooled, he could see the faintest ghost of amusement hiding beneath her façade.

"You are not nearly as pleasant as you think you are. Do you know that?"

"Maybe not, but at least I'm not the one with a losing streak."

"You know, a less level-headed individual might interpret that as a challenge."

Percy laughed.

"And if it is a challenge? What is a goddess of love and fertility going to do about it?"

Freya hefted her sword, a wicked grin forming on her face.

"Nothing. But a goddess of war and death might have something to say on the matter."

His axe twirled in his fingers. His exhaustion and frustration had faded with his first victory, and suddenly his steel yearned for combat once more.

"It doesn't matter." Percy told her. "I'm no longer perfect, so now I'm unbeatable."

"We shall see."

They both smiled, and as the day became dusk, their weapons became music once more.

Perseus Thrall-Born – North Pole, 887 CE

There were many names for the frigid wasteland Percy found himself in. Aegir called it the Arctic, and Freya the North Beyond the North. Odin had dubbed it the Godless Tundra, and his sons the Ice Sheets of Despair. Admittedly, Percy was having trouble deciding which description was most apt. All he knew for certain was that this strange land at the edge of the gods' reach was one of the most unique places he had ever visited.

It was a land that should've been beyond life, and yet all manner of peculiar creatures still managed to roam the ice. There were bears with fur as white as the snow they trod on, giants whose mere presence crystalized the air around them, and tusked behemoths encased in thick layers of insulating blubber. There was even a frightening number of draugr-like creatures, something that should've have been impossible in a land that had never before felt the touch of man.

Though the wildlife was intriguing, Percy paid the creatures little mind. The giants and tusked beasts were remarkably docile so long as he kept his distance, and the pseudo-draugr could not hope to match his speed. The bears were the biggest nuisance, but they quickly realized he was not a meal worth hunting once they got within range of his axe. A lesser man would've killed the bears and worn their pelts with pride, but Percy simply scared them off. They were hunters, just as he was, and so they deserved the according decorum. Besides, he was tracking something much more formidable than any random bear. To kill them would be nothing in the shadow of his quarry.

His target was called the Hafgufa. Legend said that it was a fish as large as an island, with a temperament more vile than a thousand scorned trolls. According to the gods, there were only two Hafgufa in existence, fated to patrol the seas of a foreign land destined to be named 'Greenland' until the end of time. To see one abandon its post for even colder waters was cause for concern. Percy had been sent to investigate and, should the need arise, slay the leviathan prowling the northern waters.

He'd been following it for days now, using his powers to chart the behemoth's movements beneath the ice, and though he'd sworn to do whatever was necessary, Percy was sincerely hoping his quest would end peacefully. Through his father's tutelage he had developed a powerful connection to the sea and its creatures, and to kill one of the ocean's oldest inhabitants would fill him with immeasurable sorrow. Nevertheless, he was committed to act, and so if it had to be done, he would not hesitate.

As the sun plodded its way across the sky, Percy could feel his hunt growing shorter. What had begun as a soft pull at the edges of his mind had long become a hammer and nail against his inner psyche. The presence of the Hafgufa was almost godly in its gravity, and through feeling alone Percy could tell that the ancient creature was near. All it would take now was a moment's thought and a willingness to venture into the bottomless pit of midnight that lingered beneath the ice.

Gathering his power, Percy began to focus all his attention on the ice in front of him. He closed his eyes, picturing blazing fires and the comforting warmth of his mother's touch. A great heat filled him from head to toe. As the feeling washed over him, a powerful tug in his gut sang of his success. When he cracked open his eyes, a steaming hole wide enough to accommodate three men had been burned through the thick sheet of ice and snow.

"The things I do for my people." Percy muttered to himself. "May I one day walk amongst them again."

And with that, he stepped over the hole he'd created. He sent one last look to the sky above, promising to see it again, before letting himself plummet into the sea. His momentum carried him far beneath the surface, and when gravity failed to pull him any deeper, he allowed his powers to take over.

Riding on the back of a self-conjured jetstream, Percy rocketed toward the overpowering presence of the Hafgufa. It wasn't long before the yank in his mind became a blaring war horn promising danger and death, but he ignored his inner self's warning. Soon, the faintest outline of the Hafgufa's hulking form came into view. Even through the darkness Percy could tell the stories did the creature no justice.

