The group of Demigods ducked into the furniture store. Despite Oliver's mere presence scaring off the wannabe muggers in Hollywood, He doubted that he would have the same affect on the cops.
"Hello!" A voice boomed at them, they all jumped.
Standing behind them was a guy who looked like a raptor in a leisure suit. he was at least seven feet tall, with absolutely no hair. He had gray, leathery skin, thick-lidded eyes, and a cold, reptilian smile. He moved toward us slowly, but Oliver got the feeling he could move fast if he needed to. His suit might've come from the Lotus Casino. It belonged back in the seventies, big-time. The shirt was silk paisley, unbuttoned halfway down his hairless chest. The lapels on his velvet jacket were as wide as landing strips. The silver chains around his neck, there were too many to even count them.
"I'm Crusty," he said, with a tartar-yellow smile.
"Sorry to barge in," Annabeth told him. "We were just, um, browsing."
"You mean hiding from those no-good kids," he grumbled. "They hang around every night. I get a lot of people in here, thanks to them. Say, you want to look at a water bed?" She was about to say No, thanks, when he put a huge paw on Oliver's shoulder and steered me deeper into the showroom. There was every kind of water bed you could imagine: different kinds of wood, different patterns of sheets; queen-size, king-size, emperor-of-the-universe-size.
"This is my most popular model." Crusty spread his hands proudly over a bed covered with black satin sheets, with built-in Lava Lamps on the headboard. The mattress vibrated, so it looked like oil-flavored Jell-O. "Million-hand massage," Crusty told us. "Go on, try it out. Shoot, take a nap. I don't care. No business today, anyway."
"Um," Annabeth said, "I don't think…"
"Million-hand massage!" Grover cried, and dove in. "Oh, you guys! This is cool."
"Hmm," Crusty said, stroking his leathery chin. "Almost, almost."
"Almost what?" Oliver asked sharply.
He looked at Annabeth. "Do me a favor and try this one over here, honey. Might fit."
, "But what—" Annabeth said.
He patted her reassuringly on the shoulder and led her over to the Safari Deluxe model with teakwood lions carved into the frame and a leopard patterned comforter. When Annabeth didn't want to lie down, Crusty pushed her.
"Hey!" she protested.
Annabeth grabbed Oliver's forearm, forgetting everything that had happened previously, desperately looking for reassurance that something was still alive. The boy harshly pulled his arm from her grip, settling back into the comforting gloom
Crusty snapped his fingers. "Ergo!" Ropes sprang from the sides of the bed, lashing around Annabeth, holding her to the mattress. Grover tried to get up, but ropes sprang from his black-satin bed, too, and lashed him down.
Crusty smirked. "They're never six foot are they," he seemed to say to himself. "Erg-agh!" He made a strangled noise as the darkness from under the bed seeped out and contorted itself around his neck. Annabeth could see Percy beside him, his purples eyes looking demonic, wrath shining within them. As he slowly closed his fist, the shadows compressed on Crusty's neck. The monster was emitting a horrible strangling sound, and seeming growing bored with it, Oliver drew his sword and drove it through his back.
Annabeth watched as the tip of the sword breached Crusty's chest, he fell to his knees, allowing Oliver to rest a boot on his shoulder blade as he wrenched the blade out with a twist and horrible fleshy sound. He kicked the salesman to the ground as he fell to dust, before slicing the ropes on his accomplices' beds, freeing them.
"Come on, lets go." Oliver dictated, in no mood for waiting around. His two quest mates nodded along, still dazed. As they followed Oliver out the store, he paused, something having caught his eye. He quickly darted behind the till and grabbed a small bag, throwing it in the bag he got of Ares before the group re emerged onto the streets.
The other two struggled to keep up with Oliver's pace as he stalked through the city.
Finally, Annabeth caught up to him. "Do you even know where we are going?" She demanded. Oliver continued on, seemingly ignoring her until stopping.
"Here." He said, he opened the doors and walked in, his dark eyes surveying the room.
Muzak played softly on hidden speakers. The carpet and walls were steel gray. Pencil cactuses grew in the corners like skeleton hands. The furniture was black leather, and every seat was taken. There were people sitting on couches, people standing up, people staring out the windows or waiting for the elevator. Nobody moved, or talked, or did much of anything. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see them all just fine, but if I focused on any one of them in particular, they started looking…transparent. He could see right through their bodies.
The security guard's desk was on a raised podium, forcing them to look up at him.
