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Perseus Thrall-Born – Wincestre, 890 CE
Though England was torn by war, the lands of Wincestre had long remained unblemished. Even at the peak of their strength, the Bjornar had proven unable to pierce the heart of Wessex. The heavy presence of Greek and Romans in the area was no doubt to blame for the vikingr failures, but Percy planned to remedy that long standing issue. There was just one thing he needed to take care of first.
"Wincestre is one beast of a city." Acke commented from Percy's side. "Getting to Cynefrith won't be easy."
"Easy isn't my concern." Percy replied. "Cynefrith dies today. I couldn't give a damn about the details."
"Then I'll do it for you. As we speak, hundreds of watchmen are patrolling the city. They know a splinter group of vikingrs is hellbent on killing their king. They'll be more than vigilant, and if even a single one of them catches wind that we're coming before we make our move, then he'll slip away before you get the chance to bloody your axe."
"I know all that Acke."
"Do you? Because by the way you're holding that axe, I'd say you're about three seconds from charging the walls."
A quick glance at his own hand revealed a white knuckled death grip on the haft of his axe. Percy forced himself to loosen his fingers, and with the relieved pressure, he was able to feel the slight stickiness of his own blood.
"I assume you have a better alternative?"
"That I do." Acke answered. "Come."
Acke led Percy back into the underbrush and towards their camp. From there, he and Percy passed by prepping soldiers and laboring smiths as they walked to the war tent. Acke was the first to enter, but Percy was not far behind. Once they were both inside, Acke swept his arm over a crudely drawn diagram of Wincestre's layout.
"I scrounged this up while you were watching the guards." Acke told him. "Your spies are damn good at what they do. Their information made piecing this together a breeze."
"They'll be duly rewarded." Percy promised offhandedly. "Now, tell me your plan."
"From everything we know, Cynefrith spends his time in his personal laboratory. He usually drags prisoners there so he can do gods only know what to them. Problem is, we don't know where the hell this shit hole is since nobody ever comes out of there alive."
"Waiting for the good news, Acke."
"It's coming." Acke promised. "See, while we don't know where he's holed up, I do have a pretty good guess."
He tapped his finger on the map, drilling against the shoddy sketch of a cathedral.
"Most people figure he handles his pet projects in the citadel, but I'd bet my weight in gold that he does his dirty work here. He's seen there often, but from what you tell me, Cynefrith is no man of God. And I can think of only one reason a sinner like him would be seen in such a holy place."
"The church sits atop the madness." Percy murmured.
"Indeed." Acke agreed. "Now, getting there won't be easy. It's the one of most centralized buildings in the entire city, but," Acke slid his finger across the map, tracing from the citadel all the way to the eastern wall, "the eastern gate gives us the shortest route, and it avoids all the most heavily patrolled areas. It gives us the best shot of getting to the church before the alarm is raised. It will be tight, but I think it's manageable."
Percy furrowed his brow. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.
"If this is going to work, we're going to have to hit them harder and faster than we've ever hit anyone before. We can't give anyone the chance to alert Cynefrith."
Acke smiled a wicked smile.
"Don't worry. I have a plan for that too."
Perseus Thrall-Born – Wincestre, 890 CE
Acke's 'plan' wasn't so much a plan as it was a childish daydream. That being said, Percy could think of no better way to die than riding on the back of farfetched innovation. It was why he had volunteered for the most ridiculous part of the plan. Well, that and his borderline pathological need to take first blood.
As eager as Percy was for the madness to begin, approaching the gate without an army at his back made him feel naked. Vulnerable. He had the utmost confidence in himself of course, but war was chaos, and even the best of men could be felled by chance. Still, he was nothing if not determined to see Cynefrith's head detached from his shoulders, and he would take far larger risks than this in pursuit of his goal.
When he reached the gate, his presence was noted first by the guards flanking the entrance, and next by those trotting the ramparts above. They eyed him warily but not quite with fear. Without an army behind him and with his shield on his back, they knew not who it was they faced. To them, he was but a foolish vikingr showing his face where the Saxons were strongest. An oddity to be sure, but not one deserving of panic. Such an assumption could not have been more wrong.
"City's closed, 'specially to savages like you." The nearest Saxon told him. "Wouldn't want you walkin' about causin' trouble for the normal folk. Hell, I have half a mind to put you down on general principle."
The guard opposite him chuckled, and Percy could feel the eyes of the men overhead burning holes into his scalp.
"I wouldn't risk it." Percy advised. "After all, I am laying siege to Wincestre."
Both guards stifled laughter for a moment, but before Percy could count two beats, they were clutching their guts and guffawing loud enough for all of Asgard to hear. Percy stood patiently and let them have their fun. They would face their judgement soon enough, and he would hate to send them to their eternal torment with frowns on their faces.
"You can't be serious." The first guard said. "Just you? Are you touched in the head?"
"Far from it." Percy assured him. "I'm simply a man who knows what it is I want."
"And what would that be?" the second guard asked.
"Oh, nothing much. Wincestre in ruins. Cynefrith dead. Your children weeping over a field of fallen fathers. The usual."
The Saxons' cheery attitudes vanished in an instant. They drew their swords in tandem, and the guards atop the wall looked down with renewed interest. Percy knew he had them now.
"You got a deathwish, boy?"
Percy slowly shook his head. When he next spoke, he made sure his voice was loud enough for his growing audience to hear. He raised a single fist, and then he smiled.
"One thing I forgot to mention. When you meet your God, tell him that it was Thrall-Born that sent you to him."
He dropped his fist, and the twang of distant bowstrings hit his demigod ears. The guards stepped towards him, and arrows flew threw the air. Percy's hand dropped to his axe, and the arrows struck home. One by one, Saxon men toppled from the ramparts above and landed between Percy and his would-be attackers.
