Uh... so I can already smell the reviews.
"Mo, you have 3 other fics, what about them?"
Leave me beeeeeeeeee! I'll update everything, I promise.
Introducing my PJO/HP fic...
THE BOY WHO DIED
CHAPTER ONE: THE BOY WHO DIED
It was an accident.
That was a fact that Percy would maintain completely and utterly. It was absolutely not his fault.
Succumbing to his fatal injuries? To be fair, you couldn't really blame him, he was literally fighting the Titan Lord! Although taking the scythe was kinda hard to justify.
Running into Hecate in the Underworld? It's not like Percy knew the goddess' schedule off by heart.
Taking her deal? Come on, would you turn down the chance for a second chance at life?
Crash-landing in the 1990's, fighting witches and wizards from London, and committing a plethora of magical crimes?
That was... admittedly his fault.
Let's back up a bit.
It started with the Underworld. Not that Percy expected his day to go any better, considering he'd just took down Kronos, the literal Lord of Time. Fatal injuries? Check. Stomach-churning exhaustion? Double check. But when the last of the dust from Mount Olympus had settled, he found himself in the endless gray mist of the River Styx.
The final battle with Kronos hadn't exactly gone to plan.
Percy had stood on the battered remnants of Mount Olympus, the once-majestic citadel turned into a chaotic battleground.
He could hear Annabeth's fierce battle cry as she wielded her dagger, and the thrum of Grover's panpipes in his chest as he called forth nature's fury against the Titan.
But Kronos - in the form of Luke, seemed to absorb the very light around him. It was hopeless. "You think you can defeat me, children of the gods? I am time incarnate! I have seen your futures, and they all end in failure."
Percy's heart raced as he gripped Riptide tightly, feeling the familiar weight of the sword in his hand. This was it - the moment he had prepared for, trained for, sacrificed for. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and the metallic tang of blood.
He watched helplessly as Kronos sent a burst of energy staright at Annabeth. She groaned, and fell unconscious.
"Grover!" Percy shouted, "Take her away! Now!"
Grover nodded, looking between his best friend and the Titan in front of him before scooping up Annabeth and running out of the throne room, daughter of Athena in tow.
Kronos, in the guise of Luke, wore an expression that blended amusement with contempt. "You're brave, I'll give you that," he sneered, his voice low. "But bravery will not save you, boy."
"Maybe not," Percy shot back. "But it can kill you."
"I am a Titan! A son of Gaea! You… are nothing to me!" And with that, Kronos raised his scythe.
Time slowed around him. Percy was doomed. No other way to say it. He braced himself.
Then he felt it.
A tug in his gut, so hard it was physically painful. Percy grit his teeth. There was no water to save him, no hurricane to hide behind. Just a bunch of thrones, stones, and marble.
Percy felt… anger. Insurmountable anger. He had fought Titans, heck, he had killed some!
He had faced the Minotaur, the Chimera, Medusa - all at the age of twelve. He'd stared death in the face more times than he could count. Anger surged through him, water threatining to boil over.
The devastation he had unleashed in Mt Saint Helens - white-hot, powerful, unstable - felt like nothing compared to this.
The earth shook, slowly, steadily - growing in anger as its master commanded it. A son of the Earthshaker.
Kronos looked him dead in the eye, and Percy saw it - a flicker.
With a primal scream that echoed through the crumbling halls of Olympus, Percy surged forward, propelled by a whirlwind of rage and desperation. Riptide felt alive in his hand.
"You dare?" Kronos shouted, blocking Percy's sword with his scythe.
Percy didn't respond - he wasn't focused on witty comebacks or jokes, not even on surviving - he just wanted to make this Titan suffer.
The tug in his gut grew stronger, stronger, stronger.
The Lord of Time roared, letting loose the full force of his power.
Percy understood immediately. Kronos was attempting to assume his true form. But he wouldn't let him.
Kronos' eyes were glowing a cruel gold, so bright it hurt to look at. But Percy held his gaze.
As sword and scythe clashed, as grandfather and grandson fought, as Titan and demigod attacked each other - the tug in Percy's gut finally exploded into pure power.
