Chapter 1
Fall of the Seven Part 1
Electric blue eyes, the shade of a storm-tossed sea, snapped open with a start, their vibrant hue immediately contrasting against the darkness that enveloped the room. The jarring sound of a sharp knock reverberated through the air, echoing around the disoriented figure. As consciousness fully returned, Jason's mind grappled to regain his bearings amidst the grogginess of abrupt awakening.
With a sigh, he leaned against the cool sheets, his gaze drawn to the window where only the inky blackness of night greeted him. His brows knitted together in a subtle scowl, directed at whoever would dare disturb his slumber in the middle of the night. The luxurious comfort of his private villa surrounded him, a privilege earned through his esteemed position as a Praetor of New Rome, a mantle that held both honor and responsibility.
As his senses sharpened, Jason's long-fingered hand instinctively found its way to the side table, the subtle jingle of a golden coin within his pocket providing a sense of reassurance. The coin was where both of his weapons laid in wait, ready to strike. Gathering his thoughts, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, before donning a nearby shirt. The fabric hung comfortably against his frame as he tread quietly through the familiar pathways of his dwelling, the cool stone floor a comforting touch against his bare feet.
Navigating the dimly lit corridor, Jason's determination led him to the imposing door of his villa, a sturdy barrier between his private sanctuary and the rest of New Rome. The rhythmic cadence of impatience echoed in the repeated knocking, spurring him to hasten his pace. With a steadying breath, he reached out, his hand finding the reassuring coolness of the doorknob. Just as his fingers closed around the handle, the persistent knocking halted, leaving the air charged with anticipation.
The door swung open, revealing his imposing presence to the unexpected visitor. Before him stood a figure bathed in a soft halo of moonlight, her form delicate yet resolute. The word "Hazel" formed on his lips, a question wrapped in astonishment. His eyes traveled the length of her, absorbing the cascade of cinnamon brown curls that framed her face, the warm richness of her chocolate-colored skin that seemed to shimmer with a slight sheen of perspiration.
However, the distress etched across her features was impossible to ignore. Trails of tears, like glistening constellations, traced their way down her cheeks, leaving a poignant trail in their wake. His concern deepened as his gaze fell upon her arm, held tightly against her side. The pain he discerned there tugged at his heart, invoking his steadfast protective instincts.
"Hazel, what's wrong?" His voice, a blend of worry and barely contained anger, held a note of urgency. Hazel had been bullied ever since she had shown up in New Rome, for being a daughter of Pluto and how she acted differently from the rest of them. He clenched his jaw, his fingers flexing involuntarily, imagining the torment she might have endured to feel the need to wake him in the middle of the night.
She lifted her eyes, eyes that usually held a warm golden hue, now transformed into something unearthly—a bright, harsh gold that seemed to pierce the very fabric of reality. Her sclera, normally a pristine white canvas, was now a startling crimson.The juxtaposition of tears and blood traced rivulets down her cheeks, a haunting visage that sent shivers down his spine.
A sense of foreboding settled heavily upon Jason's shoulders. The weight of unease was palpable, his instincts screaming that this encounter was more than it appeared.
"Jason Grace, Gaea sends her regards." The voice that issued forth from her lips was not her own, the cadence foreign and hollow, as if spoken by an entity that struggled with the nuances of the English language. It was a voice that seemed to claw at the fringes of reality, a chilling reminder that the boundaries between worlds were not always as solid as they seemed.
He staggered back, his fingers reflexively seeking the security of the golden coin. But Hazel moved with an unsettling speed, a graceful yet disconcerting blur that belied her previous distress. In a split second, his perception shifted from concern to survival as her arm, once cradled against her side, revealed the glint of a malevolent blade, forged from enchanted gold.
Cold tendrils of fear snaked their way around his heart as his instinctive reflexes kicked in. He lunged forward, a desperate attempt to intervene, to thwart the impending catastrophe. His fingers reached out, yearning to grasp her arm, to halt the inexorable descent of that lethal dagger.