"What the–?"
Percy drew his axe, cut their throats, and silenced their panicked cries with a single movement. Both men collapsed and clutched at their necks, desperate to stop their life from spraying onto the earth. Percy watched them writhe with pitiless eyes until long after their death throes had ceased. It wasn't until he felt the first friendly presence at his side that he finally took his eyes off their lifeless forms.
"A damn good plan, Acke." Percy praised, before turning to the soldiers that trailed in Acke's wake. "And even finer shots."
The men cheered, while Acke merely nodded.
"We have an opening now. It'd be best if we used it. We push for the cathedral. Nobody lives to speak our names."
He turned to the closed doors of the city, and in a show of strength that only a demigod could manage, kicked the things off their hinges. Screams of citizens erupted as they realized all was not well, but they were soon silenced by the spreading plague of vikingrs taking root in their city.
With Percy and Acke at the head, the swarm of vikingrs carved a deadly path towards the church tower shooting above the rooftops. Every band of Saxons they encountered was butchered before a weapon could even be drawn, and like a fire rampaging through a field of wheat, they began to cripple the city.
The deeper into Wincestre they got, the thinner his men were spread. They simply lacked the manpower to stick together and slaughter every person running for the alarm bells. Before long, it was just Percy and Acke making the final push for the citadel.
When they reached the courtyard of the church, they were met by a retinue of Cynefrith's personal guard. One man took off towards the doors as soon as he saw them, but the others were quick to draw their weapons. They placed themselves between Percy and Acke and the building that no doubt housed their king.
"None will never know you died bravely." Percy promised them.
With that, he and Acke charged as one. They met the clump of Saxons halfway to the doors, and then the fight was on.
The first Saxon to attack fell to Percy's axe, and the next was cut down by Acke's sword. A third man came in from their rear, but Percy dropped low enough that Acke could swing his blade overhead and thwart the attempt at flanking them. Three more died in quick succession after that, and suddenly the Saxon numbers were halved, and caution ruled their actions.
The Englishmen backed away as one. An all-out rush had failed them in gruesome fashion, and now they were hoping that a more calculated approach would serve them well. Unfortunately for the Saxons, Percy had no plans to give them time to encircle he and Acke.
Faster than any of the Saxons could react, Percy cocked back his arm and launched his axe at the nearest man. It buried itself to the haft in his face, earning horrified cries from the dead man's allies. Acke was quick on the uptake and skewered two more soldiers before they recovered from their shock.
The remaining three Saxons took stock of the situation, and each came to a laughably different conclusion. One charged Percy – clearly thinking his lack of a weapon put him at a disadvantage – one engaged Acke, and one turned tail and ran.
The soldier that dared to challenge Percy did not take long to realize his mistake. As soon as Percy sidestepped his swing, Percy could see in his eyes that he knew he messed up. Percy proved that hunch right in dramatic fashion.
A punch to the jaw shattered bone, and a kick to the gut crushed organs. The Saxon stumbled away, reeling from the rapid onset of injuries, but Percy wasn't finished with him yet. He followed up with a leg sweep that sent the man to his back, and then a series of stomps that turned skull and brain matter into paste between the cobblestones.
Percy snatched his axe from its corpse-sheath and wiped the blood from its edge. He sent Acke a questioning glance, and it seemed the man understood immediately.
"Go." Acke told him. "I will make sure you're uninterrupted."
That was all Percy needed to hear. As Acke turned and prepared to face the onslaught the fleeing man would surely bring, Percy made a mad dash for the church doors. He burst through them like a raging bull and startled the soldiers waiting within. The first four died before they could react, and the final two fell nearly as fast.
As Saxon blood tainted the house of worship, Percy's eyes scanned the room for a sign of Cynefrith. He saw no reinforced doors or odd passageways, but he did spot a statue that had no place in a building dedicated to the Christian God. It was small, aged, and hardly noticeable to anyone that wasn't looking for it, but there was no mistaking it. Percy was staring at a carefully sculpted tribute to Zeus.
Percy rushed over to the statue and gave it a push. It didn't move much, but the little nudge filled the room with the sound of stone scraping on stone. He regathered himself, and the next time he pushed it, he toppled the statue over. It slammed against the floor and shattered into a million pieces, revealing a dimly lit hole in the church floor. Thunder boomed overhead as Zeus lamented his likeness' demise, but Percy ignored the god's rage. The Olympians and their kin were not his main concern yet. There was still one more life to be taken.
Acke Agmundsson – Wincestre, 890 CE
Defending the Church had been easy at first. With his men reaving the city, the guards willing to defend their king over their own children were hard to come by. Unfortunately, there were some men whose loyalties ran as deep as Acke's own. Those were the men that came to see Acke killed. Those were the men he sent to Hell.
The longer he fought, the higher the stack of bodies rose. The carnage climbed and climbed, as too did his exhaustion. He was a ferocious warrior, true, but even he was subject to the weariness of ten-thousand sword swings. Nevertheless, Acke would fight until every Saxon bled, or until his own heart took him.
As the thought crossed his mind, three more Saxons reached the church. Like he had done a dozen times over now, Acke placed his back against the doors and readied himself to die. His sword – permanently stained red by the blood of dead men – glistened before him, and the English cowards eyed him with fear.
"What are you waiting for?" he shouted. "Come and die for your king!"
The men were spurred into action by Acke's taunts. They rushed him as one, and attacked in much the same manner. Acke caught the fastest sword with his shield. The steel bit deep into the wood and caught itself on a knot. While the soldier was trapped, Acke pirouetted away from the thrusting spear of the second man and cut down the first as he spun. The third man's sword was far too slow and struck only open air as Acke positioned himself opposite them once again.