Thrones exploded, fissures erupted under Kronos' feet, the very mountain was being shook.
Time seemed to slow - although it very well might have.
The throne room was crumbling, and Percy Jackson was at the middle of it.
The Titan seemed to understand what Percy was doing. "No!" He snarled, his whole body glowing a brilliant gold.
Percy shouted, unleashing everything he had.
Their eyes locked with a sort of acceptance - they both knew neither would make it out alive.
Green eyes on gold.
Percy poured all of his pent-up anger, pain, and determination into Riptide. The blade shimmered, radiating a powerful light. Percy's heart raced, the world around him a blur of noise and chaos. He could feel the tug in his gut intensifying, the raw power threatening to overflow as he stood his ground against the force of time itself.
Kronos surged forward, the scythe cleaving through the air as he attempted to break Percy's resolve. But he wouldn't waver. He stood firm, a son of Poseidon refusing to be washed away by the tide of fate. He met Kronos blow for blow, their weapons clashing.
The world around them exploded in a brilliant flash, the throne room collapsing into chaos, marble crumbling as Olympus began to fall.
As the light consumed them, Percy felt a strange calm wash over him. He knew this was the end, but he wasn't afraid. In that fleeting moment, he understood: he had fought with everything he had, and he had won.
Green eyes on gold - two forces meeting at the brink of destruction.
And then, darkness.
So that was the not-so-fun story of how Percy had died.
"I'm... dead," Percy had muttered, still clutching his side where a nasty gash oozed blood.
And then, as if things couldn't get any weirder, there she was - Hecate, Titaness of magic, standing right there on the edge of the riverbank of the Styx. She had an aura like moonlight, eyes glimmering with some unreadable intent.
"Not quite," she said, her voice soft but firm. "You're at a crossroads, Percy Jackson. One more step, and Charon will ferry you to Hades - you shall cross into the realm of the dead. But there's another path for you - if you're willing to take a risk."
Risk? That was practically his middle name.
"I don't exactly have much left to lose," Percy replied, wincing as he tried to straighten up. "What's the deal?"
"A second chance."
"At life?"
She nodded. "Will you accept?"
Percy found himself nodding.
And suddenly he had the hilt of something in his hand - but Riptide was in his pocket. Percy frowned.
When he saw what he was holding, he almost screamed.
Kronos' scythe.
Percy stared at the weapon in his hand, the cold double edgedmetal gleaming ominously in the dim light. It felt heavy with power, but also with a weight of dread.
He couldn't fathom how it had come to him, or what it meant for his future. The thought of wielding the very tool of the Titan Lord sent a shiver down his spine.
Around him, the Underworld seemed as chaotic as ever, swirling shadows and flickering flames illuminating a twisted landscape. He could hear the faint whispers of lost souls, the wails of the damned echoing in the distance. But he wasn't in the Underworld for long; the sickly sweet scent of decay made his stomach churn.
Was he really dead?
"Hey, Hecate…" he said, hoping to get some sort of response. "You still around? I could really use an explanation here!"
Hecate, with her raven-black hair and piercing gaze, stood tall, her dark robes swirling around her like smoke.
"You took my deal," she said, her voice a low, melodic hum. "You accepted a second chance."
Percy frowned. "Yeah, but I thought I'd get a nice beach vacation or something. Not-" he gestured wildly to the scythe, "-this!"
Hecate's lips curled into a small, enigmatic smile. "A second chance, yes. But not without strings attached. The scythe chose you, Percy Jackson. You must learn to control it. It is both a weapon and a key."
"A key to what?" he asked, his voice edged with suspicion.
Hecate gave a smile - an amused, secretive smile that made Percy's stomach flip. "A world outside of yours that's in need of help. It's in London, the year 1992. Magic is brewing, and it's beyond most gods' influence. You'll be sent there with your powers intact. But your status as a demigod will remain a secret, and you'll need to navigate this world on your own. What you do there will determine if you return."
Percy blinked. "And why do you care about this strange world?"
