In the beginning, there was the word. And the word was with God. And the word was-

Wait. That's not right.

Not to say that it isn't true. Just that it's wrong, if the world was only full of prismatic shades of white and soulless voids of black it would be a dreadfully boring place to live. Not every truth is right. Not every lie is wrong.

Anyway, where were we?

Right. The beginning.

In the beginning, there was nothing. I don't mean nothing as an infinite expanse of black. Black didn't exist. Nothing did. It's a touch incomprehensible, I suppose, to imagine a place that didn't exist- to imagine nothing.

But there was nothing, and then, in an instant (and most certainly not 'After a long, long time' because time did not yet exist) there was something.

And she was something.

There was nothing and then there was something. And from something came everything. That is the simple tale they teach you when you're old enough to walk. It's true, but you need to know the truth inside the truth.

So there was something, and she couldn't help but notice all the nothing around her, and so she thought that someone ought to do something about all of this. And then came the slow, horrifying realization that there was no one else, and all these thoughts- these whispers and voices in her head- began to drive her mad.

Imagine being born, but not in the metaphorical sense. In the way that you can clearly remember the exact moment you came into being, and after that crushing memory, all these ridiculous little ideas start popping into your head. Silly words- what are words?- like sun and sky and earth and wind- what do they mean?- flow through you in your genesis.

And it's just awful. They scream at you like angry children- what are children?- and bash against your mind until it's bloody and beaten. And while they thrash you begin to truly understand that you are alone.

And yet.

They scream.

They scream, "BUILD ME".

And when she heard that-

I.

When she heard that, over and over and over again, the thought of just how to do that escaped every time it seemed in reach. And, well, she began to go a bit mad.

I began to go mad. There is no she-

Yes, there is a she, because she is not me. First of all, I'm a boy-

What you were has no significance to me. You ceased to exist when I-

That's funny because I'm existing right now and I'm telling you, lady, if you don't get out of my head in ten seconds I am going to lose it.

Your threats are meaningless boy-

See, I'm a boy-

I created the heavens and the earth, I am the God of gods-

If you're soooo powerful, oh great and radiant "God of gods", then you should use that power to get out of a twelve-year-old boy's head.

…

You can't, can you?

I need not explain myself to you.

Oh my God, you can't! You're stuck here! You can't do a thing to me, can you?

I do not need to do anything. Nature will simply take its course.

Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night. You've officially been downgraded from potential paranormal entity to too much adderall- why are you laughing?

Ah, the folly of youth. I'd quite forgotten the extent your pride could reach. I do not miss it.

Stop laughing, the raspiness really shows your age and I know women really don't like to be reminded of-

Do you really think, Perseus Jackson, that you have the upper hand? Do you really think you have any hope of standing against me? The Creator, The Watcher, the being of which you owe the existence of all you have ever known? You are a child, and soon you will not be anything at all.

Shut up.

Your arrogance is understandable, if woefully misplaced. The world has forgotten their place, forgotten their God and their other gods and their place in it. They will remember. And you will see the magnitude of your impertinence fully realized before you fade away.

I said shut up.

Do you not feel it? The slow replacement of your being, your mind and soul? Do you not feel how every piece of you yields to my power?

Shut up. Shut up you stupid, nothing of a voice.

You do not believe that. I can feel your fear, and while I much prefer reverence to terror, the latter is more acceptable than denial., I am very much real, and your fear- unlike your pride- is not misplaced at all. It is, in fact, the only sign of intelligent life I have seen in your weak mind so far.

You're pathetic, you know that? I'm sure you feel really tough spitting ten dollar words at a middle schooler-

Your heart rate has elevated to 112 beats per minute, your adrenal glands have activated and I can feel the sweat drip down your back. Your posterizing is poor, and furthermore, useless. I am- as you've said many times- inside your head. You have no more secrets. Your mind is yours no longer. You have been- or shortly will be- assimilated into something much greater than you could ever hope to understand.

Why- why do you keep saying things like that? That I won't be here anymore, that I'll disappear or something? What are you doing to me?

I feel quite confident that you know exactly what I am doing.

Say it. I want to hear it.

Well, this is quite unexpected. But I suppose your willpower has a limit-

Say it.

You already know. You can feel it. I see no purpose in a meaningless explanation.

Just say it! Just- just tell me. Please.

Your politeness… is acceptable. Very well, Perseus. You are, broken down to its simplest form, dying.

But-

But why?

Because I am here. It is not your fault, and there is nothing you or any force in this universe can do to stop it.

That- that doesn't answer anything. You're just killing me and you're not even going to tell me why?

I have told you enough.

…

You don't know, do you? Why you're here or why you can't get out?

…No.

Well if you don't know why, can you at least tell me how?

I have not paid attention to mortals in millennia, but even in my time there were some things we did not tell children.

Really? Now you wanna pull the "You're just a kid" card? After you tell me I'm dying? You're a class act, lady.

I am trying to be considerate of your delicate mind. Do not tempt me to slice it into ribbons.

In today's times, the year of our Lord 2005, people would actually love to know how they're gonna die. Twelve-year-olds included.

