Spoiler Warning: This is post-canon. So there will be spoilers for Trials of Apollo and Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard.
Note: The first five chapters were written before reading The Tower of Nero.
Monsters Love Ruining My Chill Life.
The way I figure it, my problem is that I was literally created to be a badass heroine in a crazy fanfiction.
Confused? Let's get the exposition out of the way. One, I hate fourth walls. I will demolish each that I encounter. So get ready for some snarky meta comments. Two, I'm Kori the daughter of the demigod Percy Jackson and the Greek goddess Persephone. That's all that's necessary right now; Further details will be revealed in a more traditional manner.
Anyway, back to my Problem (yes, capital P now). You see, I never wanted to get involved in all this adventure shit. I'm not a hobbit, I simply love mortal living more than a low life-expectancy. Add to this the fact that Dad isn't all that sunshine and flowers about the gods and demigods, and you can see why I don't want to be a protagonist. Especially in a fanfiction, where, more than in actual novels, characters' lives get screwed with up to and beyond the extremes of imaginable torment.
I mean, I love mortal life! I like four of my teachers out of seven, my father is easygoing, nonviolent, caring, I have a crush on a girl in school whom I've caught looking at me too, and people, in general, don't try to ingest and digest me.
Which brings us to right now. Where I'm running away from a dracaena who almost got the jump on me while I was leaning against a pole having just caught Cassie my crush staring at me. Now, obviously Dad did not train me for a fight against monsters simply because he was and is trying to forget. But he did train me for a fight against humans—mugger, rapists, serial killers—and so I can run really fast.
And that was exactly what I am doing right now. I'm running like hell, because one of hell's is chasing me. (Like the wordplay?) As I turn a corner and see my house at the end of the street, I realise that the appearance of this monster means this story is about to turn towards the halfbloods' world, which means no more normal life, which in turn means that Cassie will be dumped as crush and I'll have another love interest—a demigod one—thrust upon me. But I like Cassie, damn it!
I wonder if this writer has planned me as bi? Guess we'll find out.
My plan is to burst into my house, scream like hell for my dad, and tell him to get rid of her, all the while maintaining such a trajectory that will allow me to escape fluidly and start sprinting toward his favored cafe if he's not at home and there instead and so on for other places. I'm confident I have the stamina to make it, but it's all in vain if the dracaena has backup that'll ambush me and snatch me up before I can marathon through all the places Perseus Jackson can be.
Thankfully, Father is home. As soon as I kick open the door and rush in, yelling "Dracaena-help-dad-there's-a-dracaena!" (Did you think I'm not panicking? Hey, just because I can have coherent thoughts and can manage talking to you doesn't mean I'm not freaking out, duh!), a huge volume of water coalesces around me, transforming me from a girl to a mass of liquid about as graceful and hit-able and hurt-able as a sack of flour.
More water levitates towards the entrance and forms a crystal-clear door, likely to fool and trap the reptile-woman. My dad is not in sight. Is he having to focus a lot? I don't know his capabilities; he low-key hates his powers and so I've never seen him wield them.
The water cushion stopped my run, but it's not actively hindering my movement or breathing right now, so I step into the adjoining rooms to see where he's at. I am amazed by his ability to perfectly encase me with water and make it follow me and create a water door of the exact dimensions as the original one without seeing me or it while summoning the water.
Why isn't he running down here to check up on me? He should've been concerned, fussing over me. But I've checked the entire first floor and he's nowhere.
I'm halfway up the staircase when I hear him yelling, "Kori! Where are you?"
His voice is coming from the door. I run downstairs and find him searching the house, presumably for me. But I already checked the first floor! How's he here?
"Dad! I'm here!" I call as I see him. He spins around when I shout, and relief floods his expression, and my water jacket disappears. I go to him, he comes to me. First a hug, then a few kiss to the forehead, then a damage-inspection and then the couch.
I ask him where was he and how did I miss him. He takes a sip of his water and tells me to do the same before he answers, "I heard your shout, created the door and casing, and jumped down to take her. Broke the second floor hallway window."
"Why did it take so long? You've said that you used to kill single monsters with a minute of chocking on water. What went wrong?" I feel kind of wrong making him remember his demigod stories, but I'm curious and concerned.
"Nothing went wrong." Dad places his empty glass on the table. "I wanted to know if there were more. She said she was alone. Then I had a random thought and asked her if she was acting on someone's orders for you specially. If this was some god or monster taking aim at you, we'd be in big trouble. Because that would mean a prophecy or vendetta."