"It is a world of magic, Perseus."
Ah, right. Goddess, or Titaness, whatever, of magic.
"How do I know you're not tricking me?" Percy said, eyes narrowed. "You sided with the Titans, right?"
Hecate rolled her eyes. "You're already dead," she replied, her tone almost bored. "But let's not focus on negatives. This is an opportunity, Percy. You have the chance to be a hero again, in a world that desperately needs one."
Percy rubbed his temples, trying to process everything. "So, let me get this straight. I get to go to a different time and place, still have my powers, but I have to keep my identity a secret? What's the catch?"
"The catch," Hecate said, leaning closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "is that you'll be facing challenges that the gods themselves cannot interfere with. This world has its own rules, its own magic, and you'll have to rely on your wits and strength alone. If you fail... well, the world's at stake."
Percy frowned. He was used to dealing with impossible odds, but this was something entirely different. "And if I succeed?"
"Then perhaps," Hecate said, her smile widening. "perhaps you may find the peace you seek."
Percy took a deep breath, weighing his options. The Underworld was waiting for him, and he could feel its cold fingers beckoning. But the thought of another adventure, of being able to fight once more, ignited a flicker of hope within him. This was what he was born for.
"Alright," he said finally, determination hardening in his voice. "I'm in."
"Excellent choice," Hecate said, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. "Now, let's make it official."
With a wave of her hand, the mist of the River Styx began to swirl around him, the air crackling with energy. Percy felt the familiar pull of water, of power, and the world began to dissolve into a haze of colors and sounds.
"Remember, Percy," Hecate's voice echoed as he felt himself being pulled away, "the Fates will not touch you now. You are the master of your destiny. Make it count."
It sounded like a cheesy Hallmark card. But hey, Hecate was giving him a chance at living again. Percy could live with a little sappiness.
And just like that, the boy who died was reborn into a world of witches, wizards, and endless possibilities.
THE BOY WHO DIED
Percy landed with a crash on the cobblestone streets of 1990s London.
The impact sent a jolt through his body, and he rolled onto his back, blinking at the cloudy sky above. It was overcast, typical London weather, but the air was filled with a faint scent of something sweet and musky, like a mixture of damp earth and chimney smoke.
He sat up, brushing the dirt off his jeans, and surveyed his surroundings. Brick buildings lined the narrow street, their facades a patchwork of age and character.
He took off his leather armour - there was no need for it, after all - and set it on the ground. Percy kept the scythe, though. It seemed important.
A few curious onlookers stared at him, eyebrows raised and mouths slightly agape. Percy shot them a grin, trying to play off the absurdity of his appearance - sweaty, battle-worn, and with a distinct aura of otherworldliness clinging to him.
"Alright, Percy," he muttered to himself, "let's get this adventure started."
He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. Hecate's words echoed in his mind: "You'll need to navigate this world on your own." Great. He was back in action but without a map, a guide, or even a clue about what was to come.
Standing, Percy figured he should probably find some shelter and blend in until he could assess the situation. But first, he needed to figure out where he was.
"Okay, London," he said, scanning the street signs. "Let's see what you've got."
As he walked, Percy couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. The gazes of the locals lingered, their whispers almost audible in the air. "Look at that boy," one woman murmured to a friend, clutching her shopping bag tightly. "He looks like he's just stepped out of war."
Percy had no idea what the mortals saw instead of the cursed scythe, but it couldn't be good.
He passed by a café with a vibrant yellow awning and a small outdoor seating area. The smell of freshly baked goods wafted towards him, and his stomach grumbled in response. Percy paused, considering a quick bite to eat. A little sustenance wouldn't hurt, and it might help him blend in. He approached the counter, where a kindly older gentleman stood, wiping down the surface.
"Um, hi! What's good here?" Percy asked, trying to sound casual.
The man looked him over, clearly curious about his disheveled appearance, but smiled warmly. "Everything's good, lad. We have fresh scones, pastries, and the best tea in London."
"Sounds nice," Percy said, raising an eyebrow. "I think I'll just have a cup of tea and a scone, please."