This time around, Acke went on the offensive. With his sword raised, he charged the spear wielding Saxon. The man thrust for Acke's gut, but Acke slid underneath the blow. He came up behind the man, where he delivered a grievously deep gash to the man's back. He crumpled with a scream, leaving Acke alone with one poor, isolated soul.
The last standing Saxon glanced at his two fallen comrades and then at Acke. For a moment Acke thought the man would flee, but then a blaze took to the man's eyes, and Acke knew battle-fury had taken him. The Saxon charged with renewed vigor, and Acke readied himself for the onslaught.
The soldier swung for Acke's throat, and he almost struck home, but Acke was a blink too fast. The man was unfazed though, and Acke didn't have the chance to counter before a thrust clipped his arm. It hardly qualified as a scratch, but it was enough to spark Acke's ire.
"You die for that." Acke promised the man.
"Rot in Hell, Pagan scum." The man snarled.
Acke did not allow the man's insult to go unpunished. As the man attacked again, this time trying to cleave Acke's arm from his shoulder, Acke made his superiority known. In one move he smacked the sword off course with his shield, stepped inside the man's reach, and delivered a long, deep cut to the man's gut.
Intestines poured from the wound and blood spurted from the Englishman's mouth, but still he tried to fight on. Acke backed away, and when the dying man tried to give chase, he tripped over his own spilling entrails. He landed amongst his fallen comrades in a mangled heap, and his fading soul watered the stones.
"May you die a thousand deaths in your afterlife." Acke spat.
Then he heard the sound of bootsteps, and when he looked up, five more Saxons had arrived. He had been hoping for a moment's respite, but such an occasion came rarely to a man like him. With blood trickling down his arm and air heaving in his lungs, Acke raised his sword again. He was one man against an endless army. He quite liked those odds.
Perseus Thrall-Born – Wincestre, 890 CE
Every step Percy took carried him over another puddle of muck and slime. The air reeked of dirt and mold, and though he couldn't see them, Percy knew an army of rats was gathered somewhere in the shadows. And though the air was rotten, and his feet soaked, Percy had rarely been in such high spirits.
He was close now. Closer than he'd been since Liv's death. He could almost taste his long-awaited victory. Could almost feel Cynefrith's bones crumpling beneath his fingers. The thought alone caused his pace to redouble, and before he knew it, he was sprinting through the darkness like a child eager for supper.
Before long, he arrived at a door made from the same glowing bronze that Greek demigods used to forge their weapons. He knew Cynefrith was on the other side. Knew that every second since Liv had died had been about this moment. His heart pounded like a forgemaster working steel, and sweat pooled on his brow. He took a deep, steadying breath, and then he pushed into Cynefrith's lair.
When he entered, his eyes were drawn to a heavy wooden table laden with flasks and beakers. Odd concoctions bubbled and churned in the forest of glass. The myriad of colors drew his focus, and the stench of chemicals and death overwhelmed his senses. It was no surprise then that he didn't notice the coming attack until a second too late.
The arrow struck his shoulder a moment before he could react to the twang of the bow. Pain flared up from the point of entry and spread throughout his chest. He let out a strangled cry and made to clutch at the wound, but the tightening of a bowstring told him he had no time to wallow in his misery. He instead flung up his shield – ignoring the pain it incited in his shoulder – just in time to block the second arrow.
"Not the most honorable way of fighting." Percy growled out.
"My mother would disown me if I chose honor over strategy." A faceless voice declared.
"Yet she has nothing to say about all the siblings you've let die while you cower in your castle?"
"Oh, please…"
A silhouette began to emerge from the shadows dominating the far side of the room. Percy saw the outline of a glittering crown, and then the hallmark eyes that only Cynefrith and his siblings had. There was a bow in the man's hands, a sword on his hip, and a sneer on his face. The sight of him made Percy's blood boil. He had half a mind to strike the bastard down then and there, but such a quick death would be too easy for him.
"You won't anger me by reminding me of how many of my kin you've slain." Cynefrith said. "If I gave a damn about any of them, I would've done something to stop you long before today."
Percy's eyes narrowed.
"You mean to say you don't care for your people?"
Cynefrith laughed like the thought was unthinkable.
"You mean to tell me that you do? Don't pretend this is about your gods, your fellow demigods, or even the Bjornar. If it were, you would've surrendered when your king did, saving countless lives in the process. Instead, you and your army of scum continued to throw yourselves at my walls… Why? Because to you this is about something much deeper, just as it is to me. But I don't give a damn about your reasons, and I imagine you feel much the same about mine. The truth of it is, to one another, we are but men standing in the way. It was inevitable that it would come to this. Such is the will of the Fates."
"I'm not driven by any divines, yours or mine own. Your death comes for you only because I will it so."
"Spoken like a player with no understanding of the game. You will learn soon enough. I can promise you that."
And with that the Saxon king cast his bow aside and drew his blade. It shimmered in the dim light, and brilliant gems dazzled Percy's eye. It was more of a showman's piece than a true weapon, and Percy would not hesitate to make that point painfully clear.
"May the crows take your eyes." Percy snarled. "For that's all that will remain when I'm through."
Cynefrith made no move to approach, but Percy was hardly in the mood for fighting patiently anyways. He immediately charged the man, and with a single heft of his axe, he made to sever Cynefrith's arm from his body.
Cynefrith avoided the attack, though only barely, and countered with a slash of his own. Percy caught the blow on his shield, but the impact sparked such pain in his already wounded shoulder that he may as well have just taken the blade.
As pain clouded Percy's mind, Cynefrith moved in for the kill. He put his entire body behind a thrust aimed for Percy's gut, but Percy wasn't considered the greatest warrior in England for nothing. Even hampered by his injury, he was able and willing to attempt something far too risky for any warrior not named Thrall-Born to attempt.
