Reviews:
Will Percy be a badass here I desperately wanted to see him be strong in a good story – surya25addanki
How the hell do I answer this?... Maybe?... I would think so but maybe not yours… But that's a long way away.
Oooooooo...I wonder who this mysterious figure is...Anyway, this story is extremely well written and has a great plot! Please update soon because I NEED to know what happens! I just have a couple suggestions: can you make Annabeth more upset that Percy is gone? After all, they went through tarturus together. Also, can you make Percy seem more, like himself in the BOO even though he is in his 12 year old form. And also can you make Percy miss Annabeth, like 16, 17 year old Annabeth. And please just let them remember Tarturus more, because Percy promised Annabeth he'd never leave her, and now they are separated. You don't have to follow my suggestions though, it's only if you want to. Anyway GREAT story, love it! -Guest101
Thank you so much for this review! I really hope people like that I'm taking something that might feel like copying – ie. "Time traveling back into the original series" – and giving a different type of spoof from the… plentiful other fanfics. After all, if I'm writing the same thing as everyone else, there wouldn't be much mystery, would there? As to your request, yes, this Percy will mentally be seventeen from after Tartarus and the fight against Gaia. So while he's walking through his… past, he will be more stronger and smarter than he was originally, but it also won't matter much. Also yes, I will be writing a lot about Tartarus, although for awhile it'll be more subtle, and I don't plan to fully explore it until Book 2… if that ever comes into fruition.
But, but, but, the action, the drama, it's all gone!Nooooooo. How could you. Sits in corner and cries. -Its-Me-Kiwi
I'm staring at my plot drafts, and hope you keep reading! Muahahaha!
-Part One: Pressed-
Chapter 14: Apollo
Dreams are strange little things.
Little lost bugs that wander the labyrinth that is the mind. Itchlings that crawl and seep in from the shadows. They embody humanity's aspirations and hopes. They reek of failures and fears.
Dreams are strange little things.
Dreams are shapeless. Molded by their imagineer. They are susceptible to their hosts, just as their hosts of defined by them. They reflect one another. They exist alongside one another. But they are two different souls. Mortals – Mortals are driven by dreams. Dreams aren't driven by mortals. They feed on them. Grow on them, their hosts.
And in return, humanity has grown. Pushed the bounds of what is, and searched for what could be.
This is the power of dreams. For this trait, dreams facilitate change.
Without dreams, there would be only now. Never a past. Never a future. Existence is held at a standstill.
Dreams are strange little things.
Dreams are shy. Dreams are out-going. Dreams will frighten. Dreams allow courage. Dreams can't be confined. Can't be touched. Just molded, like an unshapen tool. A very blunt – intangible tool.
They simply are: Strange little things. Hatched, filled with ideas and plots that power the little minds that make humanity human.
They watch. They wait. The inspire. Those dreams.
It's what separates those who have power, and those who can do nothing but watch.
Those silly, strange little things.
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For once in so many millennia, the god Apollo wished everyone's eyes were on anything but him.
Apollo shivered, chains of moonshine silver dangling from his wrist like shackles. The minor gods and fodder alike paused from their normalities on the side streets, switching from subtle glances to more mild intrigue.
After all, it was a rare event indeed to see an Olympian marched in chains through the public squares of Mt. Olympus. Every detail of the spectacle was utterly humiliating. Wretchedly so, one unfit for an awesome god as himself on all accounts.
The charade that was his procession was simple, yet cruel. Marched bare foot in a heavy toga, an ellipse of his beautiful nine muses, clad in elegant matching sunflower dresses herded him forward. Each reluctantly held one of the nine ends to ἀγκυρουχία, the chain that holds gods. All silent, and looked away when his gaze fell upon him.
His heart ached, knowing his muses thought he'd blame them for their situation. His precious muses, his little angels – forced as his handlers – could never enrage him. It dismayed him – if that was the right term – to see them have that little faith in him. His father must've known this how it'd turn out.
Well - there was that time in Budapest… and Baghdad and the fiascos in Perth and Constantinople. Those had been just minor squabbles though.
What jerked him were the many whispers that surrounded him, among the hordes.