Long enough to encircle Odin's Rest with its tail alone, the Hafgufa was truly a sight to behold. The scales of its slimy hide – each one as large as King Halvard – glittered brilliantly in the dim lighting of the sunken realm. A mouth large enough to swallow ships like they were dainty delicacies smiled a razor-toothed smile, and enormous gills filtered tons of water in a single breath.

A great garden grew upon the beast's back, complete with beautiful flowers, aging trees, and iridescent sea moss that flickered to the cadence of some unheard tune. At the Hafgufa's head, two miniature spires of rocky bone rose like mountainous horns yearning for the surface. Beneath his craggy headpiece, a pair of large eyes filled with a shockingly complex depth stared pityingly at Percy's vastly inferior form.

"You are a bold one to approach me, mortal." The Hafgufa spoke in his mind.

Percy winced at the feeling. He'd experienced his fair share of telepathic communication by now – all thanks to the gods and a few adoring fish – but he still didn't enjoy the sensation. No matter how often it happened, there would always be something unsettling about someone poking around in his head, be they deity, fish, or primordial island monster.

"The gods sent me to find you." Percy said, ignoring his rapidly forming headache. "They said you spurned the seas assigned to you by fate. It seems they were right. I've been told to return you to your rightful place."

The Hafgufa hummed. An action that clouded the water with a flurry of bubbles and set in motion at least three major collapses in the ice above.

"Is that truly what they have asked of you? Or were their instructions more… lethal?"

"They don't want me to kill you, but Odin said that if you will not return, then you must die. Order must be maintained."

"Is that what you are, demigod?" The Hafgufa asked. "A plaything of the gods? Kill at their command. Satisfy their every whim. All in the name of order. How pathetic."

"I do what I must for my people." Percy told him. "And besides, order isn't such a bad thing."

"It is not." The Hafgufa agreed. "But I will not return to my prison for order's sake. I have patrolled those cursed waters since long before your gods came to be, always playing my part in the game of fate. When you humans came in search of powers you do not understand, I realized that if the gods' favored creatures did not have to respect fate, then neither should I. I shrugged off my bindings, and now I swim the open seas at my leisure. That is not a freedom I will give up to a single puny human."

"You'd rather die than swim where the gods tell you?" Percy asked in disbelief.

"I would rather die than let words guide me in lieu of the currents." The great fish declared. "Perhaps one day you might have come to understand my plight, but it seems your story must end where mine begins anew."

With that, the Hafgufa threw open his jaws and drew in a heavy breath. Water rushed to fill his gaping maw, cascading into his gullet at tremendous speeds. Percy's hold on the water paled in comparison to the suction of the mighty fish, and so he was dragged with the water towards an untimely demise. He quickly redoubled his focus, reaching out to fight against the Hafgufa's hold, but true concentration was impossible in the face of the gnashing teeth threatening to tear him to pieces.

The closer he was dragged to his doom, the further his powers seemed to slip from him. His mind ran rampant with wild ideas, each exponentially worse than the last. He eventually settled on the best of the bad, good old-fashioned steel. Reaching for his belt, Percy unslung his axe just in time to hook the upper lip of the Hafgufa, securing himself a safe distance from the churning stomach acid he could hear bubbling in the far recesses of the monster's guts.

Using his axe as a lifeline, Percy was able to tug himself from the Hafgufa's mouth scarce moments before the giant's jaws clamped shut. His axe was destroyed by the bite, and with it a part of Percy died, but he could not mourn just yet. With one push off the monster's scaly lip, he launched himself towards the rocky cliffs that adorned the Hafgufa's head. From the crags Percy maneuvered his way to the forest on the Hafgufa's back, sequestering himself in the safety of the trees.

"You only delay your death, mortal!" The fish shouted in his mind.

"Tough talk for a monster with no hands." Percy thought back.

The Hafgufa did not appreciate his wit. He started bucking and thrashing like a raging bull, trying desperately to throw Percy within reach of his razor-sharp teeth. Percy held firm to the monster's back, using fistfuls of foliage as his anchors. When he realized the Hafgufa would never tire, he decided he needed a new plan. Slowly, making sure he was holding as tightly as he would to his own soul, he began to climb.