As Cynefrith's blade closed in, Percy didn't dodge, he didn't deflect, and he sure as shit didn't block. Instead, he stepped into the attack, allowed the blade to graze his side, and pushed himself towards Cynefrith. The sword cut deep into his side, leaving a grisly gash just above his hip, but he powered through the pain. He continued forward until Cynefrith's elbow was beneath his wounded shoulder. Percy clamped down on the joint using his own weakened arm, and then he twisted. Hard.
Percy felt Cynefrith's arm tear from the socket, but he didn't stop there. As Cynefrith's shouts of pain took to the air, Percy continued with his violent wrenching, stopping only when he felt the elbow snap. It was only then that he let Cynefrith go, allowing him the chance to stumble away and stare in horror at his mangled arm.
Percy wanted to press the advantage, but a spurt of blood from his side reminded him that Cynefrith wasn't the only one who was injured. Reluctantly, Percy turned his attention away from Cynefrith and his wailing for a moment. He drew the moisture from the humid dungeon air and began to mend the tear in his side, but before the wound could fully close, Cynefrith demanded his attention once more.
"This is not my day to die, Thrall-Born!" The Saxon king shouted. Percy turned back to him, and saw that while his sword arm was useless, he wasn't finished by any means. In his off hand he wielded a knife of glistening bronze, and in his eyes, a far more formidable weapon. Unrestrained madness.
"She promised me!" Cynefrith hissed. "My mother swore that I would be the one to bring you down!"
Percy's axe twirled in his hand.
"Your mother lied."
Cynefrith did not appreciate Percy's levity. With a shriek of rage, the demigod charged. As he closed in, Cynefrith suddenly flipped his knife into a reverse grip. The move actually surprised Percy, but not enough to stop what happened next. Cynefrith's knife took up a fatal trajectory towards Percy's throat, and then time seemed to slow.
As fast as Freya, Percy delivered a kick to Cynefrith's swinging wrist. The knife was sent flying out of the man's hand, spinning end over end as it climbed for the ceiling. Percy's foot dropped to the floor, and like the knife he spun, pivoting until his backfoot came around and delivered a second kick to Cynefrith's abdomen.
The airborne knife began its downward descent just as Cynefrith took up his own flight path. He flew backwards towards the near wall, but Percy didn't wait for him to hit stone. His axe was in flight before Cynefrith made impact, and it was buried deep in the king's shoulder before he could slide to the floor. All this happened in the time it took for Cynefrith's knife to fall right into Percy's waiting hand.
Cynefrith struggled to free himself, but Percy's axe was sunken so deep into his shoulder that it had actually pinned him to the wall. His screams shook the room as the bone-steel worked its sinister magic, but Percy wasn't satisfied with so little pain. A man like Cynefrith deserved so much more.
Agonized cries bounced off the walls, but Percy paid them no mind. Cynefrith wasn't going anywhere, which meant he had all the time he needed to scour the lab for the one weapon he'd been waiting so long to wield. Cynefrith's own special blend.
He found a barrel of it in the darkest, dankest corner of the entire lab, and seeing it was like seeing his mother's smiling face again. He scooped up the nearest beaker he could find and filled it to the brim with the deadly powder. Then, with a manic grin on his face he returned to Cynefrith's side.
"Open wide." Percy instructed.
Cynefrith's eyes widened, and his jaw clenched shut. Percy just shrugged.
"Have it your way then."
Percy stabbed Cynefrith's thigh using the man's own knife, striking so hard the blade scraped bone. Still Cynefrith resisted the urge to scream, and so Percy began to carve vengeance into the man's leg. He gave in before Percy reached the third rune.
As soon as Cynefrith's tormented cries were heard, they were muffled by a mouthful of his own concoction. Terror filled Cynefrith's eyes as his creation tumbled down the back of his throat, and his entire body shook with that primal fear. Percy tugged a torch from the nearest wall scone, and then he looked right into the eyes of the man who had taken so much from so many. Taken so much from him.
"Now you face the same end you gave her. I only with that you were a god, so that you might taste this defeat until the end of time."
Percy lowered the flames to the man's gullet. The powder burned. Cynefrith wailed. The scent of dissolving flesh tainted the air.
He basked in Cynefrith's agony. Thrived on every guttural cry. He cared not that the powder could blow at any moment. He would rather die than miss a single second of his glorious prize.
And so, as the powder burned brighter and brighter, and he sensed the end upon him, Percy embraced the death that he knew was coming. He had promised Trygve once that he would have vengeance, or he would have death. In that moment, as the inferno kissed his skin, he knew… He knew that he had been blessed with both.
Perseus Thrall-Born – Ogygia, 2017 CE
When Liv left, she took the voices with her. Once again Percy was alone on the island, only now his isolation was tainted by the bitter thought of what might've been. Were the world a kinder place, he would've descended into a madness plagued by his fondest friends. Instead, he was left with the agonizing hope that one of them might reappear. That he might hear their voice once more. And thus, his hatred for the silence began.
Every moment of quiet was another reminder of what he'd lost. Whether it was insanity or a spectral anomaly, he'd spoken to the ghosts of his past. Heard their pleas and baked in the nostalgic warmth of their words. Their arrival had only heightened his longing, and their departure had only twisted the knife of his solitude.
He found himself turning every action into music. Hums drowned out his misery as well as any liquor, a beat of axe on wood uplifted his spirit, and the chipper song of tropical birds kept his mind away from the snow-capped hills of Odin's Rest. Only by suffocating the silence could he protect his mind from the corrosive nature of his despair.