There were many curses of being a god, one being the enhanced senses. There were many mumblings and whispers, which were mainly just etiquette learnt from mortals. The static thumbed in his head, and he strained to block them out. It was easy to ignore the world below, but when there were hundreds of godlings in front of you won't stop yapping?
Apollo pushed himself to put on his normal mask of confidence that many often saw him wore, the one of a relaxed, no-worries-about, cheerful surfer who'd just shredded a good day's of waves, while he half-blocked out, half intently listening to the murmuring around him.
There were whispers, which spoke of their mighty, humble, charismatic, beloved, sun god in chains. How sacrilege of an act it was to contain such awesomeness in chains. He couldn't agree more with those.
But there were the others that laughed silently at Apollo's slow precession. Laughed as their sun god was practically dragged as entertainment at jeerers, for a punishment undeserved. And they knew he could hear their mutterings. He tried to single out voices, hoping to make a hit-list for when his punishment was over. But there were too many voices, and the chains hampering the more potent parts of his powers blurred his focus.
Whatever the case, Apollo was used to gossip and mocking to some extent. Every god had to, lest they'd cause Apocalypse a few more times than would be healthy for the earth. The main punctures to his pride laid in the eyes.
He tried shifting his gaze from the crowds, then with panic, realized his mask of confidence had faded a while ago. He closed his eyes, and breathed, trying to find some stability.
Gods didn't need to breathe. The gods were after all, all-powerful immortal abstractions. But the motion had grown into habit, another purposeless gesture that accumulated after millennia of mirroring humanity. But it sure did help clam him at times.
Closed lenses didn't amount to a good permanent solution. What was he? Blind? He opened them, but wrestled with his options on where to focus on. The crowds weren't a possibility. The sun-draped sky above sickened him at the loss of his freedom to venture through the skies. The chains at his feet, and the marble slabs didn't do much better. Two sides of the same shiny drachma.
Finally, his eyes laid at the sight in front of him. Leading the misery that was this march was none other than his younger sister Artemis. His mirror was personified today as a young woman with flowing red hair and curves that would've rivaled Aphrodite's. Tall and sleek, walking with attentive grace, the goddess of the moon was cloaked in a ceremonial silver chiton, with her signature bow on her back. Her dress was modest in Olympian standards, but Apollo suspected the dress that their father had request her to wear for the charade revealed too much shoulder for Artemis' liking. He wondered if that could've attributed to her older choice of appearance today.
Less unholy thoughts, having a youth be clad is such a sultry gown.
The chains tightened around him. He blinked, realizing they had slowed. They had past the city and were now upon the steps of the Main Hall.
He had space out, not sure to be relieved.
How long had he been looking at her? Artemis turned her shoulder, peering at him. Her silver crescent eyes were full of resignation and worry.
'Father isn't overly joyed, having to rely on our mortal children twice in a century,' Artemis' voice murmured quietly in his head, stating the obvious. 'His mood has become… foul since Augustus. You mustn't give him any more reason to punish you.'
Apollo sighed inwardly. The whole trial was so unfair. Complete nonsense.
It had been Apollo who had aided the son of Hephaestus in formulating his plans to defeat Gaea! He should be celebrated if anything. Not be confined by this anchor–
'I will do what I can to urge father of not going through this trial, brother. We were both on Delos, forlorn in our attempts to aid the Demigods against the forces of Gaea's giants. We both were aware of the implications if–" Artemis stopped suddenly, and it wasn't until then when he realized she was switched to speaking out loud. Her jawline tightened with consideration. And sorrow.
His sister Artemis was one of the few Olympians that maintained regular contact with mortals; in the form of her band of hunters. They were immortal, yes, but their spilled blood was still red, their lives still at the mercy of sharpened steel.
While the sun and the moon laid in Delos incapable to do anything except watch, the giant Orion had picked apart Artemis' huntress in San Juan.
The deaths of the war reminded Apollo why he stayed away from mortals as much as possible. There were slings, of course, but connections with humans – they were messy at best. The endings were filled with too much pain for the cost of temporary bliss.
He could only imagine the ache that roared within Artemis, the only window in being her on-edge silver eyes.