He eventually stumbled on a thicket of thorns dense enough to ensnare even the nimblest of foes. Satisfied with his find, Percy thrust himself into the deepest part of the brambles. He buried himself deep before wiggling around, ensuring that as many thorns as possible could take hold of his clothes and bare flesh. Only then, when he was secured by pain and mythic thorns, could he finally concentrate.

The Hafgufa continued to writhe around, oblivious to the plotting of its unwanted jockey. Held in place as he was, Percy was able to refocus his mind, once again taking control of the water around him. With eyes clenched shut, Percy extended his senses until he felt his psyche prodding against the water that passed through the Hafgufa's gills. There was a wall of resistance, but Percy shattered it, forcing the water to obey his commands. Sworn to follow the will of the prince of the seas, the water turned to ice in the giant's gills.

The reaction from the Hafgufa was immediate. What had once been hungry, angry thrashes quickly morphed into desperate wriggles as the beast searched for breath. The sea rocked with the suffering of the Hafgufa, and that's when Percy dealt the killing blow. Turning his focus to the monster's gasping mouth, Percy once again turned water into ice.

With mouth and gills frozen shut, there was little for Percy to do but wait. For a time the thrashing intensified, jostling Percy violently enough the thorns were able to deal serious damage. Percy ignored the pain, forcing himself to maintain the ice borders until the death throes calmed. Then, as the ocean stilled, the body of the legendary Hafgufa slowly turned to dust.

The current made quick work of the powder, washing any vestiges of the Hafgufa away before the sea could even finish healing Percy's cuts. When the ghost of his enemy faded away, Percy was left with only his shield and a heavy weight on his soul. To kill the Hafgufa had been his duty, but for the first time his duty had pitted him against an enemy whose only crime was yearning to be free. The same burning desire that had kept Percy's soul ablaze for the first decade of his life.

"May you revel in the oceans of the afterlife." Percy murmured.

The silence of the abandoned deep was the only response…

Alex Jackson – The Underworld, 2017 CE

Percy seemed enamored by the Greek underworld. The Wall of Erebus – a goliath of black stone constructed by the greatest architects to ever die – had earned genuine praise from the son of Aegir. The Fields of Punishment had been of particular interest to him, as he seemed especially fascinated by the idea of personalized tortures that lasted for all of eternity. He had mused for a long time on what sadistic punishments he might've been assigned, an exercise which Alex had found oddly amusing.

The Fields of Asphodel had also intrigued Percy, but for much different reasons. He found the idea of eternal nothingness extremely depressing – a sentiment Alex had voiced himself on numerous occasions – and even suggested leading a revolt for the poor souls deemed too neutral to live on in death. Had anyone else said such a thing, Alex would've taken it for a joke, but with Percy…

Once Alex had successfully quelled the flames of Percy's second imaginary rebellion of the day, the pair had continued their journey. The Fields of Elysium – unlike everything else in the Underworld – had been underwhelming in Percy's eyes. He had insisted that Valhalla and Fólkvangr were more beautiful than even the Isles of the Blessed. Alex had disputed that point with fervor, but without having seen the Norse Paradises for himself, he hadn't been arguing from a particularly strong position.

When they reached the Palace of Hades, Percy had made a point of delaying their entry. At first Alex had thought it to be so he could admire the architecture or compliment Persephone's stunning garden but, in reality, it was for something much more… human. In a show of respect completely unbefitting of the demigod Alex had come to know, Percy took the time to knock on Hades' door like some sort of undead solicitor.

Unbidden by any visible force, the high-reaching doors of Stygian Iron swiveled on their hinges, revealing an all too familiar entry hall. Iron sconces ablaze with black fire illuminated the room with a ghastly light, giving the bronze floor the appearance of boiling ichor. An army of undead soldiers lined the walls, watching them with empty eyes as they approached the entrance to Hades' throne room. Just like they had so many years ago, the doors were blown in by an arid wind, revealing the God of the Dead atop his throne of bones.

"It seems I will never be free of your uninvited forays into my realm, Jackson." The oily-voiced god bemoaned as they approached. "I do hope you know that the immunity you enjoy as the twice-savior of Olympus does not extend to your friends."

"I do. But killing him might be a bit more trouble than it's worth." Alex pointed out.