Sometimes he saw their faces in mundane things. A crashing wave would remind him of Trygve's booming laugh. A sheer rockface would become Acke's stoic stare. The snapping claw of a crab was as sharp as Anna's wit, and the gentle touch of a breeze on his cheek was as familiar as Liv's tender kiss. Every moment was agony, every breath a reminder that he was a relic of a time, a people, and of loves long past. Every moment, he wished that he could get off the damned island and back to the world full of distractions.
On his worst days – days much like today – he would go to the beach, and he would stare at the ocean. He would watch the tide come in, and he would wonder how different his life could've been. How much pain he would've avoided if just once in his life, he had listened to those around him. If he had taken their words as gospel and turned away from his anger and his stubbornness. From his need to prove himself countless times over. Perhaps Perseus Thrall-Born wouldn't have been a name too frightening even for Greek horror stories. Perhaps the Romans wouldn't think of him as a being so terrifying he had to be a myth. Perhaps he would be happy.
"Dwelling on actions long past is an exercise in stagnation. If it is change you seek, you cannot think on action, you must take it."
His eyes narrowed as soon as he heard that voice. He recognized it as sure as he recognized the weight of his shield on his arm. Unlike his past visitors, this voice did not belong to a friend. Deep in his gut, long suppressed anger, betrayal, and sorrow bubbled to the surface. They rose like bile in his throat, but he did not swallow them down, if only so that he could spew them like venom into the face that spoke such tainted words.
"Freya." He never took his eyes off the horizon, but he could feel her body tense behind him as he spat her name like it were poison. "What brings you to me? What must you have done to Odin for him to punish you so?"
She stepped closer, and thought he didn't turn to look, he could see her form standing at his side in the periphery of his vision.
"I come of my own volition. To bring news, and to… And to apologize."
"Yes, well, it's far too late for that, isn't it?"
"Not for me." The goddess answered. "Not a day goes by that I do not think on what happened. Not a moment passes that I am not beset by regret… We had a plan in place long before we brought you into the fold but… If I could undo what was done, I would."
"And my father? Odin? The rest of them? Do they share in your sympathies?"
Freya sighed.
"You know that they do not."
"Then why come here at all? Were you hoping a few words would–"
"I was hoping that you would see reason. That you would put aside your anger and heed my words, even if you hate that it is I who speaks them!"
This time, Percy did turn to face the goddess. It proved to be a horrible mistake. She looked just the same as he remembered her. Every feature as real and youthful as it had been over a thousand years ago. Every inch of her swamped by regret and anguish. Her plight made Percy want to cast aside his rage and accept her apology then and there. He hated her in that moment. Hated her for making him want to forgive.
"I'll hear you speak, but I can't promise I will listen."
Freya's face didn't change, but her eyes dimmed. It seemed she'd expected as much but had been wishing for more.
"First, you must know that I am the one who brought you here. I saved you from that explosion, just as the Greek scum's mother saved him. I–"
"You did what?" Percy hissed. "You had the chance to stop her? To let Hale die? And you decided it was more important to drop me off on a cursed island?"
"Drop the act. We both know it is not Hale'ssurvival that angers you so."
"I… Look, I saw an opportunity. A chance at justice and death in one go. You stripped it from me–"
"Just as I did in Wincestre so long ago." She finished. "I have made many mistakes, but that is not one of them. It is a fool's bargain you seek, yet you are no fool. One day you will walk the fields of Fólkvangr, but it will be because you have earned the right, not because you have schemed your way into it."
"Earned the right? There is no man in all of history who has earned 'the right' more than I have!"
"And there is no man in all of history who is more determined to ignore his own principles in favor of a self-pitying pipe dream. I had hoped that the spirits I sent to you would relieve you of your lunacy, but I see now that you are as stubborn as you have always been. Perhaps even more so."
"Wait, spirits? You mean to say that I wasn't going insane. That, Acke, Anna, Trygve…" Percy swallowed an increasingly large lump in his throat. "Liv… That was them."
Freya nodded.
"All of them walk my fields. Every soldier you ever led. Every friend you ever had. Halvard, your mother, all of them dine in my hall. I demanded that Odin grant me their souls – lest he face my withdrawal from the family – so that they might greet you one day in the afterlife. Now, they watch on with sorrow as you try desperately to hasten your reunion with them. Many were willing to speak to you on my behalf, but the four who knew you so well were certain they could stoke the fire for life that used to burn so brightly in your heart. It seemed they were wrong."
Percy opened his mouth to speak but found that he could form no words. Freya stared at him for a while, tears threatening to spill from the corners of her divine eyes. Eventually, she waved a hand towards the water, and a shoddy raft shimmered into existence. A sail, hoisted on a single log stripped bare, flapped lazily in the breeze. A design that Percy hadn't seen in ages - a pink pixie painted over the visage of a snarling bear – stood out against the stark white cloth.
"This raft will return you to the Greek camp. With the looming attack, I imagine they need your help now more than ever. Know that whatever happens in the coming days, no gods – be they Norse or Olympian – will interfere. Your destiny will rest upon your shoulders and your shoulders alone. I hope that for once, you will make a decision with your gaze cast forward."
And then she was gone, and Percy was staring at his ticket back to civilization. Freya had left him with a lot to think about. Enough that he was beginning to question decisions made decades ago. He didn't know what he would do when opportunity next found him, but he knew one thing was certain. Adrian Hale lived. If nothing else, his axe would taste blood at least one more time.
Perseus Thrall-Born – Camp Half-Blood, 2017 CE
Percy arrived at a much different Camp Half-Blood than he had left behind so long ago. From the beach to the cabins, he didn't see a single demigod. It wasn't until he reached Half-Blood Hill that he saw the telltale signs of human inhabitance.