"Is it? A prophecy or vendetta?" I ask, suddenly afraid once more, even though I know Dad will protect me.
"It's not," he declares, smiling crookedly, though not without some sadness in it.
I haven't calmed fully yet. "What's wrong?"
He looks away, into space. "You're growing. You'll need training. It's what every parent of a demigod dreads. We hope you'll be a normal kid with an advantage over the others—just in terms of safety from regular mortal evil, not schemes for grandeur, at least not for us. Even I, who caused so much suffering to Mom, naively hoped that you'd get your powers but have no need to use them."
Dad turns to me again, and the sorrow in his eyes is more than I think can ever be expressed by any number or tears. "But the Fates are here for their own reasons, and their justice dictates no good come without at least a possibility of a greater suffering and at most the greatest tortures gods and mortals can devise."
He blinks forcefully, to focus or to get that sadness out of his eyes, I can't tell. I somehow know very viscerally the pain he spoke of, the pain that is my future. I would like to crack a joke or set him up for a stereotypical dad joke, but this air is grave.
And he's composed himself. Clearing his throat, Dad says, "I'll train you in your Poseidon powers. I don't know what your mother gave you. Nobody does, because you're her first. Demigod, I mean. Her first was a nymph or Hades maybe." He tries to smirk at his own joke and I fake a small smile for him. He's going to face his most-hated parts in the near-future. For me.
"Let's hope it's more than just a knack for great flower placements." I wisecrack, and I think his grin turns a little less strained.
"What in the name of Poseidon's smelly socks just happened?"
I barely register Dad's weird way of cursing over the confusion and panic in my head. We are in our backyard, having completed a crash course in sword-fighting ("The bare necessities—they'll keep you alive till I can come to you.") and just started working on my powers. The first time I concentrated, I caused the dirty water in the pond to float up in a ball and fall back down. The second time I concentrated, shit hit the fan.
I point a shaky finger at the thing and look at Dad disbelievingly. "Please tell me uncle Nico's visiting secretly. Please tell me this is a prank. Dad! Tell me this is a joke!"
He looks at me and the creature and me and the creature about a dozen times before responding. "She gave you control over Hades'," is his reply.
No. Just no. I will not accept that, and I will rail against that with all I have through all my life. I storm towards the stupid spirit, determining it to be the source of all my problems and my Problem. It's compliant, and within seconds my sword hacks through it. Still unsatisfied, I kick at the golden dust till it disappears too.
I realise I'm yelling "NO! NOT ME!" and things like that at the spot from where it appeared when Dad places a hand on my shoulder and the other clamps my mouth shut.
"Try to calm down, Kori," he says soothingly, releasing me and allowing me to hug him and break down, "I know you can't, not really, but just trying will help."
I am unconsolable. I know from his stories of the Seven that more power means more suffering. If I have both water and underworld magic, I'm doomed. "What am I going to do?!" I cry into his chest.
"What are we going to do?" he corrects, and then adds, "I guess we should listen to Rachel's voicemail first.
Yes, that's productive. At least more so than crying and cursing. Rachel Elizabeth Dare the Oracle of Delphi and Dad's ex-crush and good ex-friend left a message a week ago, long before the dracaena's attack and the start of this chapter. Dad had noted it was the first in a long time, but archived and abandoned it on principle. I was fully supportive; don't try to dump quests on him, Chiron or whoever.
But now, it was hope: it could contain answers. So we gather our things—well, his things 'cause I haven't chosen a weapon to be called 'mine' yet—and go back into the house and almost fall onto the couch and he opens his voicemail.
Rachel's voice is panicked, which has about as great of an effect on me as you'd imagine. 'Percy, don't ignore this. This is extremely urgent. I had a dream-vision of you fighting back-to-back with a purple eyed, black haired girl of thirteen or something. I think I have a prophecy for her and you, but the two of you'll have to come here and formally demand it. Find her, and answer me soon. I'll be at my father's penthouse this month.'
Fuck you, Rachel. Fuck you into oblivion. Fuck the gods and fuck their prophecies. What did you say?! This is a teen-plus fanfic? Fuck you, reader and you too, author. I'll say whatever I want! Increase the motherfucking rating if you care so much! And I'm fourteen, not thirteen!
Dad puts an arm across my shoulders and hugs me to his side, calming me down and stopping my cursing and fourth-wall break. "We'll go to her. Pack your things."
"Pack my things? Dad?" I ask incredulously, turning to search for answers in his face.