But her movement defied comprehension. With a grace that transcended human limitations, she danced beyond his reach, her eyes locked on her target with an eerie focus. The world seemed to slow as the blade, a vessel of malice, pierced his defenses. Agony radiated outward from the point of impact, a searing, all-consuming pain that eclipsed every other sensation. He gasped, crimson blood trickling from his lips as he stared down at the weapon that had found its mark.
"Hazel?" The word, a rasping plea, escaped him as his breaths grew shallow, his struggle to draw air tainted by the metallic tang of blood. His attempts to inhale were met with a suffocating resistance, the thick liquid pooling in his mouth, an implacable tide that threatened to drag him under.
Darkness encroached upon his vision, tendrils of shadow snaking at the edges of his sight. The ground beneath his knees was unforgiving, a harsh reminder of his vulnerability. The lines between reality and delirium blurred, his senses overwhelmed by the dual symphony of pain and despair. Struggling to remain upright, he reached out, the motion sluggish and uncoordinated, his fingers grazing the cold, unyielding floor.
Hazel's presence remained, her expression twisted into a sinister, triumphant smile. The dagger, now free from its fleshy sheath, gleamed malevolently in the moonlight, a wicked relic of blood and gold. As the blade retreated from his body, the world seemed to fragment, each breath a struggle, each heartbeat a fading echo. The blood that had once pulsed with life now ebbed, a macabre river that marked his passage into the abyss.
One final gasp escaped his lips, a feeble whisper that faded into the void. And then, darkness claimed him, the threads of consciousness severed, leaving only the memory of harsh gold eyes and the haunting smile of a friend.
As the veil of unconsciousness gradually lifted, Hazel found herself cocooned within a somber reality. Her eyes, adjusting to the dim illumination, swept across her surroundings, revealing a chamber entirely hewn from the unyielding embrace of stone. It was as if she had been ensnared within the heart of a mountain's very soul. Her fingers, a touch unsteady with the remnants of her slumber, moved of their own accord, brushing against the cold, textured walls as if to ascertain the reality of her confinement.
Yet, it was the formidable presence of the thick iron bars that truly drove home the gravity of her situation. These sentinels of captivity stood as immutable guardians, encircling her on all sides, each one a symbol of restraint, a reminder of the world beyond that she could not touch. She pressed her trembling hands against the frigid bars, her palms absorbing the unforgiving chill, an uncomfortable reminder of her separation from the world outside.
Within her cell, Hazel gathered her resolve, pushing herself upwards with a determination that belied the turmoil swirling within her. Her palms grasped the cold iron bars, fingers curling around them as if seeking an anchor in this disorienting reality. As her gaze ventured beyond her confines, a corridor stretched forth, shrouded in shadows and enigma. The corridor was flanked by a procession of cells, like sentinels of isolation that extended into the unknown distance. Each cell seemed to whisper of secrets, a silent testimony to the countless lives that had been entwined with this bleak existence.
The very air held a scent of dampness and neglect, as if the passage of time had conspired to imbue these depths with the echoes of years long past. The musty odor permeated the air, intermingling with the pungency of moisture, evoking a sensation of suspended time. It was as if the very walls absorbed the emotions and remnants of those who had languished within these cells, their presence an indelible imprint on the fabric of this forsaken world.
Torches, their flickering flames a valiant attempt to repel the prevailing darkness, lined the corridor with sporadic beacons of light. Their illumination cast quivering shadows that danced across the walls, offering a fleeting respite from the encroaching gloom. Thick cobwebs adorned the corners, weaving intricate tapestries of neglect, as if nature itself sought to reclaim this subterranean realm.
Amidst this haunting atmosphere, Hazel's thoughts raced, grappling with the stark revelation that New Rome possessed jail cells, an aspect of the city she had been blissfully unaware of until now.
The question of her purpose in this desolate chamber loomed over her, a riddle she had yet to decipher. But then, like an avalanche, the memories surged forth, images of blood-soaked hands, a lethal blade, and the piercing realization of actions not her own. Jason's name reverberated in her mind like a dirge, the weight of her deeds crashing down upon her like a tidal wave.
The recollection hit her with an intensity that took her breath away, tears welling in her eyes as she relived those harrowing moments. The darkness of her hands and the fabric of her clothes were a testament to the blood that had been spilled, a vivid testament to her agency being wrested from her control.
