Author's Note:
Hello readers, if this story looks vaguely familiar, that's because it is. This is Const3llations on his burner. I've begun re-uploading my previously deleted stories onto this account. I've changed nothing, and left the writing as it was; I will not continue them either. I promise you I write better stories now. Maybe.
The Lost Victor
Chapter I:
"You said your mom is the goddess of balance," the boy reasoned. "The minor gods deserve better, Ethan, but total destruction isn't balance. Kronos doesn't build. He only destroys."
Nemesis looked on as her favorite son, Ethan Nakamura, took a stand before the heralded son of Poseidon. Perseus Jackson, a child of age chosen by the Fates to complete the Great Prophecy.
You know what must be done. She spoke into his mind.
With pride, she saw Ethan look towards the sky in salute and charge the vile sea spawn, bringing his swor—no.
Ethan had lunged straight past the son of Poseidon and extended his sword at the Titan Lord.
The goddess could only watch in anguish as the celestial bronze shattered uselessly against Kronos's neck, a fragment lodging itself in the pit of his stomach.
A crack formed at the base of her soul; a shift in the scales of the world. She foresaw what the Fates had ultimately decided; there would be only one path that would bring respect to the forgotten gods; one path that would bring unity to the world.
"Treason!" Kronos growled, his voice ripping through the air.
Nemesis turned away as the Titan Lord sent her chosen son falling to his death from the Hall of the Gods.
Moments later, the cosmos ripped open as the Olympians, in all of their sparkling glory, descended from above to defend their birthright. Lightning bolts clashed with streaks of darkness; gold and silver arrows exploded in the air; a violent whirlpool of water swarmed ahead.
Side by side, the Olympians and demigods rallied together to challenge the Titan Lord's forces. She watched as Ares went blow for blow with Typhon, the King of Monsters, while the twins rained hellfire from above.
Nemesis sent her projection down to the base of the mountain, far away from the raging conflict. There, resting lifelessly on the bottom, was the fractured body of her son.
She extended her hands out and gently closed his broken eyes for the final time, lowering her head.
"Ethan Nakamura, eldest son of Kai Nakamura. May you be remembered forever, amongst the stars."
At the last word of the blessing, his body began to fade into the cold air. Nemesis felt the scales slowly tilt back.
She reappeared above the battle, in time to see the son of Poseidon holding the prophetic knife in his hand.
"Jackson…" Kronos—no that was the voice of Luke Castellan. "You need to kill me."
The son of Hermes unlatched the side straps of his armor, exposing a small bit of his skin under his left arm. "Please…"
Nemesis watched the son of Poseidon with intense curiosity, the fate of the future was in his hands.
With every step he took towards the Titan Lord, the scales swayed closer to balance. Luke's body began to burn bright, beams of light pulsed out of his golden eyes as Kronos fought for control.
Just as the cursed blade made contact with the exposed skin, Kronos became his true form. The timing killed the son of Hermes and injured the Titan Lord gravely, causing him to rehost in the closest living soul.
The scales of the world shifted violently in response.
Nemesis stared at the son of Poseidon as Luke's body collapsed to the ground, eyes glassy, skin pale and body lifeless. Perseus fell to the ground on one knee; his hand let go of the blade as his sea-green eyes changed to the golden orbs of the Titan Lord.
Kronos was wounded, but still very much alive.
"I have arrived." The Titan Lord croaked, smirking, and went for his scythe, the weapon just out of reach; golden ichor dripped from the corner of his mouth. Perseus's lips looked unnatural contorted into a cruel sneer, but this wasn't Perseus. It was a shell of him; a reminder of what they'd failed to do.
Out of nowhere, a gargantuan bolt struck the new host body of Kronos. Screams erupted as the once son of Poseidon was sent flying into the horizon.
The smoke cleared, revealing the great God of Thunder. Zeus gripped his master bolt tightly, a grim expression plastered on his face. All that remained was a blackened mark on the floor of Olympus.
"YOU WILL DIE FOR THAT!" Poseidon bellowed, joining the outcries from the demigods. The rest of the Olympians remained silent, completely exhausted. "HOW DARE YOU KILL MY SON!"
Zeus pointed the world's most powerful weapon at his approaching brother, and the God of the Sea lowered his trident in response, his sea-green eyes clouded with anger. "DON'T YOU SEE? KRONOS GOT TO HIM! IT WAS THE ONLY WAY!"