A war tent sat atop the hill, nestled between the Athena Parthenos and the tree the campers called Thalia's Pine. Two campers stood guard outside the tent, but most of demigods were gathered at the base of the hill. They were all covered from head to toe in bronze and armed to the teeth. They reminded him of the phalanxes he had crushed back in his day. Well, save for the fact that they were looking at him with awe rather than fear and hatred.
They parted before him, allowing him to pass through their ranks with ease. None could contain their disbelief at seeing him alive and well, but he had no time to spend explaining his resurrection to those with curiosity and the courage to voice it. Despite their peppering of questions, Percy did not stop until he reached the entrance to the command tent.
Down the opposite side of the hill, towards the road he had first taken to camp with Alex Jackson, a different army – if you could even call either side an army – was making its preparations. This was smaller than the one fielded by Camp Half-Blood, but Percy knew numbers would mean nothing in the coming struggle. Adrian's serum would soon be coursing through the cultists' veins, and he doubted there were many among the campers capable of standing toe to toe with their enhanced siblings.
It seemed the campers standing watch over the tent were not eager to let him study the enemy, because hardly fifteen seconds had passed before one felt the need to interrupt his racing thoughts.
"We heard you were… y'know… That you–"
Percy silenced the demigod with a glance.
"The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated. Now, would you be so kind as to let me into your command tent so that I may keep you from becoming as dead as I'm supposed to be?"
The two young demigods quickly scrambled out of his path, making way for Percy to push into the war tent. When he entered, he was greeted by the same council he had been met with upon his arrival to camp, albeit with a few additions. Nico, Hazel, Will, and Piper had joined the campers' ranks, alongside Annabeth, a blond man Percy didn't recognize, and a punk girl dressed in an eye-watering amount of silver. Surprisingly, not a single person seemed shocked to see him. Even more strange was the fact that it was Nico who broke the silence.
"Percy. Good to have you back."
"You knew I was alive?"
Nico scoffed.
"I'm a son of Hades, and your soul is hardly subtle. I knew you were alive. I just didn't know how."
"A goddess who meddles too much made sure I stuck around. Why not tell the campers?"
"We didn't know if you would return." Hazel answered. "Better to prepare them to fight without you than to let them hope you were coming and be disappointed."
"Speaking of which," Annabeth added, eyes narrowed. "What took you so long? It's been months. The fact that Hale hasn't attacked until now is a miracle."
"Hardly. He's been idle because he's been recovering from our last fight. My axe is tailored to kill your kind. It doesn't stop trying just because the fight is over. Ask Alex if you don't believe me."
"It's true." The son of Poseidon agreed.
He pointed to the cut left in his cheek by Percy's axe back in Cordova. Even after so long, the scar was still as fresh as if the cut had been sustained two weeks ago.
"Bad ass." The silver-clad girl muttered. "Where'd you–"
"Not the point." Annabeth interrupted. "You still haven't told us what kept you."
Percy narrowed his eyes. He knew the daughter of Athena meant well, but her incessant need to know every detail irked him. That, and her eyes reminded him of a king he would do anything to kill again. Still, he saw no harm in telling them the truth. Or at least some of it.
"My… savior." He nearly choked on the word; a fact that didn't go unnoticed by those present. "Did me the kind favor of dropping me off at a tropical paradise. I believe you know it as Ogygia."
A collective gasp swept over the room, but none looked more shocked by the news than Alex. His jaw was open so wide it rivaled that of the Hafgufa Percy had slain in his younger years, and his eyes were wide like saucers in their sockets.
"Then you met…?" he trailed off, like he was afraid to speak her name. Percy couldn't blame him considering the grey-eyed ball and chain sitting directly to his right.
"She wasn't there. Never got a clear answer why though."
"It couldn't be…" This time it was the blond man Percy didn't recognize. "You don't think…?"
"Leo." Piper finished. "He always said he'd go back for her, but…"
"But he was supposed to be dead?" Percy guessed. They all nodded. "Yeah, that seems to be going around. Either way, deal with it on your own time. You have an army waiting to slaughter you, and I have a solution I think you're all going to like."
Piper McClean – Camp Half-Blood, 2017 CE
As it turned out, Piper did not like Percy's solution. In fact, none of the counselors did. His 'plan', if it could even be called that, was for the entirety of Camp Half-Blood to sit back and watch while he did their dirty work for them. From everything she had seen and heard about the man, there was no one more qualified to undertake such an insurmountable task, and yet she couldn't feel anything except for shame when she imagined the battle being fought for her.
Others shared in her disapproval, but it wasn't until Percy donned his armor – something he apparently hadn't done since before the ice – that the sheer magnitude of his lunacy set in. And when the senior campers realized he truly intended to take the fight alone, the disbelief and disapproval quickly became vehement protests.
"You can't be serious!" Clarisse said. "You expect us to sit back and watch? Do you think we're cowards? Invalids?"
Percy shot her an amused look as he tightened the strap of his gauntlet.
"If I thought you were cowards, I wouldn't be telling you not to fight. I'd just wait for you to run."
"Then why do you insist on doing this alone? There must be a hundred of them down there, and–"
"And maybe two hundred up here if we count the kids who can't even lift their swords. Do you really want them in the fight?"
This time it was Jason who spoke.
"I don't see the problem. We've been fighting since we were their age. Younger even."
Percy turned on him, a single eyebrow raised in challenge.
"Because you had to, no? For the better part of your career, you fought monsters, not your siblings. Me? I killed my first man when I was fourteen, and I didn't stop killing until I got put on ice. Hell, I saw death every day when I was a slave. The veterans of your little Titanomachy may have tasted that life, but these kids? They've only known peace. There's no reason for you to ask them to take a life and risk their own when I'm willing to take their place."