The echo of her friend's name, Jason, reverberated through the chamber as she sobbed aloud, the anguish in her voice a symphony of pain and grief. The memories cascaded over her, a torrent of guilt and despair that threatened to consume her whole. She collapsed to the ground, a broken figure wracked by the weight of her actions, tears mingling with the damp stone beneath her.
The mental imagery of plunging the knife into Jason's heart replayed in her mind, each iteration a torturous reminder of her own powerlessness. His cerulean eyes, windows to a soul now extinguished, haunted her like a specter of regret. She could almost feel his shock, his agony, the very light of life dimming in those final moments.
She screamed, the sound a primal expression of the torment she was experiencing, a desperate attempt to release the pain that threatened to suffocate her. The chambers seemed to absorb her cries, magnifying their resonance until they enveloped her entirely.
As the storm of her emotions raged within her, a bitter realization settled, New Rome, too, believed her to be the perpetrator of Jason's death. The certainty that she herself would have drawn the same conclusions had she come upon such a scene was a haunting acknowledgment. Her own understanding of the situation only deepened the abyss of despair that threatened to consume her.
She sought solace in the arms of her sorrow, allowing the quiet sobs to taper off, replaced by a sense of somber resignation. The tears had ceased, leaving her with an expression marred by sadness and realization. While the chaos of her emotions persisted, a burgeoning clarity formed, an understanding that she was trapped within a web of circumstances not of her making.
Her golden eyes, normally warm and vibrant, now held a pensive and sorrowful gleam. The weight of her predicament pressed heavily upon her, a tangible burden that she was forced to carry. The truth was plain, her existence had become inextricably bound to this tragedy, a narrative that she was both protagonist and victim of.
As the dim illumination cast long shadows around her, Hazel's gaze shifted towards the corridor beyond her cell. The labyrinthine mysteries of this underground realm seemed to mirror the convoluted path that had led her to this juncture. Her thoughts spiraled, seeking answers amidst the echoes of her own despair. Why had this fate befallen her? What forces had conspired to rob her of control over her own actions? The answers remained elusive, waiting to be unveiled like hidden gems within the caverns of her mind.
Amidst the recesses of her troubled mind, Hazel's thoughts raced like a tempest, seeking to untangle the enigma that had ensnared her. The name "Eidolon" surfaced, a whispered revelation amidst the turmoil. The very utterance of it sent shivers cascading down her spine, for she knew that these malevolent entities were capable of manipulating even the most resolute of minds.
Yet, the notion that an Eidolon could gain control over a child of Pluto, a descendant of the lord of the Underworld himself, seemed as preposterous as it was horrifying. A child of the underworld was said to possess an inherent resistance to the influence of malevolent spirits, a shield woven from the very essence of their lineage. Yet, her recent memories painted a different narrative, a chilling tapestry that bore witness to the impossible becoming a stark reality.
Her mind retraced the events that had unfolded, each fragment dissected with an analytical precision. Her vision of Jason, once warm and steady, had been tainted with an unsettling haze, a crimson shroud that whispered of blood and violence. The edges of her memory bore the weight of her own screams, a chorus of pain that had crescendoed before surrendering to oblivion.
Piecing together the fragments, Hazel's understanding crystallized, a horrifying revelation took form. The Eidolon within her, the sinister puppeteer of her actions, had combusted in a blaze of malevolent energy. It had wielded every ounce of its power, channeling it into a desperate bid for control over a child of Pluto, a conquest that defied the very laws of her heritage.
The realization cast a pall over her thoughts, shattering her perceptions of invulnerability and resistance. She was a vessel, a conduit through which dark forces could manifest, rending apart her very autonomy. The why and how of it all remained a labyrinthine enigma, a puzzle with missing pieces that defied easy resolution.
But even as her thoughts unfurled like tendrils seeking answers, the cadence of approaching footsteps roused her from her introspection. She stilled herself, a calm acceptance settling over her as she turned her gaze towards the figure that emerged from the shadows. The approaching presence was no stranger to her, its footsteps resonating with authority and command.