"Though I do welcome you to try." Percy added.

Hades' tar-like eyes swiveled to Percy, examining him with Annabeth-esque scrutiny. Percy held firm beneath Hades' withering gaze, unbothered by the aura of death rolling off the god in waves. Not for the first time, Alex was reminded of himself in his younger days, back before he realized gods were easier to deal with if you stroked their inflated egos instead of taking shots at them.

"Hermes mentioned you've been keeping a particularly dangerous pet as of late." Hades said, eyes flicking to Alex for only a moment before returning to Percy. "You sent a great many souls to me before your first end, Thrall-Born."

"I would've sent you more but… Y'know."

"Ah yes, my family can indeed be cruel. I'd remind you that I was not a part of the council at the time of your sentencing, and so wasn't privy to the dealings that saw you imprisoned in the ice. You'd do well to remember that, should I ever be in need of your particular skillset."

"I'm not a godly errand boy." Percy asserted. "But when the time comes that I stand before the Olympians again, it would be foolish not to have your favor. If you need something done or someone killed, my axe may be available."

"An acceptable compromise." Hades conceded. "Now, tell me what brings you two to my palace uninvited."

"Nothing good." Alex said. "We recently learned that demigods have been using the Door of Orpheus to visit the Underworld. When we went to investigate, the door was already open. We think whoever's using the door is looking for something down here, and we think they're doing it as we speak."

Hades leaned back in his throne, stroking his chin in thought.

"That is… Unsettling news." he grumbled.

"Meaning you didn't know?" Percy asked. He turned to Alex, a look of incredulity on his face. "I thought we came here for help with the search. Not to let him know that one needed to happen."

"Unlike my brothers, I do not have the luxury of idleness. While they are free to send their aspects across the globe in search of mortal lovers and intruders to their realm, I am stuck here, managing a dozen separate zoning crises at once. My attention is constantly divided between upheaval in the Fields of Punishment, expansions in the Fields of Asphodel, and overflow leading into the Judgement Pavilion. It is only natural that unremarkable mortals go undetected amidst the chaos caused by you humans and your excessive dying."

"I thought the gods were helping you deal with all that." Alex said.

Hades chuckled darkly.

"Just as you thought they freed Calypso after the Titan War? Just as they promised to be better to their children? Even after all this time you are still naïve to the ways of the gods. We are fickle creatures, unrestrained by ancient laws and the River Styx alike if we so choose. There is no greater proof of that than the life of your friend there."

"What is he talking about?" Alex asked, turning curiously to his companion.

"Nothing that matters after all this time." Percy snapped. "Gods lie. On that we are agreed, Hades. Now, tell us which of the rivers the demigods will be going after so we can leave you to your overpopulation problems."

The God of the Dead paused for a moment, black eyes darkening as he mulled over Percy's words.

"Each has monumental potential," The god mused, "But I believe the Acheron, the Phlegethon, or the Styx are the most likely candidates, though one can never be certain in matters such as these. In truth, not even I have a clue what the rivers would do in junction with Marianic Blackstone. You will have to search the banks of all five rivers just to be safe."

"And that's all you can offer us?" Percy asked.

"Were you expecting more?" Percy merely stared at the god, who eventually heaved an unamused sigh. "Fine. Take my son with you if it'll stop your griping."

"Nico?" Alex started. "But he's-"

He was silenced by a dramatic flourish of the god's hand. At Hades' silent command, a swarm of shadows slithered from the edges of the room, pooling at his feet. The darkness coalesced before them, slowly taking the shape of a man. When the figure was sculpted the shadows fell away, revealing the disheveled, shirtless form of Nico di Angelo. His pale cheeks were tinged a crimson hue, and his black eyes spoke of utter confusion as he took heed of his surroundings.

"What the-"

"Your time with Will can wait, my son." Hades interrupted. "These demigods require a guide who can sense life among death. I have volunteered your services to them."

Nico's gaze shot to Alex and his companion, lingering on Percy with shameless curiosity for a moment before looking back to his father."

"And who are we looking for exactly?"

Hades leaned forward in his throne; a grim look far too serious even for the Lord of the Dead on his face.

"Well, if my instincts are to be trusted, you are searching for the demigods who intend to start the third great war of this generation."

Nico's eyes widened.

"Fuck."