He was tall and elegant, with chocolate-colored skin and bleached-blond hair shaved military style. He wore tortoiseshell shades and a silk Italian suit that matched his hair. A black rose was pinned to his lapel under a silver name tag.
He looked down at them, "Well, you don't seem very dead." He remarked, his reflective glasses glinting as they caught the light.
"How observant." Oliver snarked. He reached into the bag and withdrew the sack of drachmas he had liberated (stolen) from Crusty, throwing them up to the guard. "Underworld, Hades palace." He said in a demeaning tone.
The guard, Charon, is his name tag was to be believed, sneered at him, snatching the bag of drachmas before rising and directing them towards a lift. The group bundled in, Annabeth and Grover looking anxious, whilst Oliver looked at complete ease.
As the elevator descended, it slowly began to reform, until eventually, it was a wooden barge. Charon began poling them across a dark oily river swirling with bones, dead fish and other things.
"The River Styx," Annabeth murmured. "It's so…"
"Polluted," Charon said. "For thousands of years, you humans have been throwing in everything as you come across—hopes, dreams, wishes that never came true. Irresponsible waste management, if you ask me." Mist curled off the filthy water.
Above them, almost lost in the gloom, was a ceiling of stalactites. Ahead, the far shore glimmered with greenish light, the color of poison.
Annabeth grabbed onto Oliver's arm, seeking reassurance, He scowled at her over his shoulder and tore his arm from her grip, before settling down on the boat at ease.
Annabeth and Grover watched in mortification as Oliver seemed at complete ease, with almost zero tension within his body.
A sound came from somewhere nearby in the green gloom, echoing off the stones—the howl of a large animal.
"Old Three-Face is hungry," Charon said. His smile turned skeletal in the greenish light. "Bad luck for you, godlings."
The demigods stepped off the barge, and began following the path deeper into the underworld. They passed through a large arch and entered a plaza, where 3 separate lanes branched off.
Grover looked to Annabeth for guidance. She opened her mouth to speak before Oliver set off at a brisk pace down the centre lane, his quest mates running to keep up.
They ran through, being chased by the shouts of angry ghouls and souls. They turned a corner, and were met with the roar of Cerberus. The questers fell backwards trying to stop their momentum. Cerberus tensed his back legs, ready to lunge. As he did, both Annabeth and Grover felt a cold hand clasp onto their arms and pull them into darkness.
Their insides swirled as Oliver pulled them through a shadow and dumped them outside Hades' palace. Grover instantly vomited, hunching over as he retched and threw up on the ground, Annabeth managing to refrain from joining Grover. She collected herself, and looked up at the large gates above them. Furies circled overhead as the gates swung open soundlessly.
The group entered through the jewel encrusted gates, their footsteps reverberating around the grand hall. At the end, Hades lounged in his throne, at 10 feet tall.
Hades looked up at the entrants to the underworld throne room.
Oliver approached him, steeling himself. "Uncle." He greeted tonelessly.
Hades scrutinized his nephew before replying. "Boy." He replied in a carefree tone.
"I'm sure you know why I'm here."
"Yes. To surrender yourself to me, bringing Zeus' bolt and my Helm of Darkness to me." The lord of the dead replied.
Oliver's face remained impassive. "I have neither of these things."
"You lie."
"I don't think I do."
"Check your bag child." Hades commanded.
Oliver did so, shrugging of the pack from Ares and unzipping it. He paused, shock marring his features before he again schooled them. He reached into the bag and retrieved a cylinder of celestial bronze, It elongated in his hands to about 3 feet.
Hades grinned in victory. He slightly faltered however when he pulled out the pearls.
"Only 3 pearls, a shame really." The lord of the dead commented, waving his hand and bringing someone into the throne room. Oliver blinked at the sight of his mother. Annabeth and Grover made the connection too, they did look very similar.
"Uncle, I believe both you and I have been deceived." Oliver announced.
"Really." Hades drawled.
"Indeed, We were given this back by Ares, I'm sure you can sense his taint on it." Oliver said, throwing the empty pack into his hands. The god ran his hand over it, nodding slightly in agreement.
"Regardless, give me the bolt." He demanded.
"No." Oliver outright refused, passing pearls to his questmates.
"If you dare leave, I will subject your mother to Eternal Torment!" Hades threatened.
Oliver locked eyes with him, nightmarish purple meeting onyx black. "If you do, I won't return your helm, I'll simply give it to my Father."