The footsteps halted, a silent sentinel standing immobile before her cell, and Hazel's gaze met that of her visitor's, Reyna, a commanding figure whose very aura radiated with authority and control. The cascade of raven-black hair that framed her visage seemed like the embodiment of night itself. The obsidian depths of her eyes bore into Hazel with an intensity that needed no spoken words to convey their judgment.
Reyna's Puerto Rican heritage was evident in the richness of her brown skin, a testament to her ancestry and the melting pot of cultures that defined New Rome. Her attire, a regal purple toga adorned with the proud emblem of a golden eagle, marked her as Praetor, a symbol of her unwavering leadership and prowess on the battlefield.
Aurum and Argentum flanked Reyna, their presence a testament to her might. Crafted from gold and silver respectively, they were not mere automatons, but embodiments of Reyna's vigilant authority. Their metallic forms gleamed in the dim light, their watchful gaze seeming to pierce through facades to the heart of truth. The automatons were not just companions and protectors, but discerning judges capable of detecting the faintest hint of deceit.
As Reyna's gaze settled upon Hazel, an unspoken exchange passed between them, a volley of emotions and understanding that transcended words. The harsh glare that Reyna cast upon Hazel painted a portrait of judgment and scorn, a judgment that seemed carved from stone, unmoved by the nuances of circumstance.
With the weight of her gaze upon her, Hazel's heart clenched, a recognition of the formidable obstacle that Reyna presented. The very notion of pleading her case to Reyna seemed like a futile endeavor, for the expression etched upon the Praetor's features spoke of an authority that brooked no dissent.
"Hazel Levesque." The weight of Reyna's voice bore down on Hazel, each syllable carrying the authority of a leader accustomed to command. The timbre was honed from battles waged, a voice that had directed legions and faced down adversaries with unyielding resolve. It was the voice of a warrior, one who had ascended to her position through unwavering strength.
"The Senate of New Rome has found you guilty for the murder of Praetor Jason Grace, you have been sentenced to death."
The words fell like stones, heavy with accusation and anger. Reyna's voice was a weapon in itself, sharp, cutting through the air with the precision of a blade. The accusation was a gash in the fabric of the moment, a charge that echoed with the gravity of the crime Hazel was purported to have committed. The condemnation resounded, a verdict handed down by the Senate of New Rome, the death of Praetor Jason Grace attributed to her cold hands.
"Reyna…" Hazel's voice quavered, her words a fragile attempt to offer explanation, a plea to be heard amidst the torrent of emotions. But her utterance was met with an angry growl, a guttural rumble that stifled her defense.
"Silentium." The command fell from Reyna's lips with such authority that Hazel flinched, her voice silenced by its power. It was a sentence of sorts, a proclamation of Hazel's fate, a termination foretold. This was the culmination, the culmination of guilt and circumstance that had woven its tangled web around her. The grip of Reyna's justice held her in place, a specter of impending doom.
Amidst the shadows, Hazel's golden eyes darted, seeking an escape from the inescapable. It was the primal instinct of survival, a heartbeat's pulsing reminder that while Jason was lost, she would not relinquish herself to the same fate without resistance. The desire to live, to defy the sentence she faced, was a fire that blazed amidst the consuming darkness.
Her eyes shuttered, anticipating the opening of her cell. The sense of urgency, of possibilities dwindling, surged through her, a torrent of thoughts and plans. The idea of collapsing the roof, a bid for freedom, flickered like a candle's flame, casting shadows of both hope and dread. But the prospect of Reyna's potential demise extinguished that flame, a cost Hazel was not willing to pay.
Reyna's grasp on Hazel's arm was iron, an assertion of power that propelled her forward, a collision of fates. Hazel emerged from her cell, her eyes widening as the glint of handcuffs caught her attention. It was an unspoken continuation of the sentence, a binding that would lead her to the executioner's block. Her desperate instincts flared anew, and in a surge of strength, she pushed against the torrent of inevitability.
Reyna stumbled, the slight disarray a window of opportunity that Hazel seized with desperate determination. Her shove was an act of defiance, a testament that even in the face of fate's cruel hand, she would not surrender without a struggle. It was a moment of resistance, a refusal to be confined to the destiny assigned to her.