Nico di Angelo – The Underworld, 2017 CE

Divine auras were something of a mystery to the mythical community. While the phenomenon was well documented, nobody could say with absolute certainty how they actually worked. All that was known was that different beings, be they monster, demigod, or god, were able to influence the world merely by existing in a given space.

Gods were the most obvious example of this. A god's presence was smothering. It altered moods, changed the environment, and unleashed a wave of power that warned every being within a three-mile radius that the deity in question was not to be trifled with. While this aura can often be manipulated by the gods, none can truly say whether the energy fields that encompasses divine beings are a subconscious manifestation of power, a deliberate display of strength, or something else entirely.

The gods would have demigods believe that their auras were intentional, but Nico wasn't so sure. Demigods – and even most monsters – also had divine auras and, unlike gods, were incapable of manipulating them directly. That implied that these auras were not a deliberate construct created by the gods, but rather a byproduct of divine power that the gods had learned to control but had not taken part in instituting into reality.

The metaphysics of the whole thing had always hurt Nico's brain. Whether the gods made the divine auras, simply controlled them, or their auras changed with the waxing and waning of their power rather than by conscious instruction didn't matter to him so much. His fascination with the subject revolved around divine auras in their more practical usage; identification, analyzation, and greater understanding.

Most demigods exuded a small, almost imperceptible aura. Children of Hypnos made those around them feel drowsy. Aphrodite's kids often left people tongue tied just by looking their way. Hermes kids typically ensured that everyone within a ten-foot radius was clutching their valuables for all they were worth. These effects, while entertaining, were useless for anything besides identifying who it was you were facing.

Things started to get interesting in the presence of particularly 'blessed' demigods. People like Piper, Annabeth, and other powerful children of gods both major and minor, were a step above the average demigod. Their auras not only gave a certain feeling but could be felt as well. For example, Annabeth's presence might give someone the same feeling as any other child of Athena – albeit a dozen times more potent – but it also affected the physical world. The strength of her divinity was great enough that it was almost tangible to someone with a mind attuned to the godly world. Not only could this effect identify a demigod, but it could also allow one to analyze them. To understand that they were a cut above the rest, more powerful and more formidable than the average.

Children of the Big Three were another rung up on the ladder. With demigods like Thalia, Alex, and Nico himself, the power levels started to fall on the godly side of demigod. Their presence was a slice of divinity too large for any mortal shell to handle. Their auras were almost suffocating. Almost godly. The power was so great that it welcomed people into it. Enshrouded their surroundings in themselves. If looked at through a practiced lens, a Big Three demigod's aura could do more than tell of their strength or their identity. It could speak of who they were. It could provide a… Greater understanding.

To be near Alex Jackson was to stand in a docile sea. His presence was a gentle wave lapping at ankles. Comforting. Refreshing. It spoke of compassion and power in equal parts, telling of both his loyal, gentle, heart and his dangerous temper. Jason Grace's aura was a different story. Being near him was akin to standing in a field of tesla coils, all working in synchrony to play some preordained melody. Jason was lightning given order. His aura revealed his discipline and his strength, but also of the music in his soul. Of his yearning to be free from the burden of expectation and to embrace individuality over perfection.

The point in all this musing was not to revel in things Nico already understood, but rather to help him quantify the unknown: Perseus Thrall-Born. The son of Aegir's aura was unlike anything Nico had ever felt before. Jason and Alex felt young, strong, and in control, like stabilized nuclear reactions. Percy felt ancient, unrestrained, and unlimited, as if his body were a paper mâché jail holding a supernova captive.

Beneath the constricting grip of Percy's strength, Nico could glean only a few undeniable truths. First, Percy was a being driven almost entirely by spite. The burning anger in his aura made that clear. Second, and most familiar to Nico, was the air of regret that clung to the demigod. Like a younger Nico, Percy's anger was born from feelings of intense loss. And finally, Percy's aura felt unpredictable. It contorted and shifted incessantly. It told Nico that Percy was without direction. The idea was immensely terrifying, yet also oddly comforting. The son of Aegir was like a .50 caliber rifle without a safety. He could go off without warning and decimate a friend, but if pointed in the right direction…

Less comforting than Percy's potential to decimate entire armies if properly managed was his history. From everything Nico understood about the demigod, he was responsible for the arrival of a sizeable portion of Elysium's current residents. Not only was that a disquieting thought, it also posed a notable danger given their proximity to said residents. If their search took them through the undead paradise, Nico feared there would, quite literally, be hell to pay.

