The Master Bolt.
Notes:
TW: slight gore (but not really), implied/referenced abuse.
Percy's soul is heavy. It's dragging him down, down, down…
Down to hell.
His bag is heavy, scratching away at his spine, burning through his skin. The disgusting smell of burnt flesh resounds in the air.
The smell of nostalgia.
He silently slips the bag from his shoulder, reaches inside, and produces a cylinder of energy. Annabeth's indignant gasp echoes across the silent throne room. There, in Percy's hands, is the Master Bolt. It crackles quietly and thrums with untold power. Right now, Percy could obliterate anything (or any god) who crosses him.
For the first time in his life, Percy feels in control.
For the first time, he has a thirst for power.
Until the sheen of hope shatters. Hades' voice is commanding and cold, rallied with an abundance of energy that emits an astounding will to comply.
Percy draws back.
"Why should you have this, Hades?" Percy sneers as he holds the bolt in a defensive position. Annabeth has recovered from her initial shock and stands in front of him. "I won't give this to a god like you."
"Did you steal it, boy?" Hades' voice is scratchy and the tone a little miffed as his power of the Dead continues to prod at Percy's bones.
Percy's silence is all he needs.
(He has his suspicions: Luke's lack of enthusiasm when Percy embarked on his quest, the constant beratement of the Olympians, Luke's warning of 'don't trust anyone' and the rising suspicion of the winter solstice- a week before Percy's arrival. Luke may be the lightning thief, but Percy's sure as hell not returning it.)
Hades pounces like a tiger.
Claws posed. Teeth bared.
Percy (for a minuscule of a second) hesitates.
That's all he needs for the Master Bolt to fly out of his powerless hands.
Right at Annabeth Chase.
(Percy will look back at this moment as 'this is when I fell in love' because Annabeth is as ferocious as a lioness.)
With the strength and grace of a panther, Annabeth Chase catches the Master Bolt.
The stagnant air heats up.
Then the crackling intensifies.
And the tension in Annabeth's body dissipates as she points Zeus' weapon at the King of the Underworld.
"Do you want to die?"
(There's Evil in Annabeth.)
She might have looked regal in another life. Powerful muscles and determined eyes, with luscious blonde hair and soft skin, but life was cruel.
She only looks feral- too thin and pale and a ghost-like complexion- as if her brilliant mind had finally failed her.
But Percy knew this was a timely calculated decision.
(He would come to pick and dissect at the genius that is Annabeth Chase's brain and learn all her tricks and cunning determination.
He would come to love it.)
The moaning of the Dead rattles Percy's skull as he watches Annabeth face-off Hades. She's shaking, crocodile tears trickling down her blood-stained face, and the Master Bolt gives an indignant chime as pure energy blasts up Annabeth's arm.
She manages to shove Hades back.
But not before spiderwebs of burns scuttle up her arm.
Annabeth's screams are haunting. Deep, mournful screams wretch themselves from her throat.
Hades' shadows creep back.
(Percy thinks of his mother and Gabe.
She screamed like that too.)
He rushes forward.
And meets Hades' blade that was aiming for Annabeth.
All of Luke's hard training pays off when Percy can parry and deflect Hades' Stygian Iron blade. He slashes and dives, aiming for Hades' wrists and ankles, whilst the god simply drives forward harder and faster and stronger.
Percy nearly buckles under the weight of Hades' blow and aims to block. He's left himself open.
Hades strikes.
With much more force than necessary, he bats Percy away like a fly. He goes veering across the throne room landing in a heap with countless broken ribs and new scars.
(He ignores the pain and lifts his head. Gabe is there. With a knife and ready to carve words into Percy's skin.
LOSER. BITCH. WHORE.
He takes it in stride.)
Annabeth whimpers in pain as Hades lumbers towards her. Her arm throbs as the Master Bolt slowly etches itself permanently into her skin like a tattoo.
She can't breathe.
"What's your name, girl?" It's almost fatherly in the tone of voice, with a slight awkwardness, and it almost made Annabeth smile.
(It's been so long since she's had a father.)
"Annabeth," she answers. Her arm is warm as Hades' shadowy hand caresses it. The pain becomes bearable.
"You were tricked." It isn't a question.
"I don't know," Annabeth sighs. "It isn't my quest."
Hades' eyes seem to understand.
When Percy comes to, he half-expected to be locked up in a cage and then tortured to death. He doesn't expect ghosts in white overalls feeding him ambrosia and replacing bandages.
He definitely doesn't expect a gentle hand to be slowly massaging his scalp and rubbing his shoulders soothingly.
"Your Uncle is surprisingly accommodating." The hands still and turns Percy to face their owner.
Annabeth looks better than Percy has ever seen her. Better than when Ares healed her earlier in the quest.
Her skin sports more freckles than usual, with her cheeks glowing a rosy pink, and her strong grey eyes are alive in the dim light of the room. Her golden ringlets are longer and fuller, reaching just below her shoulders, and a smile graces her face.
She looks healthy.
(And happy. She hides her arm in a long-sleeved shirt, but Percy can see the lines carved into her hands.
Her smile falters.)
They meet Hades in the throne room when Percy can finally move without wincing.
It looks like Hades and Annabeth came to an agreement in the two days that Percy was out.
Leave with the Bolt in an exchange for a favour to Hades.
Percy agrees.
(He would make agreements with Gabe, Percy recalls, use me and you won't touch mom.
Percy could never tell if Gabe adhered to them.)
They ascend as the storm wages on.
It's the end of the deadline.
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That night, the sky would turn black and scream with lightning as the Eagle, the Stallion and the Serpent would prepare for war.
The Evil only sits back and laughs as his plan comes into action.
His devout servant stands to his left silently, bowing his head in shame, as they watch two very injured children stumble into a trap of sin.
"Good things come to those who wait, Luke Castellan," the Evil peals across the dream tavern, "and I won't lose a second time."
"Yes, sir."