A/N: Welcome back to this story! Hope you'll enjoy it, it's another long chapter! Let me know if you like the long chapters :)
Disclaimer: I don't own the right to Percy Jackson and the Olympians, only my OC, sadly enough. I'd be very rich tho.
Chapter 7: The Exodus Part I
"You guys," Percy said, his voice firm but tinged with urgency. "Why don't you do a sweep of the city? Check the defenses. See who's left in Olympus. Meet Annabeth and me back here in thirty minutes."
Silena furrowed her brow, hesitant to leave. "But—"
"That's a good idea," Annabeth interjected, her tone filled with approval. "Connor and Travis, you two lead."
The Stolls exchanged excited glances, relishing the opportunity to take on an important responsibility in front of their father. It was a departure from their usual mischief-making and pranks. "We're on it!" Travis declared, herding the others out of the throne room, leaving Annabeth and Percy alone with Hermes.
Annabeth wasted no time, addressing Hermes directly. "My lord, Kronos is going to attack New York. You must suspect that. My mother must have foreseen it."
Hermes grumbled, scratching his back with his caduceus as George and Martha murmured in discomfort. "Your mother," he began, his voice laced with irritation. "Don't get me started on your mother, young lady. She's the reason I'm here at all. Zeus didn't want any of us to leave the front line. But your mother kept pestering him nonstop, 'It's a trap, it's a diversion, blah, blah, blah.' She wanted to come back herself, but Zeus was not going to let his number one strategist leave his side while we're battling Typhon. And so naturally he sent me to talk to you."
Annabeth's determination remained unwavering. "But it is a trap! Is Zeus blind?"
Thunder boomed above them, a warning of the god's displeasure. Hermes cautioned her, "I'd watch the comments, girl. Zeus is not blind or deaf. He has not left Olympus completely undefended."
"But there are these blue lights—" Annabeth persisted.
"Yes, yes. I saw them," Hermes interrupted. "Some mischief by that insufferable goddess of magic, Hecate, I'd wager. But you may have noticed they aren't doing any damage. Olympus has strong magical wards. Besides, Aeolus, the King of the Winds, has sent his most powerful minions to guard the citadel. No one save the gods can approach Olympus from the air. They would be knocked out of the sky."
Percy raised his hand, seeking clarification. "Um... what about that materializing/teleporting thing you guys do?"
"That's a form of air travel too, Jackson. Very fast, but the wind gods are faster," Hermes explained. "No, if Kronos wants Olympus, he'll have to march through the entire city with his army and take the elevators! Can you see him doing this?"
Hermes made it sound almost comical, the image of hordes of monsters crammed into elevators, jamming to Stayin' Alive. Despite the god's dismissive tone, Percy couldn't shake off his unease.
"Maybe just a few of you could come back," Percy suggested, hoping for some compromise.
Hermes shook his head impatiently. "Percy Jackson, you don't understand. Typhon is our greatest enemy."
"I thought that was Kronos," Percy interjected, his confusion evident.
The god's eyes gleamed with intensity. "No, Percy. In the old days, Olympus was almost overthrown by Typhon. He is the husband of Echidna—"
"Met her at the Arch," Percy muttered, remembering the bizarre encounter. "Not nice."
"—and the father of all monsters. We can never forget how close he came to destroying us all, how he humiliated us! We were more powerful back in the old days. Now we can expect no help from Poseidon because he's fighting his own war. Hades sits in his realm and does nothing, and Demeter and Persephone follow his lead. It will take all our remaining power to oppose the storm giant. We can't divide our forces, nor wait until he gets to New York. We have to battle him now. And we're making progress."
"Progress?" Percy's voice cut through the tense air. "He nearly destroyed St. Louis."
Hermes nodded, his expression somber. "Yes, but he destroyed only half of Kentucky. He's slowing down. Losing power."
Percy could sense the doubt in Hermes' words, the struggle to find hope in a dire situation. He didn't want to argue, but it felt like Hermes was trying to convince himself.
In the corner of the room, the Ophiotaurus let out a mournful moo, its presence a reminder of the stakes they faced.
Annabeth interjected, her voice filled with urgency. "Please, Hermes. You said my mother wanted to come. Did she give you any messages for us?"
Hermes muttered, his frustration evident. "'It'll be a great job,' they told me. 'Not much work. Lots of worshippers.' Hmph. Nobody cares what I have to say. It's always about other people's messages."
George, one of Hermes' rodent companions, pondered the situation. "Rodents," he mused. "I'm in it for the rodents."
Martha scolded him, her voice reproachful. "We care what Hermes has to say. Don't we, George?"
George chuckled. "Oh, absolutely. Can we go back to the battle now? I want to do laser mode again. That's fun."
"Quiet, both of you," Hermes grumbled, trying to regain control of the conversation.
Hermes then turned his attention to Annabeth, who was employing her best pleading-gray-eyes technique. "Bah," Hermes said dismissively. "Your mother said to warn you that you are on your own. You must hold Manhattan without the help of the gods. As if I didn't know that. Why they pay her to be the wisdom goddess, I'm not sure."