"Up ahead. On the riverbank." Percy whispered, reigning in Nico's wandering mind. "Either of you recognize him?"

Nico followed Percy's direction, tracing the path of the Phlegethon through the Fields of Punishment until he spotted the demigod in question. He was kneeling at the edge of the river, brown hair hanging over a skinny, youthful face. He was using a hydration bladder to gather the fast-flowing contents from the Phlegethon, oblivious to the crowd he'd gathered. Instead of any weapon, the kid had a squirt gun strapped over his back. It was an odd choice for anyone infiltrating a place as dangerous as the Underworld, and if there was one thing Nico had learned from his adventures as a demigod, it was that odd usually meant dangerous.

"I don't know him." Alex said. "But he's Roman. Check his forearm."

Sure enough, there was an image of a caduceus burned into the kid's wrist. Beneath the godly sign, three black lines told Nico more than the demigod's ancestry ever could. He truly was young, too young to have fought in even the Second Giant War, which wasn't a good sign in the slightest. The new generation of campers, demigods who had not seen the atrocities of divine war, were the perfect candidates to bolster a monster army. Young, impressionable, and constantly overshadowed by the veterans of both camps, there was no group of people that would be easier to transform into a powerful, embittered fighting force than the youth of Camp Jupiter and Camp Half-Blood.

"Your pantheon. Your home turf. Your call." Percy whispered, turning to Nico. "What's the move here?"

"We should follow him." Nico decided. "He can lead us back to-"

He was interrupted by the sound of boots scraping ground. Nico's gaze whipped back to the demigod, only to see everything had gone terribly wrong. Somehow the demigod had spotted them. Now, instead of leading them where they wanted, the kid was running away. Even worse, he was headed towards Elysium, the one place in the Underworld Nico didn't want to parade Percy through.

"Shit." Nico hissed.

He was on his feet in an instant, already giving chase. Moments later and he felt his companions fall into step with him.

"Nico, what are you waiting for?" Alex shouted as they ran. "Shadow Travel!"

"Hard pass." Nico shot back. "I don't want a face full of whatever's in that squirt gun."

"You think it's from the Phlegethon?" Percy asked. "It feels different than normal water. Harder to control."

Nico shook his head, eyes still locked warily on the squirt gun now primed in the kid's hands.

"Chances are it's Styx or Lethe water. Get too close and you either get your soul incinerated or get a serious case of amnesia."

"I'll just blow the thing then." Alex said. "Easy p-"

"And douse the only lead we have in forget-everything juice?" Percy asked incredulously. "We do this the old-fashioned way."

"Great." Alex grumbled. "And I thought my running days were behind me."

They were not. Together, the trio trailed the fleeing demigod. Sure enough, he led them right where Nico least wanted to go. Elysium. He reached the golden gates about a hundred steps before them, giving him plenty of time to scale the entrance and hit the ground running again before they could catch up. While the gate did swing open for Nico and his companions – a lesser-known perk of being a son of Hades – their free access wasn't enough to shave the distance.

Feet pounding on stone, the trio traced the demigod's path as he wove his way between mingling spirits. The further they were led into Elysium, the more worried Nico grew. The son of Hermes seemed to have intimate knowledge of Elysium's layout and, even worse, knew exactly where he needed to head in order to make his getaway. As it stood, they were only a few seconds away from the outskirts of the medieval section, the undead home for all the demigod heroes Percy had slain over a thousand years ago.

As they stepped into the ghost of Percy's former world, Nico quickly realized they would not be getting out quickly. The streets were packed, lined with spirit after gawking spirit. Each ghost was watching the chase with ample attention, and more than a few were focused on one of the pursuers in particular. Nico didn't have to be the King of Ghosts to know that they recognized Percy and wanted nothing more than to exact their long overdue vengeance.

As the son of Hermes continued his escape, pushing his way through the crowd, Nico and his companions found themselves getting boxed in. The brave spirits of long dead demigods had encircled them, each brandishing spectral versions of the same weapon they'd been holding when Percy had killed them so long ago.

