A/N: Super long chapter! I won't be able to write for a few days (going camping in the great outdoors... yay?), so hopefully this will tide you all over until I get back.

Warning: This is where the going gets tough. Last chance to turn back before... well, you'll see. Lots of action/drama/intensity in this chapter.

Enjoy, and don't forget to review!

Double Cross

IV Percy

December 14

The prison reminded him of the Labyrinth. Underground, twisting, inescapable, and just as terrifying. Katherine and Logan, the two soldiers, led him down the winding passageways. They'd neglected to blindfold him, thankfully, and he tried to remember which way they were taking him, just in case. Right, second left, right, past those giant doors, left…

A horrible, strangled noise broke his concentration. Percy jumped. His wardens didn't.

"What was that?" he asked. He knew, of course. It was a human scream, coming from someone who was obviously in excruciating agony.

"That's what happens to people who resist the Mother," Katherine said. That malicious glint lit her eyes again, and Percy had to repress a shudder. She enjoyed witnessing people's pain.

More prisoners screamed and pleaded and sobbed as their small group passed, but neither Logan nor Katherine ever seemed disturbed in the slightest. They had grown used to it, apparently. He wondered who else had been captured by this army—Gaea's army.

Gaea. The first goddess, he remembered. Mother Earth, the bearer of the Titans, grandmother of the gods. But she was evil, right? She resented Zeus for locking up the Titans in the first war. And that's when realization struck him—history was repeating itself. Zeus had defeated Kronos again, and Gaea was going to try to destroy the gods in retaliation. Oh, Hades, this was not good.

The long, twisting passageways continued for what seemed like miles. Their footsteps echoed off the smooth stone floor. The walls were made of the same material, with torches held to the wall every few feet by iron brackets. The entire place felt dark and forbidding—like a haunted tomb in an old scary movie. There were no alcoves or sections that jutted out—nothing that he could use for cover if he tried to escape, in other words.

They stopped at an enormous pair of wooden doors. Black metal ran across its expanse, making intricate patterns that reminded Percy of flowers. Logan stepped forward and knocked once purposefully. The door swung open slowly, without a single creak or moan. There was no one behind it.

Katherine pushed him past the doors. "We'll be back to collect you," she told him with a smirk, "after your audience is over."

She and Logan turned and left without another word. Percy would have called after them indignantly, but it wasn't like that would have done any good. They'd most likely laugh and keep walking. He took a deep breath and turned to face the room.

It was some kind of hall, he guessed, majestic and imposing. Intimidating. Every inch was covered with rough black marble streaked with warm brown and gold. In the center of the room was a throne that seemed to be made out of the earth itself—it blended seamlessly with the stone, but roots and tendrils of rock curled around it. There was a small inlet behind the throne, where an iron brazier was pressed against the wall. A small golden statue rested atop the glowing metal.

The door suddenly slammed shut behind him. He spun around quickly, and found that he was in the center of the room, having been drawn in almost unconsciously. The throne was now only a few feet in front of him.

Before he could do anything more than take in his surroundings, a dry, hot wind began to swirl around the throne. He backpedaled hastily, instinctively reaching for Riptide and cursing himself when he remembered that his blade wasn't there. The wind gathered specks of dirt from every surface, including his own body, until they formed a woman's body sitting on the throne.

Her eyes were closed, but she seemed aware. A small smile graced her face, and her arms rested calmly on the arms of her stone seat. Her skin was a soft, warm, brown. He couldn't tell exactly what she was wearing—her clothes constantly shifted, although they were always made from earth.

"Welcome, Perseus," Gaea murmured. Her voice was calm and kind, but he detected an undercurrent of something he couldn't quite identify—cunning, sneakiness.

"Why am I here?" he asked bluntly. The goddess sighed.

"I should have known you would be so direct. Come, sit, have something to eat. You must be starved, dear." She waved her hand, and a stone chair appeared in front of the throne, along with a small table piled with food. He was about to dig in, but some instinct told him not to. The food could be poisoned, or drugged.

He shook his head. "Why am I here?"

"I see you will not be dissuaded. Very well—that's the kind of determination I'm looking for. Self-preservation. Chutzpah, if you will. Few demigods would dare to defy a goddess—the first goddess, at that. But, then," she paused, seeming to look at him contemplatively. Which was strange, he thought, because her eyes were still closed—asleep. A small smile lit her face, and she continued, "you're not like other demigods, are you, Percy?"

So it would be flattery, then. Two could play at that game, when the time was right. For now, though, he remained silent. Let her do the talking—it would give him more information.

"No," she murmured, seeing that he wasn't going to answer. "No, you're not. And that's why, Percy, I have a proposal for you. Now, before you have any scruples, I ask that you consider this with an open mind."

Because asking him to keep an open mind really convinced him that he should accept whatever offer she made.