"You wouldn't dare." Hades replied in a low tone.
"Leave my mother, and I will return your helm." He responded simply.
"It is not that simple, boy. Give me the bo- Hey!" He shouted as the group crushed their pearls, ascending into the mortal world.
When they reached the surface, Annabeth immeidialty whirled on him. "Are you out of your mind!?" She seethed.
She was about to begin berating him again before a new voice spoke out: "Well, I didn't expect you to live."
The group turned to face Ares, leaning on his motorcycle, the Helm of Darkness rested in between the handlebars. "Give me the Helm." Oliver demanded.
Ares snorted, "As if."
Oliver smiled sinisterly. "I'll fight your for it. You're the god of war? How could you lose?" He asked rhetorically.
Ares smiled a bloodthirsty smile. "Ok then. How do you want it, Classic or Modern?" He replied.
"Chef's recommendation." He snarked.
"Classic it is." The war god replied, drawing a huge broadsword.
Annabeth grabbed his arm again. "Are you crazy?! He's a god?" She all but shouted.
Oliver turned and looked her dead in the eyes. "And I have the weapon of one." The daughter of Athena's eyes widened in realization as Percy drew the golden cylinder. He gave it a spin, smirking as it crackled to life.
God and demigod slowly approached each other, before Ares reared his sword and swung it in an attempt to bisect him, Oliver raised the master bolt like a spear, blocking the huge weapon with the shaft, the power invigorating him.
Oliver broke the deadlock and baited a thrust, Ares raising his sword to parry, before the boy fell into a shadow, emerging behind Ares and jabbing the bolt into the back of his thigh.
Ares roared in anger as lightning coursed through him, before pivoting and trying to skewer the boy. He quickly dived backwards to avoid it, emerging from his roll and throwing the bolt akin to a javelin, smiling in sick glee as it plunged into the war god's shoulder.
Ares was bleeding golden Ichor, it trailed down his body as he heaved in anger his eyes glowing.
"Beware the curse of Ares boy, Every time you raise the cursed sword of yours, hoping for victory, it shall elude you." He cursed, before beginning to glow, flashing out and leaving the helm of darkness in the sand.
Annabeth and Grover rushed over, "Y-you actually did it!" she said in disbelief.
"Yeah, don't sound so amazed," He retorted, reaching down to retrieve the helm. He straightened, being met with Alecto, her hand out expectantly.
Oliver hesitated. "Transport to Olympus." He bargained. Alecto scowled, but wavered as a pool of shadow formed at his feet, he held the helm over it threateningly. Alecto growled, but relented, nodding. Oliver tossed the Helm to her, as his gut twisted he recognised Olympus. It was dusk, and the solstice was almost over. The group ran through the marble city, climbing the steps into the godly throne room.
The Olympian throne room was quiet, the gods looking to them expectantly.
Oliver walked forward confidently. He looked to Zeus. The king of the gods held his hand out expectantly. Oliver pulled the bolt from the holster on his shoulder, admiring the weapon one last time, before tossing it up to the king of the gods.
The bolt flew into his hands, he looked it at once, before rising. "I must purge this of human taint in the Lemnos. Your deeds have saved you for now. Begone."
Zeus, followed by a few other Olympians left immediately. Athena waited, before shrinking down to normal size to converse with her daughter. Oliver's lips thinned, he turned and left the throne room, walking down the streets. The city was silent, and night ruled over it. He sighed, frowning softly, before his name was called.
"Oliver."
He turned, seeing man who towered over him, Oliver's own face started back it him. "Dad?" He asked tentatively.
"Father." The man corrected.
"Father."
"You've done something not many of my children do." His father explained. He looked up into the unearthly piercing purple eyes. "Very few of my children were heroes, and they were forgotten." He spat. "My children create legacies, forged by their own hand and work! They were not toe-kissing the gods!" He roared. "The Third Reich was forged of the work of my child! His legacy is burned into history." He continued to rant.
"You will not be the black sheep of my legacy." He vowed.
"Your mother." He began. Oliver looked at him again. "Is a child of Epiales, god of nightmares; making you a legacy of them. You've inherited some of those powers. Use them." His father burst into a vortex of shadows, which felt like sandpaper across his skin.
Oliver Jackson's shoulder slumped in defeat, his fathers words rang in his head.
you will not be the black sheep of my legacy.
AN
Pretty happy with this chapter.
Reviews make my day.
Love all of you.
Stay safe.
Duduhehehe