You will not be able to handle it.

Lady, you're sucking my soul out from the inside. You owe me. Tell me how I'm dying.

You will wish you had not asked. You will beg me to erase the knowledge from your mind. I will not. Actions have consequences. You will live with this knowledge- for however long that may be- until you expire.

I might throw myself off the fire escape and "expire" right now if you don't tell me.

…You are a very strange boy.

Thanks. Now c'mon, tell me.

Every single day, some small part of your being, your soul or essence or whatever else you'd like to call it, is taken from you. The mortal brain was not meant to be occupied by two separate consciousnesses', let alone a deity's. As such, one will be absorbed into the other. Understand me, Perseus, when I say that it is not your fault. No god in Olympus, Asgard or the Duat would survive the position you are in right now.

Right. Well, that's not so ba-

I am not finished. Every day, you will lose a part of yourself, and I in turn will gain a part of me. It will be slow at first, unnoticeable even. You might find gaps in your memory and knowledge, but you will soon forget that as well. One day, you will wake up and forget the layout of your room, and then the entirety of New York. You will not know what planet, let alone country you inhabit. The concepts of planets and countries will soon be meaningless as well. Your depth perception will be next-

Okay. Okay, I think I get it-

Words will be exponentially harder to perceive, until they are nothing more than lines of endless black. You will forget how to write. Every movement will be a challenge, as it will be impossible to tell where you are, and what is safe and what is not. Your motor functions will deteriorate. Your words will slur until your mouth will simply not move anymore. Your hands will shake-

Okay. I'm done. I get it. I get it now I'm sorry for-

And even if you manage to get a hold of anything, it is no guarantee that you will maintain your grip. One day, you will forget what your limbs are even for, and your interest will never rekindle as they will be as broken and fragmented as your mind. You will age rapidly, as your body fights to overcome an altogether useless battle, your godly DNA unwilling to bend until it eventually breaks. You will grow stronger than ever before, and then you will plummet.

Godly DNA? What- Hold on. Okay, just slow down-

All this will result in your outside looking as gnarled and mangled as your inside. Faces will become unrecognizable. First celebrities and figures that hold no real meaning. But then your teachers, your friends and eventually your mother. All you will see is collage of faces, bits and pieces sparking recognition before fading as soon as they were remembered-

Stop. Stop, please stop-

You will not, however, be unable to form new memories or gain new knowledge as your mind and body are slowly torn apart. You will meet new people, make new memories and grow as a person. And then, one day, you will not be that person. You will not even be this person. You will be lesser- not even truly human as integral parts are warped and stolen.

Shut up. God, please shut up-

You might fall in love, wake up beside the same person for years on end and know every and anything there is to know about them. Then they will be a stranger, and you yourself, more of animal-

SHUT UP! SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUPSHU-

Every single day you, you will wake up and be less like yourself. Every single day, there will be something missing. I do not know when, and I would not tell you if I did. Live out your days, as many or as little as you have left, with as much joy as you can muster. Grow strong, learn and spend time with those who are meaningful to you. Your mother especially, as your days with her are numbered-

SHUT UP! SHUT UP YOU STUPID, WEAK MONGREL! I AM EVERYTHING! I AM THE SOIL BENEATH YOUR FEET AND THE AIR IN YOUR LUNGS! I AM KHAOS AND YOU WILL NOT-

Oh God.

Oh God, no.

Every single day. Less like yourself.

And more like me.

Sally Jackson stared at the paper she'd found on the coffee table, hands trembling with a fear she had never once felt before.

"Per-" She tried to yell, choking down a sob she wasn't aware had been building. "Perc-" She tried again, failing and sinking down into the couch. It was too much. Poseidon had never prepared her for this, never once mentioning a Khaos or deities in her son's brain or- or anything of the sort.

Her mouth opened once more, but her tears could be restrained no longer.

Sally Jackson cried.

Percy Jackson walked out of his room twenty minutes later, his own sobbing finally subsiding. He passed through the living room on the way to the kitchen, throwing a quick glance at his mother before turning away and rubbing his red eyes. She couldn't know, it would destroy her.

That was an understatement.

It was destroying him. It would kill her.

He would tell her eventually. In a couple years. Maybe 10. Or 20.

Or maybe he wouldn't live past this year and he should-

What was that noise?

He rushed back into the living room, no longer caring if his tear stains and mussed hair were visible. The sound was awful, like the shrieks of a dying animal or some other unholy-

Oh no.

He locked eyes with his mother. Her normally straight and shining hair had been pulled and twisted into knots, the result of her wringing hands. Her uniform was unbuttoned and her nametag- alongside the TV remote and anything else that had previously rested on the small coffee table- had been thrown across the room, leaving small dents in the drywall.

She wiped her bright red nose and let out a hacking cough before wiping her equally red eyes. "Percy." She said in a whisper with a calm that did not match her appearance. She looked down at the paper he'd been writing on earlier. The paper that had caused him to have a mental breakdown. The paper he'd forgotten as he'd fled to his room. "We need to talk."