In the wake of her rebellion, the automatons lunged, their loyalty clashing with Hazel's defiance. Her power surged, precious metals yielding to her command. Aurum and Argentum hung suspended in the air, their aggression frozen by the might of Hazel's command.
"Hazel." The single word was a snap of authority, drawing Hazel's attention to Reyna's withdrawn blade and the daggers in her dark eyes. The caution that colored her scrutiny was palpable, an acknowledgment of the potential havoc Hazel's power could wreak. Reyna's gaze was a storm, one that sought to pierce through the chaos of the moment to discern the threads of truth.
"Reyna, I didn't kill Jason." Hazel's words were a desperate plea, her voice a reflection of the turmoil that churned within her. The dogs barked, their mechanical instincts detecting the deception laced within her words. The snarls were an echo of her inner guilt, a reminder that even unintentional harm bore its own weight of culpability.
As the dogs growled, Reyna's anger seemed to intensify. The momentum of her rush was a tempestuous surge of retribution, a culmination of frustration and anger. Hazel's apology was a shard of vulnerability amidst the turmoil, a concession to the guilt that gnawed at her conscience.
She flicked her wrist, slamming the gold and silver dogs into Reyna. She quickly spun around.
Hazel's determination surged. The corridor became a fleeting blur as she raced toward her escape. The sounds of pursuit reverberated like the pounding of drums, a rhythm of impending danger. The end of the corridor held the promise of freedom, of an escape from the confines that sought to ensnare her.
With a flick of her hand, Hazel commanded the stone to yield, her power shaping the world around her. The passage that emerged was a testament to her control over the earth, a brief glimpse of hope that beckoned her forward. But her optimism crumbled in an instant, a realization that the escape she sought was barred by an impenetrable wall of steel.
The lunge of Reyna's automaton heralded the inescapable threat. Hazel's instinct to react was too slow, and the bite of teeth around her arm was a searing, agonizing reality. The pain was a torrent, a symphony of agony that rendered Hazel's cries into an anguished chorus. Her attempts to defend herself were thwarted as Aurum's bite struck her side, knocking her to the ground.
Tears mingled with the pain, a testament to her torment. Through the haze, Reyna's approach was unmistakable, a harbinger of judgment and finality. The glint of Reyna's golden blade held a malevolent promise, a harbinger of Hazel's fate. It was a moment that encapsulated the weight of Reyna's anger, the culmination of Hazel's struggle against destiny.
"You must think I'm an idiot, Hazel." Reyna's words were sharp, dripping with scorn and a vindictive satisfaction. Blood trickled down from Reyna's forehead, the crimson rivulets echoing the blood that stained Hazel's existence. "You just gave me an excuse to kill you myself." She growled.
"Reyna please…"
The desperate plea that fell from Hazel's lips was a cry for salvation, a last-ditch effort to escape the inexorable blade that Reyna wielded. But Reyna's resolve was unyielding, her grip on her blade unwavering. The blade's descent was swift and cruel, a testament to the finality of the moment.
Hazel's gasp was a sharp intake of breath, her eyes wide with the suddenness of it all. As the blade pierced her chest, her world became a symphony of pain and darkness. The gasp transformed into a shuddering breath, a realization that this was the end, that death was claiming her once more.
Consciousness slipped through her grasp, like grains of sand slipping through her fingers. The shadows enveloped her, a cloak of oblivion that shielded her from the pain and turmoil that had defined her existence.
Hello, it's good to be back and write again. I know that means nothing to y'all but I used to write on here long ago. This is a story I've been working on for some time as it has allowed me to battle with my deepest darkest thoughts and finally push through some serious things I've been dealing with.
This story will be about Percy's journey after he loses everyone he loves, after Gaea destroys most of the word. Just a forewarning, it will have some dark and gory moments, but I feel will be a good journey for him. I hope you like it.
Please favorite and follow the story if you like it, as well as leave reviews so that I know that people are enjoying this story.
It will mean a lot to me if you do.
Thank you.