"We don't know when the bad things will start. Get a backpack. Fill it with clothes, toiletries, your period pack, everything. Pick a few knives from the kitchen for mortal enemies."
"And for the others?" I have, within some margin of error, zero days of training.
Shock has seemingly made him single-minded. "I'll get them. Choose a sword, put in its sheath and at your waist. I'll do mine likewise. Imperial Gold daggers to pass as Romans, silver daggers against wolves. And that compound bow you've wanted to try since you were three, we'll take it too. It won't fit on our backs, so I'll levitate it above us in a water cover and Mist it away. Now run! Act like we're on a time limit!"
He literally shoves me off the couch and I comply, trusting his years of demigod-ing over my three hours of awkward-ing with the swords.
If monsters try to attack us on the way to Rachel Elizabeth Dare's house, I don't know of them. Dad didn't look particularly distracted, so either the monsters are weak and dissipated easily, or there are none.
That's another realisation on my part: the idiot who's writing this had lulled me and sympathetic readers into a false sense of security by writing that the monsters weren't targeting me but just happened to find me, only to then subvert expectations and reveal that Surprise! Your life is going to hell right on schedule.
Should I be cracking hell/Hades/Erebus/Tartarus jokes? I'll have to ask uncle Nico if he appears in a later chapter.
Anyway, as I was saying, the ride to Rachel was rather remark-less. The only feature of interest is when Dad remembers Rachel's richness and reminds me of it. "Don't squawk and stare," he warns, "We're here for a prophecy."
I'm only too pleased with the alliteration in my internal monologue, but I manage to concentrate on his words. I tell him there's no one with more incentive to focus on the news of my life or death than me, and he answers that I underestimate him. "I'll want someone to pay to keep the life-support machines running for my toothless, hairless body, after all."
"Well, if you're lucky," I say, "I'll be heartless and pull the plug on you somewhere in your second month."
He winks at me. "Don't lie to me, Kori. We both know it'll be three weeks max."
See, my dad is the dad to joke with. He's fluent in more meme templates than most internet-creatures will ever see, he likes mortality jokes, ugly puns, period jokes, he makes and recognises random fandom references—he's awesome, is all. He says sass is his default state, and I can't disagree that it's mine too. He was a recluse and an idiot during the time frame between Annabeth Chase's death and my birth, he's told me many times, but I can't extrapolate that Perseus from what I can see in front of me.
('random fandom'? Dude, I'm on fire with these poetic devices today!)
As it turns out, it's very lucky Dad warned me about not freaking out over the Dare wealth. As we go up in an elevator that looks and feels like we're floating, I can barely focus on the mission. I chant it to myself to keep steady. "RED's prophecy; what's-going-on-with-me; RED's prophecy; what's-going-on-with-me..." I mutter it over and over again. I fall into a rhythm, and can finally concentrate enough to look at Dad to see what he's doing.
He's almost OCD-ly touching his weapons. But I know he's not OCD—he's really, really messy. He's nervous, and it's making him hyperactive. He's stressed, uncomfortable, even though this situation should be familiar to him, having had so many prophecies and quests heard and completed during his years at Camp Half-Blood. He's scared, nervous, stressed, anxious, uncomfortable... because of me. I'm the one thing that had changed since then, except for his age and his weapon.
That realisation makes his words about me underestimating him burn into my head. He cares for me. Over the course of this one day so many times he's proven himself and I still instinctively question his love. In my school life and non-crazy life too I knew he would do anything for me, but somehow it wasn't real, tangible, measurable, right up until this moment. My dad cares for me, loves me.
It's ridiculous how much that sentence understates the feeling of gratitude that floods me on realising it.
He catches me looking at him. His eyebrows scrunch up as he moves closer and bows to meet my height. "Why are you crying? I'm here, you aren't going to get hurt."
As if conjured at his command, I feel more tears releasing. It must hurt him, right? Lying to me like that? He knows there's nothing but suffering ahead, yet he says he can save me. But if he tries to prevent the hurt from coming to me, the Fates will kill him to get him out of their way. I can't see him die for me...
But I can't tell him that. I wave him away, saying, "I somehow thought of a stupid tragedy story. You know that new one you read to me? The ending just kills me sometimes." Just like a stereotypical teenage girl, crying at tragic lovers and playing right into the hands of the system.
But my father is not your usual father and he wipes the tears off and gives me his handkerchief (that I forced him to start wearing) maintaining as much gravity as if I was crying at a funeral. "Yeah, it really gets to you sometimes. Another thought from a slightly, barely different angle and it shocks you again how much May sacrificed for Troian."