'Phoebus, are you sure you want to go through this?' Artemis finally said after some time, her voice cracking. His sister rarely used his other name. In fact, she hadn't done so in many centuries. It only came from her as an endearment, which he rarely earned.
Apollo closed his eyes and cocked his head. 'We already discussed this, Arty,' he murmured in her head.
Even with his eyes closed, he sensed his sister nodding hesitantly. They've fought about it for the last week.
It being that she had convinced him to give that son of Hephaestus the Physician's cure.
The goddess of the moon tilted her head back and seemed to look beyond him for a moment, as if she was worlds away. Her starry eyes distant, yet dejected at the same time. 'Thank you,' she finally, admitting defeat, too weary to argue with his one last time, before flashing away in a soundless sparkle of shower of silver lights.
The horns of Olympus sounded and the doors swung, into the hall of the gods.
The muses began their march once more, and Apollo bit his inner-lip before following their lead.
The other eleven Olympians sat perched on their respective thrones as his muses led his way into the grand chamber of the gods. Half of them looked bored out of their minds after hours of what he presumed meetings that he had the pleasure of not needing to attend.
Zeus clapped his hands together, gaining the attention of the gods. Dionysus had to poke snoring Ares with a grapevine to jitter the god of war awake.
"What?" Ares brought his head up, wiping off the drool on his chin. He glared at the god of wine, before realizing everyone was staring at him. "Oh, another one," he grumbled, before adjusting his posture.
Zeus continued to scrutinize Ares for a moment longer before shifting his gaze to Apollo. "We are here, today, to judge my son Apollo. For breaking the ancient laws that we all swore upon, and giving the modern world access to the Physician's cure."
A few gods grumbled in acknowledgement, before Athena decided to begin the discussion. "Apollo's actions were reckless at best," the goddess of wisdom assessed, "Placing something as valuable as the Physician's cure into the hands of mortals, could have had irreversible consequences."
"It was a necessary risk," Poseidon intervened, "the giants were at the doorstep of Olympus. Gaea was awakening. If you knew your child was the one being sacrificed, wouldn't you find some way to save them from death's grasps?"
The god of the seas gave a pointed look towards Zeus, an obvious referral to Thalia's tree.
Hephaestus tapped his throne at the words, while Zeus scowled.
"The comparison doesn't account for the fact that in the case of Thalia Grace," Athena argued, tackling Poseidon's argument, "revival isn't repeatable. A cure… one that could be reproduced, is an endangerment to the balance of civilization. I move to vote.
"I concur," Hera eyed Apollo with disgusted glance. The queen of the gods had always hated him. No surprise there. "Apollo risked order. I propose loss of immortality."
Zeus nodded at the counsel.
Shit.
Artemis' silver gaze shoved daggers down his throat, telling him to stay quiet before speaking. "At that moment in the war, the odds did not look in our favor. Our children were at war. Monsters control the vast majority of the continent. Even Camp Jupiter fe–"
"But the cure did nothing to actually aid our heroes, did it? Was it required in the fight against Gaea? The search for its ingredients only delayed the quest, allowing the Giants to prepare in Athens," Athena pointed out. "The builder, Leo Valdez, could've done just the same against Gaea without it."
Ares smiled. "Boom."
Hephaestus glared at Athena. "We cannot speak of our children like toys, Athena."
"Since when did you being to sympathize with humans, tinkerer?" Demeter interjected, curious.
"Hephaestus is right," Hermes spoke up, "Our troubles this century… started with neglect. It would be wrong for to stay distant, when we are able to commit aid."
Artemis took advantage of the lead in. "The tide of the war did not look favorable. Our children were at war. Us gods were incapacitated. The giants were at Olympus' doorsteps, and Gaea was on the verge of awakening. My and Apollo's decision, was one well thought out and weighed to be at our advantage and worth the prospect of the mentioned consequences. We should not punish Apollo."
Zeus actually perked up at hearing Artemis defend Apollo.
"Ares?"
"War is war," Ares shrugged, and for once, Apollo was glad it was Ares that sat on that throne instead of Mars. "Gaea comes by swinging, why can't we bring out the entire arsenal?"
"Why I think Apollo's de-godifying would be simply divine," Aphrodite grinned, nudging her not so secret lover. "Think of all the drama that could come of it!"