The scales had toppled in favor of the Titan Lord, who was now recovering inside his new host. He now had control over the most powerful demigod of this generation.
Nemesis vanished into the Underworld, away from the crumbling remains of Olympus. In the background, lightning clashed with water in a celestial dance to the death.
The path she had once seen was now split. Order must be restored, and blood alone would move the wheels of history.
Finnick struggled to hang on to the rung as three more mutts tore into his back. He valiantly swept his bloody trident in a deadly arch, but there were too many. This was the end.
Blinded by pain he screamed desperately, "KATNISS! KATNISS! KATNISS!" Finnick prayed that she would understand his message.
He let go of the ladder and at the same time, a fiery white ball of light expanded outwards, relieving him from the chains of his cruel world. Katniss had done her job.
Annie.
Finnick breathed out for the last time.
Unbeknownst to Aether, the primordial ruler of life, his death ruptured the interdimensional fabric of time and space. Finnick's soul was sent plummeting through the open void and into the infinite multiverse, soaring through trillions of alternate realities before finally coming to rest in a universe far different from his own…
With a sudden jolt, his life restarted; coarse air and darkness overwhelmed his senses. Finnick's eyes fluttered open to embrace his new surroundings. His brain felt like it had been microwaved and then frozen at subzero temperatures. Where am I?
There was nothing but craggy rocks and black volcanic sand for miles, an eerie green light radiated overhead. The whole place felt black and cold. Finnick couldn't see any end in sight.
A small man in a grey suit and tie stood in front of him. "Hey, what's going on?" He asked the man.
The man didn't respond.
"Hey." Finnick reached out to tap the man on the shoulder, but his hand phased right through as if he were a ghost. "What the hell?"
"Listen kid, you're gonna have to wait in line like the rest of us. I don't care how bad your death was. Rules are rules." A grumpy voice said in response.
Finnick's next words got stuck in his throat when the man turned around; half of the man's face was missing, which exposed the raw internals of his brain. His entire body had also transformed into a supernatural white light.
"H—How are you alive?"
The man laughed. "First time? You're dead kid. Do I need to spell it out for you? I got run over by a car. Seems to me that you got slashed up pretty hard, must've been painful."
Finnick stared wildly at the spectral figure, behind the man was at least twenty more just like him. He yelped when he discovered a woman, who was missing both of her arms, behind him. "I don't understand...what's going on?"
"That arsehole Charon made me wait almost fifty years for this." The man acted like he hadn't heard him speak. "I consider myself a lucky bloke though, there are some poor chaps in this line that have waited for over a millennia."
"Listen," Finnick raised his hands. "I'm not supposed to be here. I don't know who you are. I don't know who Charon is. I don't know whatever this is."
The man shook his imploded head. "Take a look in the river, maybe that will change your mind."
It was then that Finnick noticed the sick, oily stream that flowed a couple feet away from them. Cautiously, he stepped across the rough ground and peered into foul soup.
A young chiseled face stared back at him through the reflection, dulled by the black liquid, bones and other mysterious objects floated beneath. Finnick guessed that he looked about sixteen or seventeen years old.
Just as he was about to look away, his flesh started to become transparent. Finnick gaped in horror as his body mutated into a shadowy gold glow. Delicately, he touched the side of his arm; his hand went right through.
Then came the pain. Pure, violent pain. Finnick screamed as the wounds of the mutts appeared across his body, leaving scars on his chest and back. Molten lava flowed through his invisible veins.
The man gave him an odd glance as he writhed in agony. "Weird, you're the first one that I've seen that isn't white. Maybe you're right kid, you might be different."
"Make…it…stop." Finnick croaked.
"That feeling will never go away kid, not unless you're given Elysium or the Isles of the Blest. Otherwise, it will be with you forever. You just gotta get used to it."
A small brass bell rang up ahead. All the ghosts rushed eagerly towards the sound, leaving Finnick in their wake.
"Get up kid! Don't want to miss the boat!" The man called out before he too joined the fray.
Finnick bit his lip and stumbled to his feet, his new body felt much lighter and awkward to control. He limped gracelessly towards the old wooden barge that floated at the edge of the river.
"Hurry up!" A voice from the back grumbled.