I smile at his care, and he probably interprets it as a smile at his understanding. I slowly calm myself back to business mode, spurred on by the approaching penthouse floor. Also, I almost forgot to clarify to you—yes I have my father read to me. It's a net profit, since my dyslexia is worse than his.
The doors open and a redheaded lady is standing just outside as if waiting for us but she can't be Rachel even though she looks around my father's age because she's beautiful.
She hugs Dad, murmuring about how much he's changed and how much she misses him. I stare at her: I can't, can't trace this pretty woman back to the klutzy, artsy, weirdo teen that Dad had described to me in his stories. There are no splotches of paint, no graffiti-ed denims, no freckles, no bracelets.
She steps back from her embrace and looks at me, inspects me. "This is exactly the girl I dreamt about! How did you find her?"
"She's my daughter, Kori," Dad answers simply.
"And I'm fourteen," I add, "not 'thirteen or something'."
If Rachel is surprised that Perseus Jackson has a teenaged daughter, or that the daughter in question can mouth off, her face doesn't show it. Her only response is a muttered "That explains it," and she tells us to follow her into the house.
I try to ask her, "What does that mean? What does it explain?" but she's quiet till we are seated in her living room. Dad asks whether we are safe from mortal interruption, and Rachel says that nobody is supposed to be living here right now, and so there are not even servants around.
She asks me, "Have you had any significant dreams recently? Any funny creature, humanoid, scenery?"
"Nope. My schedule is so tiring I just pass out. No dreams at all, so no dreams that are significant."
Nodding, she turns to Dad. "Percy, why did you did come today? The message is weeks old. I was about to send a new one with an updated location."
I'm about to blurt out "It's Perseus," but Dad places a hand on my shoulder to stop me. I do stop. Maybe she's close enough, dear enough. "A dracaena chased her home from school today, and I killed it and decided to start training her. Only when I taught her to use her water magic, she used it once and the second time she summoned a ghost.
"We were obviously very confused and angry, and the logical next step was to get some Camp intel. I remembered you'd left a message back then and decided that a peek into the future couldn't hurt."
"What did you do to the spirit?"
Dad laughs. "She rushed it and obliterated it."
Rachel's face shows apprehension now. She stalls for time. "Any more monsters? Did you see any classic ones?"
I tell her this is starting to feel like an interrogation instead of an Oracle's guidance. "Tell me what happened in your dream of me and Dad."
Rachel gulps, meaning she's really nervous. She gives Dad a look that I can't interpret but he does and he tells me to hand over my sword. I give it to him, deducing that she thinks I'm gonna lash out at her for what she says. Fair enough: I am volatile. What surprises me is that he takes his own sword, along with mine, and throws it behind him.
She thinks he'll lash out too.
"Kori, the dream... it implied that you... have all the Big Three's powers."
My first thought is that she shouldn't have worried I was gonna go all predator on her. You know that scene in H2G2 where Arthur Dent gets so many shocks in one day that he's just passive to any more? That is me now. The significance of her sentence doesn't hit me, and won't probably hit me for another chapter or two.
But I have one clear thought lined up right after that one. It is that this author wasn't just pleased by giving me Hades and Poseidon powers, no. He had to add Zeus'. This should technically make me probably the most overpowered fanfiction heroine that is also a daughter of Percy Jackson, but he will clearly make me stumble and fail like Erebus at using my demigod magic and thus reduce the OPness.
Which wouldn't faze me generally, but it's so humiliating to be so powerful and still make rookie mistakes. Oh, well: I can't really do much about it from inside these words, can I?
I'm so engrossed in thinking about my thoughts and crazily talking about this story that I almost miss Dad's reaction to Rachel's words, and Rachel's reaction to Dad's reaction.
About Dad's reaction—well, let me just tell you that (1) it isn't violent, (2) it isn't vocal, and (3) it makes Rachel shrink back and grasp her necklace that has a sun-and-bow symbol that's clearly a 'Help me, Apollo!' beacon.
It makes me scared too, I must admit. Now, you know I know he's not gonna be harm me, even accidentally, so I'm not afraid for myself. I'm scared for him: I'm scared he'll take up his sword and launch himself at Olympus and fight till he dies, just to even slightly hurt the Fates.
He's currently glaring at the floor with all that intensity, and now I put a hand on his shoulder to bring him back. He shakes his head, asks for a glass of water.