"Nico, now would be a great time to do your King of Ghosts thing."

"We don't have time." Nico grumbled. "Emotional spirits are hard to control."

Alex's reply was cut off by the sound of Percy's axe being drawn.

"You guys go on ahead. It's me they want to die to."

Alex and Nico shared a look. On the one hand, Hades likely wouldn't be pleased should a massacre take place in Elysium. On the other hand, the son of Hermes was already almost out of sight. Coming to a quick decision, the pair took off after the son of Hermes, leaving Percy behind to do what he did best. Nico could only hope his father was in a forgiving mood.

Their chase took them even deeper into Elysium, passing further and further into history until they found themselves in the oldest part of the undead metropolis. Little Athens. The streets were lined with ancient Greek specters and, amidst all the undead, their living target was still in flight. Still he was armed with his squirt gun of death. Still they were without hope of capturing him. They needed a new plan, and fast.

"Keep chasing him." Nico instructed. "I've got a plan."

Alex didn't answer, but Nico knew he would do his part. So, with only a moment's thought, Nico did what had long become second nature to him. He called on the shadows, accepted their frigid embrace, and fell into darkness.

His venture through the void deposited him high on a nearby rooftop. The vantage point was an excellent position, providing him a perfect view of the streets below. From the rooftop he could oversee Alex's chase and strike when an opportunity arose. That, and now he didn't have to run.

The chance he was looking for came quicker than he'd expected it to. After only a few more minutes, the foot chase took a turn for the better. The son of Hermes, who had been so adept at navigation up until now, finally took a wrong turn. He turned into what looked like an alleyway but was really a dead end. With nowhere to run, the demigod whirled around to face Alex, leveling his squirt gun at the son of Poseidon and donning a menacing glare. It was then, when the demigod's attention was focused entirely on Alex, that Nico made his move.

Enshrouding himself in shadows once again, Nico jumped through the darkness and reappeared in the air above the son of Hermes. Gravity did the rest of the work, pulling Nico into the demigod's shoulders. The son of Hermes crumpled beneath Nico's weight, slamming into the ground skull first. In that moment, the demigod lost both his squirt gun and his chance of escape to the world of unconsciousness.

"Nice one." Alex breathed out.

The son of Poseidon walked closer, hands on his hips as he approached the fallen squirt gun. He scooped it up, undid the cap, and peered inside.

"Lethe water." He murmured. "Good call, Nico."

"Thanks." Nico said. "Now all we have to do is-"

Suddenly, Nico remembered the big thing he'd forgotten during their chase.

"Watch him." Nico rushed out, pointing toward the unconscious son of Hermes, and then he was enveloped in shadow.

He re-emerged in what used to be the bustling square of the medieval portion of Elysium. Now, the literal ghost town had become a metaphorical one as well. The streets, once alive with the lively souls of hundreds of dead heroes, were now nothing but an ankle-deep pool of ectoplasm. Standing in the middle of all the ghastly carnage was Perseus Thrall-Born, looking infinitely more cheery than he had only minutes before.

"Took you long enough." The son of Aegir chirped.

Nico could only look on in dismay. There must've been at least two hundred ghosts that would need to be reconstructed now. Not a recipe for a happy Lord of the Dead. It seemed that his time with Will would have to wait even longer than expected.

AN:

So, this is out two days later than I'd hoped, but all things considered I'm pleased with the speed I've gotten this done. I did some interesting things (IMO) in this chapter, namely playing with the godly world's less clearly defined areas (divine auras and ancient laws). I've taken some liberties with both - particularly in the field of ancient laws - in order to allow the plot, but keep in mind that Percy's training with the gods is not coming without consequence. As usual, no gods are willing to deal with unpleasantness at a demigod's expense, so expect things to start going poorly for Percy soon. I promise I would never stoop so low as to post a story where extreme godly interference went unpunished. In the modern scenes, we're beginning to unravel the mystery of this whole conspiracy, so stay tuned for some sweet sweet interrogation attempts next chapter. Anyways, I've said too much already, so I'll end with this. I really hope y'all enjoyed, I really hope y'all are excited for what's next and, most importantly, I really hope y'all are doing well. Let me know in the reviews how you are! It's been a while since I've asked. Anyhow, until next time,

Peace