The rickety craft took off down the river once Finnick hopped on board. He found himself next to the only person that didn't look like a ghost. The man was about the same height as him with chocolate skin and short, bleached-blond hair; he was dressed in a silky black suit while wearing tinted sunglasses.
To Finnick, he seemed like the guy in charge. "Hey, I'm not supposed to be here."
The man turned and Finnick saw his golden reflection in his shades, on the left side of the suit was a black rose and a silver name tag. Charon.
"So...you're not dead?" Charon asked.
Finnick blinked twice and suddenly the classic suit had been replaced by a shaggy black robe. He took another step back when he saw Charon's eyes, or lack thereof; they had been replaced by two empty sockets that radiated darkness.
"No!" Finnick exclaimed. "I don't know what I'm doing here! I barely know who I am!"
"Interesting…" Charon's skin had now become visibly transparent as well, his eyes hovered creepily in the damp air. "Last time this happened was…a very long time ago."
Finnick looked down at his shimmering gold form again. "You gotta help me! I'm not supposed to be here! I'm supposed to be…" He paused in disbelief. "I don't remember, I just know. I just know."
"Like the last one…" Charon polled the craft with expertise, carefully avoiding potential obstacles with his stick. Massive stalactites broke through the gloomy mist that curled off the water. The shore up ahead radiated a dim green aura.
"You're not making any sense!" Finnick said.
"Tell me...Finnick Odair, son of Crimson and Lyra...what do you see?" Charon's lips no longer moved, yet his voice still echoed inside his head.
"How do you know my name?" Finnick said carefully, instinctively clenching his fists. My name. My parents.
The rest of his memory was an incomplete fill-in-the-blank puzzle. His mind was like a whirlwind, places and faces appeared, but he couldn't connect them with a word. He didn't know where he was, how he had gotten here, and where he was going.
Charon's cynical laugh rattled his skull. "I am the Reaper, a child of Night, cursed with the knowledge of every soul that makes the passage across the River Styx…you are no exception."
"None of that made any sense." Finnick bluntly stated. "I've never heard of a River Styx."
In front of them, a shoreline came into view, even more endless volcanic sand. The deep howl of an animal echoed from the green gloom, raising the hairs on the back of Finnick's neck.
"Bad luck...my old friend is hungry today." Charon's face solidified for a split second to reveal a sickening smile. "May the odds be ever in your favor..."
Charon's last words flowed through his ears like a blender and careened off the walls of his head. May the odds be ever in your favor...May the odds be ever in your favor…May the odds be ever in your favor.
A grinding hollow noise signaled the end of their journey, the dead began to disembark from the boat. Charon picked up his pole and began to guide his ferry back to the other side.
Completely stunned, Finnick followed the spirits into the smog.
He closed his eyes and tried to calm his mind, his heart still raced rapidly. Darkness still permeated the atmosphere; the chilling howls became louder and more frequent.
A gigantic black archway appeared up ahead. The sign underneath read, "YOU ARE NOW ENTERING EREBUS."
Finnick somehow recognized the security machines that were positioned at the three branching pathways. Phantom figures, cloaked in black robes similar to Charon's, maintained the lines of lost souls.
On his left and right were two paths marked with, "ATTENDANT ON DUTY," while the one straight down the middle was labeled for, "EZ DEATH."
The situation took a turn for the worse, the source of the howls appeared through the mist. The biggest dog that he had ever seen stood at the fork of the road. It was a good fifty feet in height and its entire body shimmered when it moved. Not to mention that it had three heads.
"What in the…" Finnick felt his stomach hit the bottom of his golden gut when he realized that all three pairs of eyes were staring directly at him.
GROWWWLLL!
He looked wildly at the ground around him, desperately trying to find something to distract the three-headed beast.
Finnick grabbed and chucked a fist-sized rock over the middle head. "Fetch!" None of the heads moved.
So he decided to do the next best thing. Run.
Finnick immediately broke off from the line towards the left, alarms began to blare as the hooded ghouls scrambled to locate the source of trouble. The frustrated howls from the three heads rebounded off the cavern walls.
The terrain quickly became harder to navigate as he jumped over small crevices and avoided large boulders. Thankfully, it didn't seem like the dog could move.
Just as he turned back to see if he was safe, he ran into a brick wall.
BAM!