"That's… Surprisingly noble of you." Piper admitted. "But foolish too. You said it yourself. Not all of us are new to this life."
"True, but none of you are me."
"Insulting." Alex muttered. "After everything, you still think we're incompetent."
Percy let out a heaving sigh and ran a hand over his face. Piper could see he was frustrated, but if she looked deeper, it almost looked like he was… Like he was worried.
"It's not incompetence I fear, Alex. I would've been proud to call you one of my snow-bears, and the same goes for many of your friends, but there are some battles that cannot be won by soldiers. Sometimes you need something different."
"And that something is?"
Percy tugged his axe from the loop on his belt. In the distance, Adrian Hale stepped up to give his forces a rallying speech. Percy stepped forward; eyes locked on the distant demigod.
"A murderer."
Piper was the first to realize what Percy planned. Unfortunately, neither her, nor the gathered counselors were fast enough to stop what could only be described as an act entirely lacking in honor.
As Adrian Hale raised a toast to his beloved cult, Percy raised his own hand in tandem, only his hand held the deadliest weapon Piper had ever seen a mortal wield. Adrian's troops cheered as Percy's axe took to the air. The steel glinted in the light as it twirled end over end, and Piper tried to fathom how someone could so casually cast the blow that would kill a man outside of battle. She didn't find an answer before the weapon imbedded itself into skull.
It was odd seeing a man fall dead without realizing his end was coming. It all seemed so slow. So cheap. So… Wrong. Her shock was shared by all those present. As Adrian's cultists – those poor misguided demigods who worshipped him like a deity – let out cries of anguish and surrounded their fallen leader, the cabin heads of Camp Half-Blood made their own feelings known.
"By the gods!" One of the younger counselors, Ben, cried. "He wasn't even looking! The battle hadn't even started! Where's your honor?"
Percy sent him a glare so dark Piper thought the boy would faint.
"Honor is what made me needlessly throw away thousands of lives. Honor gets people killed. What you just saw was justice. Swift, merciless justice. Without Hale, the cult loses it's will to fight, and you won't have to burn any funeral pyres."
Piper blinked. The way he broke it down so cold and logically was jarring to her emotional mind. For a moment, she could've sworn he was a morally bereft child of Athena, not some battle-hardened son of Aegir.
"I'm not saying I would've agreed," Annabeth began. "But why not tell us this was your plan from the beginning? Why bother with this charade where you pretend there's a coming battle too dangerous for us to fight?"
"Because there is." Percy said, as if it were that simple. "There are bigger fish out there than ambitious demigods."
As if on cue, a harsh crack of thunder boomed in the distance. Then a flash of blinding light appeared, so bright it forced everyone's eyes shut. Piper smelled blood and gunpowder, and her ears were filled with the sound of tortured screams. Her body was bathed in an intense heat, and she could feel power washing over her more heavily than she had in a long time. A deity was here, and they weren't wasting time manifesting a mortal-friendly form.
"Perseus Thrall-Born!"
The voice didn't seem to come from any one place. Instead, it seemed to swallow Piper whole, burying her beneath its harsh rasp and cementing her in place with the sheer rage it carried.
"Enyo." Percy greeted. "I assume you're here about your sons?"
"I'm here about more than that, demigod." The goddess snarled. "You've denied me my greatest conquest. I was to be Queen of Olympus! You dare strip me of what is mine? I will have you tortured for the rest of your days, I will–"
Piper's eyes were still clamped shut, but she could hear the mocking smile on Percy's face when he next spoke.
"You'll sit there and hope a puny demigod like me accepts your challenge. What's to stop me from ignoring you? Ancient laws say you can't attack me unless I attack you first, and unlike the big bad Olympians, a minor goddess like you can't risk breaking those rules."
"Minor goddess?" the disembodied voice screeched. "I am the embodiment of war. Of conquest! I grow stronger with each soul sacrificed in my holy game, and none have fed me more than you. And now you will face the power you have manifested, or else I will return with a monster army empowered by my son's serum, and with it I will wipe every last demigod from the face of this planet."
"That seems like a solid plan. Why don't you do that instead of wasting your time on me?"
Enyo scoffed.
"My plans will remain long after your bones wither into dust. I am willing to sacrifice far more than just my time for a chance at vengeance. Tell me you don't know the feeling."
The next time Percy spoke, Piper could tell he was no longer smiling.
"I know it all too well… Very well then. I accept your challenge."
This time, it was Enyo who sounded pleased.
"And so ends the tale of Perseus Thrall-Born."
Perseus Thrall-Born – Camp Half-Blood, 2017 CE
Of all the decisions Percy had made in his life, accepting Enyo's challenge was certainly one of them. When he accepted the challenge, he had purely been basing his chances off of his spars with Thor and Freya. What he hadn't considered was the fact that Enyo was in her divine form and, apparently, juiced up on a few eons' worth of war casualties. Little details like that might've made a difference in the decision-making process. Maybe. Probably not.
Unfortunately, Percy, like all mortals, was doomed to face the consequences of his own actions. So, when he was punched with force roughly equivalent to the landing of the Chicxulub Impactor, he really had nobody to blame except for himself. Still, knowing who to blame didn't really make it hurt any less when he was launched into a mob of grieving cultists like a bowling ball shot from a Paris Gun.
If it weren't for his armor, Percy probably would've been a cloud of red mist long before he hit the ground. Much to his body's displeasure, his armor provided just enough protection for him survive, but not so much that he couldn't feel every last bump as his body carved a trench through the field below.
When he finally came to a stop – some seventy feet and four broken ribs later – he took a moment to catch his breath. If he knew anything about gods, it was that they loved to gloat. He had at least three taunts' worth of reprieve to regather himself and, if he was lucky, recover his axe too.