Annabeth pressed on, her voice steady but tinged with concern. "Anything else?"
Hermes looked at Percy, their gazes locking. "She said to tell Percy: 'Remember the rivers.' And, um, something about staying away from her daughter."
Both Annabeth and Percy felt their faces flush with embarrassment and confusion.
"Thank you, Hermes," Annabeth managed to say, her voice sincere. "And I... I wanted to say... I'm sorry about Luke."
The god's expression hardened, his features turning to stone. "You should've left that subject alone," he growled at Annabeth, his anger simmering beneath the surface.
Annabeth stepped back, her voice trembling. "Sorry?"
"SORRY doesn't cut it!" Hermes snapped, his anger crackling in the air.
George and Martha instinctively curled around the caduceus, the staff transforming into what resembled a high-voltage cattle prod.
"You should've saved him when you had the chance," Hermes continued, his voice filled with accusation. "You're the only one who could have."
Percy couldn't stand by silently. He stepped forward, determined to defend Annabeth. "What are you talking about? Annabeth didn't—"
"Don't defend her, Jackson!" Hermes redirected his anger towards Percy, the cattle prod raised threateningly. "She knows exactly what I'm talking about."
Fueled by his own emotions, Percy couldn't hold back his words. "Maybe you should blame yourself! Maybe if you hadn't abandoned Luke and his mom!"
Hermes recoiled, his anger momentarily subsiding as George and Martha leaned in, whispering something in his ear. His grip on the cattle prod loosened, and it transformed back into a staff.
"Percy Jackson," Hermes said, his voice laden with a mixture of warning and resignation, "because you have taken on the curse of Achilles, I must spare you. You are in the hands of the Fates now. But you will never speak to me like that again. You have no idea how much I have sacrificed, how much—"
His voice broke, and Hermes shrank back to his human size. Percy could see the devastation etched on his face, a stark contrast to his earlier anger. It was as if he had transformed from a god ready to vaporize them to a god in need of comfort.
Percy mustered the words to speak, sensing Hermes' pain. "Look, Lord Hermes," he said, his voice filled with empathy. "I'm sorry, but I need to know. What happened to May? She mentioned something about Luke's fate, and her eyes..."
Hermes glared at Percy, but beneath the anger, pain shone through. It wasn't directed at Percy or Annabeth, but it weighed heavily on the messenger of the gods. "I will leave you now," he said tightly, his voice laced with an inner struggle. "I have a war to fight."
As Hermes began to glow, preparing to depart, Percy turned away and gestured for Annabeth to do the same. The intensity of the god's presence was too much to bear directly. As they shielded their eyes, a soft voice whispered in Percy's mind, the words of Martha the snake bidding him good luck.
The room fell into silence, and Annabeth sat at the foot of her mother's throne, tears streaming down her face. Percy wished he knew how to comfort her, to ease her pain, but he felt uncertain and powerless.
"Annabeth," he said gently, his voice filled with empathy. "It's not your fault. I've never seen Hermes act that way. I guess... I don't know... he probably feels guilty about Luke. He's looking for somebody to blame. I don't know why he lashed out at you. You didn't do anything to deserve that."
Annabeth wiped her eyes, her gaze fixed on the hearth as if staring into the depths of her own sorrow. Percy shifted uneasily, searching for the right words. "Um, you didn't, right?" he asked cautiously, a hint of concern in his voice.
She didn't answer immediately, her thoughts consumed by the weight of her own secrets. Finally, she spoke, her voice tinged with a mix of vulnerability and determination. "Percy, what did you mean about Luke's mother? Did you meet her?"
Percy nodded reluctantly, his gaze meeting Annabeth's. "Nico and I visited her," he confessed. "She was a little... different." He proceeded to describe May Castellan and the peculiar moment when her eyes had glowed, her words hinting at Luke's fate.
Confusion furrowed Annabeth's brow as she tried to make sense of it all. "That doesn't make sense," she mused, her voice filled with a mix of frustration and curiosity. "But why were you visiting—" Her eyes widened with sudden realization. "Hermes said you bear the curse of Achilles. Hestia said the same thing. Did you... did you bathe in the River Styx?"
Percy hesitated, his gaze dropping slightly. "Um... maybe a little," he admitted, his voice tinged with both guilt and defiance. He proceeded to recount the story of his encounter with Hades and Nico, the battle against the army of the dead, omitting the vision of Annabeth pulling him out of the river.
Annabeth shook her head in disbelief, a mixture of concern and disbelief etched on her face. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?" she asked, her voice tinged with worry.
Percy's response held a flicker of determination. "I had no choice," he said firmly, his eyes meeting Annabeth's. "It's the only way I can stand up to Luke."
The conversation took a turn, and Annabeth's thoughts shifted back to Luke. Percy couldn't help but feel a pang of annoyance. "So now you're worried about Luke again," he grumbled under his breath, unable to conceal his frustration.