Rachel scurries to what I hope is the kitchen and not a panic room, and Dad closes his eyes. I stand up and go to retrieve our weapons from where he'd thrown them.
When I come back Rachel's handing him a glass and holding one for me too. I take mine from her hand and thank her. Dad's managed to normalise somehow. "Where're the Zeus powers from?" His voice is rough; he almost croaks.
"Not sure, but... maybe Sally was a legacy. And it must've been a long ancestor who was a demigod, because even the gods forgot about it and the powers clearly haven't manifested since way back. My other theory is Persephone is... you know... the daughter of Demeter and Zeus. So she may bring with her some powers. Maybe it even strengthened the legacy part enough to manifest!"
"They were snakes when it happened, and so Persephone is a snake, and just like a snake who can do no good, she's cursed my daughter with this life."
I get the urge to remind him if it weren't for her I wouldn't be alive and he would be a living ghost, but then I understand he's saying that scenario would be better. And that too bounces off of me because I'm still too shocked to care, as I said already.
I take initiative with the questions because Dad needs cool down time. "Did you see whether the powers are comparable in strength or like Zeus' is weakest because it's ancestral or Hades' are weak because they're indirect or something like that?"
"No, they're not ranked, Kori. You're as strong with each. The reason for that I do not know, but I think it wasn't the gods that did this."
Meaning: the Fates did this. I straighten up and look her in the eye. "Oracle, I request, on behalf of my father and me, a prophecy if you have one for us." I get goosebumps from anticipation.
Rachel's eyes do not turn green. She doesn't spout rhyming lines of destruction while being surrounded by green fumes.
I blink at her baffled, and I expect Dad does too, and Rachel just sighs and says, "I got nothing. Ever since Apollo restored the other Oracles, the prophecies have all become distributed between all of us. Perhaps one of the others can help you."
Oh yes, the Trials of Apollo. The series that killed Jason Grace, almost-killed Frank Zhang, destroyed any chance of Theyna (my OTP), reduced Piper to an almost-mortal, and broke so many hearts. I can hear some in the back say that I didn't give you a spoiler warning. Well, that is why you should read ANs; there is a warning.
I try to recall what other Oracles are there, but Rachel beats me to it. "The only ones that are functional right now are the Sibylline Books tattooed on Tyson and inside Ella's head, and the Grove of Dodona. The others are cursed or dead or have their gifts revoked."
Dad curses. I don't understand why, so I ask Rachel. She answers, "The Grove is at Camp Half-Blood, and Ella and Tyson have opened up a shop at Camp Jupiter called Cyclops Books and Prophecies and Orange Cat." She pauses for effect. "Your father will have to visit at least one camp to get your prophecy."
She doesn't say the 'and face his nightmares' bit, maybe because she doesn't know he has them. "Shouldn't all of you get my prophecy? I mean, as far as I can see, this is a big, important, fate-of-the-world one. Clearly—and believe me I hate this—I'm the most im—"
I'm cut off by a hand covering my mouth. I trace it back to Dad and glare at him in indignation. Then I see the chastising look in his eyes. What did I do wrong?
"No superlatives of importance, power, strength, luck. No superlatives at all if they praise you. Never say it even if it's obvious. I said once to Magnus and Alex that Annabeth was the greatest demigod of our generation and you know very well what happened to her. The Roman legion praised Jason as their best warrior on many occasions and he died stupidly. Piper was called the most resourceful, most beautiful daughter of Aphrodite, me the most powerful son of Poseidon. We both suffered, just not as brightly. The Fates are always seeing and listening, looking for a laugh at our expense."
I nod in understanding and he lifts his hand away. He turns to Rachel and says, "Well, if you can't give us a prophecy, can you at least tell us what was it like in your dream? Specifically, did it seem like an Olympian civil war or just gods versus monsters? I need to know whom we can trust, and if we can trespass in Poseidon's and Zeus' if we want to."
"It wasn't that clear, but you were fighting monsters, not demigods. I mean, you aren't against Olympus itself, and how many gods will go so far as to hire monster to fight demigods?"
"Every single one of them. Every single Olympian is capable of allying with monsters just to see their enemy dead. But you're right, if it was us against Olympus or the majority of Olympus, the gods would send their halfbloods against us. Did you see us using our powers?"
I answer for Rachel. "Obviously, Dad. How else would she have known I could use wind, water and hell?"
Dad laughs self-deprecatingly, just as the French window behind Rachel explodes.
Fucking cliffhangers, amiright?