"Our intentions aren't so different, you know. I've heard of the noble decision you made last summer—you turned down immortality, that most prized of gifts, for the equality and just treatment of those who have been oppressed by the gods for so long. Wait just a moment—let me finish before you respond, please. You asked for the minor gods and their children to be treated with respect—and the Olympians have done so, for the most part. But what of the 'peaceful Titan-kind,' as you so rightfully called them? What of those who are punished for what their relatives have done?

"They remain maltreated, Percy. I have seen with my own eyes—or, rather, my own heart and mind—the abuses that they face. Calypso—has she been freed? And the half-blood children of Titans—I see you did not know of their existence. They fight for survival, unable to find solace and safety at your Camp Half-Blood. Several, in fact, have sought and found protection with me. I would correct the wrongs done to my family—yours, too, remember. Which is why, Percy, I ask you to become commander of my forces."

"What? You really expect me to join you?" He started pacing agitatedly. Un. Freaking. Believable. Gaea wanted him to lead the destruction of Western civilization. What was with these ancient gods? Couldn't they just accept their fate and chill in Tartarus?

"Right," he muttered. "After going through all that trouble to save Olympus, I'm going to turn around, betray my friends, and bring about the destruction of everything I know and love. Well, that sounds reasonable, now doesn't it?"

"You misunderstand me," Gaea said calmly. "I only mean to restore justice where it is owed—my ultimate goal is not, as you believe, to uproot the Olympians. I am not my son. But the gods should respect their family—and if force is required to show them, so be it."

"But wasn't that the whole point of the last war?" he countered. "The gods have learned their lesson. They claim their kids, and they've started to treat the Titan-kind with more compassion. Why is another war needed to convince them?"

"Think about my offer, Percy. You would be at the head of a great revolution—no? That's not what you want? I see; you are not one to be tempted by power. What if, though, you had the power to save the ones you love? If you command my armies, you can spare your friends. Only those who continue to resist justice will suffer, Percy. Surely you see that this is the better option?"

His entire body felt cold. Of course his fatal flaw would come back to bite him. You would destroy the world to save a friend, Athena told him once.

He could save them, he thought. Annabeth, Grover, Tyson… No. She was trying to manipulate him. With some effort, he shook his head.

"I'm not going to join you."

Gaea's eyes narrowed. "In time, hero, you will be persuaded. I will give you one last chance today: Pledge allegiance to me, restore justice… or be tortured until you see the better path. I win both ways; you, only in joining me."

Torture. That was what it was going to come down to. How did you torture someone who's invulnerable? He didn't want to find out.

But he wouldn't sacrifice the world for his own pain. Not yet, at least, a poisonous voice whispered in the back of his mind.

Again, he shook his head. Gaea sighed.

"Very well. I will speak to you again tomorrow."

And with that, she crumbled into dust on the blistering wind.

The pain was unbearable. His mind could not—would not—comprehend it. Percy barely heard his own agonized yells over the sound of the machine—the stretching machine. Simple, primitive, yet effective.

Every nerve in his body screamed at him to end the torture, to just accept the damn offer, anything to end this horrible suffering. But no, no, no, he wouldn't—couldn't—give in. He wasn't that weak.

Three months of no physical injury did make that first dive back in worse than it should have been, after all. What little part of him wasn't thinking about the torture was desperately hoping that it would become more bearable, once he got used to it. It had to, right? There weren't that many ways to inflict pain upon someone with invulnerable skin.

It wasn't injuring him - his invulnerability extended to every part of his body except for that one mortal point - but that didn't mean it couldn't hurt like Hades. With every clanking rotation of that savage crank, his spine strained just a little bit more painfully, his breath turned just a little bit more ragged, his vision became just a little bit more blurred. Dying by degrees, the agony increasing with each mechanical clunk, clunk, clunk.

"Still feel like resisting? Gaea is merciful; she will forgive your insolence," Katherine's voice said from somewhere above him. She, of course, was in charge of punishing prisoners. The young daughter of Hecate (she had bragged about her magical abilities the entire journey over to this chamber) was skilled in pain-inflicting spells in particular, "which you," she had said with a smirk, "will have the pleasure of experiencing if you keep fighting." It was part of the reason she had risen so quickly through the small, yet growing, ranks of Gaea's army.

He groaned out a reply, something along the lines of "Go to Tartarus." By this point, he wasn't sure exactly what came out of his mouth.

His diminutive torturer chuckled. "Well, your time's up, anyway. I gotta say, you're not as fun to punish as the others. You don't scream as much." Her pale face formed a pouty, disappointed expression, but her eyes seemed to glow with determination. She would get him to plead for mercy.

Everything was slightly blurred as Logan, who seemed to be his personal warden, half-dragged him back to his cell. Tiny spots of white light danced in front of his eyes as the hefty soldier tossed him headfirst into the back wall. Percy let out a colorful curse or two and staggered upright to face the door.

The guard was already gone. In his place lay a small tin plate of bread and a cup of water. Too much in shock and exhausted to eat, he simply pulled the meager meal into his cell and collapsed onto his "bed."

The first day in a succession of truly nightmarish days.