She stared at him, her eyes wide with surprise and confusion. "What?"
"Forget it," Percy muttered, his irritation clouding his thoughts. He wondered what Hermes had meant about Annabeth not saving Luke when she had the chance, but in that moment, he didn't want to delve into her history with Luke any further. His focus was on the impending battle and defending Olympus.
Annabeth, still studying Percy's face, seemed to understand his change in demeanor. "I guess you're right," she said, her voice holding a touch of resignation. "My mom mentioned—"
"Plan twenty-three," Percy interjected, remembering the message from Athena.
With renewed purpose, Annabeth reached into her pack and retrieved Daedalus's laptop, its blue Delta symbol glowing as she booted it up. Her eyes scanned the files, realizing the magnitude of the task before them. "Gods, we have a lot of work to do," she exclaimed, her voice a mix of determination and apprehension.
Percy leaned closer, his curiosity piqued by Athena's cryptic message. "What about her message to you: 'Remember the rivers'? What does that mean?" he asked, seeking answers.
Shaking her head, Annabeth admitted her own confusion. "I don't know," she said honestly. "Which rivers are we supposed to remember? The Styx? The Mississippi?"
Before they could delve further into the mystery, the Stoll brothers burst into the throne room, urgency etched on their faces. Connor's voice crackled with urgency. "You need to see this, now."
The blue lights in the sky had ceased, leaving an eerie stillness in the air. Percy couldn't quite grasp the problem at first, but as he joined the gathering of campers at the edge of the mountain, peering down at Manhattan, the truth began to unravel. They huddled around the guardrail, their eyes fixed on the city below, using the tourist binoculars to get a closer look. Every golden drachma was being spent on those lenses.
Percy glanced down at the sprawling city, his gaze tracing the familiar landmarks—the East River, the Hudson River, the streets, the skyscrapers—all bathed in an unnatural calm. Everything appeared normal, but deep in his bones, he sensed that something was amiss. Annabeth voiced her observation, her voice tinged with unease. "I don't...hear anything."
And that was precisely the problem.
From this vantage point, the bustling noise of the city should have reached their ears—the constant hum of millions of people, the cacophony of cars and machines that defined the heartbeat of New York. It was an incessant background rhythm, something taken for granted until it was absent. But now, in this moment, silence hung heavy in the air, defying the city's nature.
Percy felt a surge of anger, his voice tightening as he spoke. "What did they do? What did they do to my city?" The shock reverberated through him as if he had lost a dear friend.
He pushed Michael Yew aside and peered through the binoculars, desperate for answers. The sight that greeted him chilled his veins. The streets below were frozen, devoid of movement. Pedestrians lay sprawled on sidewalks, curled up in doorways. There was no violence, no signs of struggle. It was as if the entire population of New York had collectively decided to halt their activities and succumb to slumber.
Silena's astonished voice broke the silence. "Are they dead?" The question lingered in the air, carrying a mixture of disbelief and fear.
Percy's gut clenched with icy realization. The prophecy's words echoed in his mind: "And see the world in endless sleep." Grover's encounter with Morpheus in Central Park resurfaced in his memory. "You're lucky I'm saving my energy for the main event."
"They're not dead," Percy replied, his voice filled with grim certainty. "Morpheus has put the entire island of Manhattan to sleep. The invasion has begun." The weight of their impending battle settled upon his shoulders, his resolve hardening as he prepared to face the forces of darkness and protect the city he called home.
Sebastian Isibor, clad in his attire, ventured deeper into the treacherous depths of the Underworld. Armed with Stygian Iron chains this time around, he displayed a newfound confidence as he confronted the vicious creatures that lurked in the shadows. With each strike and maneuver, he demonstrated his mastery over his powers, the chains wrapping around his enemies with deadly precision.
A smirk played upon Sebastian's lips, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. However, behind that fleeting expression, his gaze remained serious and guarded. He could sense a disturbance in the spiritual air, a ripple that hinted at impending chaos. The thought of the invasion stirred within him, igniting a spark of anticipation.
As he navigated the labyrinthine passages of the Underworld, Sebastian's mind mulled over the decision before him. Should he join the battle that loomed on the mortal realm? The clash between the forces of darkness and the defenders of Olympus beckoned to his restless spirit.
Contemplation clouded his features as he weighed the risks and benefits. Should he reveal his presence, or should he continue his solitary path? A mixture of determination and caution swirled within him, knowing that his actions could have far-reaching consequences.
Sebastian's thoughts drifted back to his half-brother, Nico di Angelo, and the bond they had forged during their encounter. He wondered if Nico, too, sensed the stirring of battle. The prospect of their paths crossing once more sparked a flicker of anticipation, tempered by the knowledge that alliances could be both fickle and dangerous.
For now, Sebastian continued his solitary odyssey through the Underworld, forging ahead with his mission. But the thoughts of the invasion and the choice before him lingered, their weight pressing upon him like a cloak of shadows. He couldn't help but wonder if fate would pull him towards the imminent conflict, and if he should answer its call.