Finnick hit the ground hard, being a ghost was still surprisingly very painful.
He looked up to see what he had run into, and was met face-to-face with a gold-eyed woman.
"Hello?" Finnick asked, confused as to how she had gotten there.
The woman had curly black hair, wore a red zip-up with black leather pants, and carried a distinct, yet strangely familiar, scent of wilting roses.
Finnick held his breath as her eyes swept over his translucent body, as if he were a dead animal ready for dissection.
"Another one...I thought she was the last…" The woman muttered as she stepped closer.
"Listen freak lady! I don't know who you are! And why does everybody I meet keep saying that!" Finnick tried to backpedal away from her on all fours.
The woman reached out and tapped him once on the forehead. The back of his eyes rolled up as the world turned into a collapsing kaleidoscope of colors.
He felt nothing and saw nothing, it was like he had ceased to exist. He was just a speck of dust in the universe. Yet, he knew he was conscious, he could form thoughts in his mind, he felt his emotions. After an indefinite amount of time, a column of smoke appeared in the distance. It seemed to stretch up and down forever, he couldn't see either end.
An unknown force began to pull him towards the vortex. He couldn't see his body, yet he still felt the strong tug as he began to pick up speed. In an instant, he was enveloped by the smoke into a realm of mist.
Suddenly, Finnick began to fall through a blinding white tunnel, the feeling of weightlessness made his bowels knot tightly.
His vision blanked for a moment, a fuzzy sensation clogged his mind. When he opened his eyes again, he stood on the edge of a plateau. The plains of grass seemed to stretch for miles, a setting sun cast a brilliant glow over the horizon. He turned to look behind him and was met by the infinite waters of the ocean. The cliff he stood atop rose high above the crashing waves, the sand glowed pristinely below.
Without warning, the shelf below him collapsed, sending him flying towards the water. Just as he hit the surface, Finnick was sent flying down the white tunnel once again. When he
opened his eyes, he found himself in the middle of a buzzing metropolitan area. His senses were bombarded, horns from cars blared in his ears, the smell of sewage filled his nostrils, the bright lights of the signs made him dizzy.
His body froze when a feminine voice whispered in his head, "You are reborn."
Finnick's eyes fluttered open, and he remembered everything. The memories hit him like a cinder block. Annie. District 4. The Games. The Revolution. His death. It all came crashing down at once.
The mystery woman was still standing over him, her expression was unreadable.
Finnick sat up straight and instantly regretted it as a searing pain ran up his spine, his entire body felt like mush. The events leading up to his death flashed through his mind painfully. The entire situation seemed physically impossible.
"W—Why am I alive? I should be dead." He asked. The memories of his fight in the tunnels seared themselves into his mind.
The woman seemed to have grown taller, her outfit had changed to a white toga. "You are not from this world."
Finnick looked around and realized that they were no longer in the black dungeon, but in a dense forest. Sunlight streamed through the canopy; the sound of trickling water was close by. To his delight, his body had returned; he was no longer a gold ghost. However he was shirtless, exposing the pale white scars of his wounds.
"I am out of time...we must be quick."
Seemingly out of nowhere, she produced a beautiful trident. It was almost identical to the one he wielded during the Games, but the three blades at the end seemed to absorb all surrounding light, as if they were made of pure darkness.
"Stygian Iron." The woman said in an earthly tone. "A blade only for children of the Underworld."
He silently stood up to accept it, the silver grip felt cool in his palms. The entire shaft hummed with dangerous energy, yet it felt almost weightless. Underworld?
"The weapon's name is Diamos. Blessed with incredible power, but cursed with the blood of revenge."
Finnick finally found his voice. "Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me? Who are you?"
"I am Nemesis, the goddess of revenge and retribution."
He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Goddess? What are you talking about?" "Make your way into the valley...Your journey has already begun."
Finnick watched, completely dazed, as the shadows began to converge rapidly at the alleged goddess. In the blink of an eye, she was gone. Almost instantaneously, birds began to chirp from the branches, as if they had been holding their breaths.
He stared at the weapon that he held. The screams of the tributes that he had killed in the arena spoke from the blades, haunting him.
No.
Finnick snapped himself out of his stupor and tried to figure out where he was.
A grand pine tree stood nearby at the top of a hill. With his trident in hand, he crossed over to the other side.