"It's laughable how you mortals believe yourselves to be our equals." Enyo said.
One. Percy forced himself to his feet. The warmth of Enyo's presence grew closer, and though he couldn't see her, he could feel her approach.
"All these years your kind have squabbled with gods and titans. It's a shame none were ever shown the power we divines truly wield."
Two. He reached out with his senses until he found his axe. It was far, but not so much so that he couldn't retrieve it. He tugged on it with his powers and before long it was soaring towards him. Enyo drew closer still, and he could feel the heat of her divine form like flames licking at his cheeks.
"Perhaps you will be the lesson in humility that all demigods learn from. Perhaps–"
Three. Percy's axe landed in his outstretched hand. His shield was rising before Enyo even moved, and his body was bracing for the impact that he knew was to come.
His prediction proved right when only a millisecond later, Enyo's empowered fist slammed against his shield. Percy's shield held up, but his legs did not. He was once again forced to the ground, and this time, Enyo did not grant him time for respite. She reached down before he could let out even a single groan, and with a hand that burned like molten lead, she scooped him up and threw him across the field.
He landed in a heap next to the goddess' fallen son. Again, he felt Enyo's presence hovering over him. This time though, he could feel the murderous intent in her aura. The next blow would be the one that finished him. The one that finally granted him his sweet, elusive death. Hell, he didn't even have to wait for the attack to come. He could simply open his eyes…
The thought held him hostage for what seemed like an eternity. He wasn't sure if time had slowed, his thoughts had sped up, or Enyo had suddenly grown patient. All he knew was that he was surrounded by darkness. Enveloped by his thoughts. Swallowed by the chance to have everything he'd longed for. It would be so easy. So simple. He wanted to do it so badly, but a single sentence stopped him.
'Think on why you first picked up an axe.' Such a small thing. Not even ten words. And yet it was what kept his eyes shut in that moment. The memory of a young boy who would do anything to survive. The young boy who fought tirelessly because there was nothing but the fight. In that moment, Percy decided to forge on not for himself, or for the demigods, or even for those watching on from Fólkvangr. Instead, he fought for the young boy who would never accept death, even if it meant eternal suffering.
Enyo's attack closed in at a snail's pace. As the heat grew unbearable, Percy was already on the move. He rolled away from the goddess and towards Hale's corpse. It was there he found the serum that had nearly been his death. The serum that would prevent his untimely end. He sent a single prayer to Freya, hoping that he was making the right choice, and then he jammed the syringe into his thigh.
Energy like nothing he'd ever felt before shot through his body. If the berserker's rage was a five-hour energy, then Adrian's serum was a thousand CCs of Adrenaline straight to the heart. Being in water wasn't even close to as invigorating as Adrian's concoction. With the chemicals coursing through his veins, Percy felt more than strong. More than powerful. He felt like he could kill a god.
Percy rolled to his feet faster than he'd ever moved before. He extended his senses and felt that Enyo had altered course, and was already headed his way. Once again, he raised his shield but this time, when Enyo's attack landed, he did not budge. He was an immovable object, and her fist the unstoppable force, and when the two met, it wasn't he or Enyo that gave in.
His shield, made from the bones of the world tree, his most stalwart companion since his earliest demigod days, could not handle the sheer force of Enyo's attack. It shattered like a plane of glass, releasing with it a burst of magic far more ancient and powerful than any god or goddess. The blast knocked both Percy and Enyo off their feet. They were sent flying in opposite directions, slamming into the earth so hard Percy was certain they'd cause an earthquake.
When the dust settled and Percy recovered from the blast, he realized that Enyo was still stunned by the explosion. He knew then that this was his one opportunity to end this for good. He wasn't sure if it was possible to kill a god in their divine form, but he was damn willing to try.
Percy limped towards Enyo's fallen form with his axe in his hand, and contempt in his heart. Walking towards her was like closing in on a supernova, but he didn't stop when his skin blistered or when his eyebrows singed. He kept going until he stood over her as she had over him. Then, he raised his axe high overhead, and he spoke.
"It's laughable how you gods believe yourselves to be above us mortals. Perhaps you will be the lesson in humility that all deities need."
And then, with a feral cry, Percy slammed his axe haft deep in her sternum. He yanked it out just as fast, and Enyo let out a blood curdling shriek unlike anything Percy had ever heard. As her wails shook the earth, he tossed aside his axe and fell to his knees overtop her. Ignoring the intense heat pouring from her nuclear core, he placed his hands on either side of her split open ribs and pulled with all his might.
If Enyo had been loud before, her pain then was great enough to deafen the Olympians in their thrones high overhead. The harder Percy tugged, the more her ribs split. The heat grew more and more intense as her essence began to tear. He felt his own flesh searing away, but he didn't relent. He pulled and pulled until her divine core was held together by a single thread. He quickly summoned his power, using it to throw up a protective barrier of water around himself, and then he severed the connection for good.
What came next was an explosion so powerful that it shattered his protection like it was a wall of wet tissues. An inferno so hot it burned through his flesh and to his very soul. A moment so cataclysmic, it seemed to transcend time. And when the endless moment of pain and victory ended, all Percy saw was black.
AN
AND WE'RE NOT EVEN FINISHED! I've still got one more chapter on deck (I decided to split the big boy up so I could get some content to y'all sooner)[plus, I needed two more cliffhangers before I finished up ;).] Anyways, next chapter will be a chapter/epilogue hybrid of sorts that will wrap everything up in a neat little bow. Unfortunately, you're gonna have to wait on the edge of your seat for a while before you see how this plays out. Sorry about it (not really). Anyways, I love y'all, I really hope you enjoyed, and, until next time,
Peace