Ares frowned, but nodded at the goddess of love's words.
Dionysus looked pained, realizing he was the only god to not put in any input. "I can care less about the children and the drama."
Zeus looked around at the council looking to see if any of the gods had anything left to say, before calling for a vote. "All those who agree that Apollo should loss his immortality for the foreseeable future?"
There was a raise of hands. Seven hands were raised. There was no need to count the nay votes.
Zeus sighed, "We will assess the duration another time. Fates allowed, we are lucky to divert catastrophe. Gaea is defeated, and the son of Hephaestus had failed to drink the concoction. With the knowledge of the recipe out of mortal hands, we can consider parole, if we see acts of valor.
Apollo tried to keep his expression blank on that last sentence. Zeus gave curt glances at both the fire and death gods, the latter of which had been silently sitting in the corner, watching the debate with deep scrutiny, now seemed distractedly fiddling with the ring on his hand.
The last time the sun god had checked, the fiery son of Hephaestus had survived, albeit sent to a place with no escape.
Which meant one thing.
Hades lied to him.
Apollo turned back to his twin's throne, spying how his sister's mind was racing to take in this development.
Apparently, Athena hadn't been notified of Leo Valdez's true fate either, as she didn't look to correct the king of the gods.
Aphrodite winked at him.
What in Tartarus had Aphrodite done.
No one protested the words came from any of the gods, so Zeus thumped his lightning bolt, in signal for the staff.
From nowhere, the fates emerged, holding a staff that was better left unnamed. A staff that could consumed the immortality of the gods.
The fates floated down closer towards the god of the sun, with an almost angelic slowness. As the staff neared, Apollo could begin feeling his essence being pulled out from him.*
Apollo closed his eyes, in strain, as he felt his powers being pulled out from under him.
The room silences as the ceremony played out.
His powers slivered through the air like mist being edged out from him, and by the second, he grew ever more tired.
Just when he was about to collapse, it all stopped.
Surprised, Apollo tried opening his eyes. The last two times he had loss his immortality he'd collapsed well before all the power within him was pulled out. And indeed, he could feel a last bit of droplets left, of the dried up ocean of power he normally embodied.
But his eyelids wouldn't open. He tried his arms, and his legs and moving his head, but none prevailed.
The room turned cold, and suddenly, he felt a new presence in the room.
A cold breath flowed over the hairs across the back of his neck, before a silent chuckle echoed across the chamber of the gods.
"Now!"
* I'd like to clarify, the staff, whatever, normally doesn't have the power to pull out a god's immortality but when Apollo is chained by Anchor (the name of the chain), his power is weakened enough for him to be vulnerable.
*You have become what you swore to destroy!* When I started reading fanfiction, I got really pissed at people who updated irregularly and put their readers through long hiatuses. Now look at me, lmao. For those who write consistently, may I ask: How the hell do you people do it? How do you stay inspired, driven and get through tough chapters? I need help. For the sake of myself and your fellow readers. That being said, I have the pleasure of telling you this document I'm uploading is called ' ' on my computer. Take that as you will.
A few updates about me since we haven't chatted in awhile! – First off, for those who read my story: 'The Prophet's Mansion' I am sadly placing the story on INDEFINITE HIATUS. After the last few months bashing my head into the keyboard, I have to admit to myself, I have lost all motivation and inspiration to continue the story. I might return to it someday, but I don't want to string you guys along that I will. – Instead, I'm going to start uploading the first chapter of a few story ideas throughout December. Depending on the feedback and attention those stories get, I might continue with them, or maybe not. We'll see when we get there. – As for this story, I still got ideas, and the drive. It's just the matter of writer's block and my life being so busy.
Thanks for putting up with my bull. I'll try to pump out another chapter asap to make it up. My quarterly finals are the first week of December, but afterwards, I've cleared out my ENTIRE schedule to write! Assuming I don't get grounded for failing my finals, December should be filled with (said above) updates.
Thanks to SFRG, PraetorFable and PHO3N1XSLAY3R for the help on getting me pumped to write again.
Adieu!
~VCRx
[This chapter was unbetaed.]
[Last Edited: 16.11.2018]