The man chuckled, a sound that rumbled deep in his chest. "Even heroes need their comforts, eh? I'll take a cup and a scone, then."
As he waited, Percy glanced around. The café was cozy, decorated with mismatched furniture and colorful art. A couple at the next table whispered excitedly, glancing at him. He caught snippets of their conversation - "Can you see that guy? He has a strange look to him."
"Here you go, my friend," the man said, sliding a steaming cup and a plate with a scone towards him.
As he took a sip of the tea, the warmth spread through him, easing some of the tension in his muscles. Just as he was about to dig into the scone, the café door swung open, a gust of chilly air following in with a tall figure cloaked in dark robes.
Percy froze.
It was Hecate.
She scanned the room with piercing eyes that locked onto him instantly. It was like being caught in a spotlight. Percy instinctively reached for Riptide, but she raised a hand.
"What is a demigod doing in London?" She asked.
Percy froze mid-bite, his hand hovering over the scone as she stepped inside. He had hoped for a quiet moment, but the Fates apparently hated him no matter what time period he was in.
Hecate - at least, the Hecate from this past - looked different from the one he had encountered by the River Styx. She was still intimidating, with that same otherworldly aura, but there was something more... aloof. Detached. Like she wasn't quite the same person he had made a deal with.
Although she wasn't, was she?
Her eyes narrowed as they scanned the room, eventually landing on him. She moved forward with slow, deliberate steps, her robes brushing the floor like shadows clinging to her.
Percy swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He had already faced this goddess once, but this time she had no idea who he was, and she didn't look very interested in polite conversation.
"What is a demigod doing in London?" Her voice was sharp, and though she didn't recognize him, her eyes held a dangerous glint.
Percy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to play it cool. "I, uh... just stopping by for tea?" He gestured to his cup. "I've heard London has the best of the best."
Hecate's expression didn't change. She glided closer, towering over him. "Don't toy with me, boy. The power that surrounds you reeks of the gods. But you... I don't recognize your face or name."
"Yeah, well, that's because we haven't met," Percy said, keeping his tone light but inwardly panicking. He hadn't planned for this. He hadn't planned for much, to be fair. "And I'm not here for trouble, I swear."
Hecate's eyes flickered with curiosity, but the tension remained. "You stand out like a beacon among mortals. Who are you? What brings you to my realm?"
"Your realm?" Percy asked, confused.
She nodded. "The city of magic is under my domain. Now explain who you are," her eyes narrowed, "Before I turn you into dust."
As Hecate loomed over him, demanding answers, Percy knew he couldn't afford to stay vague. She was a goddess, and withholding information could make her more suspicious - and more dangerous. He had to choose his words carefully.
Taking a deep breath, he looked up at her. "Alright, I'll explain," he said, setting down his cup. "But it's... complicated."
Hecate crossed her arms, clearly not in the mood for games. "Start talking."
"My name is Percy Jackson," he began cautiously. "I'm a demigod, from... well, from a future that hasn't happened yet. It's hard to explain, but I was fighting Kronos - you know, dear old grandad the Titan - on Mount Olympus. Things didn't exactly go well, and I ended up... dead."
"Well, that explains the scythe." Hecate's brow furrowed, her expression more intrigued than hostile now. "Dead? Yet here you stand, in my city, very much alive. And Kronos lies in Tartarus."
"Yeah, well, it gets weirder," Percy continued. "After I died, I was at the River Styx, and you showed up. Except, not this you. A future you, from my time. She made me an offer - a chance to come back, but there was a catch."
Hecate's eyes narrowed slightly. "A deal? With me?"
Percy nodded. "Yeah. She said there was a world in need of help. A world beyond the reach of the gods, where magic ruled, and where the Fates wouldn't be able to touch me. The deal was that if I could make a difference there, maybe I could get my life back."
For a moment, Hecate remained silent, processing what he had just said. The other customers in the café seemed to blur into the background as her focus sharpened on him.
Then she laughed. It was an enrapturing sound - almost mad. "Of course I did." Hecate said.
Percy blinked, thrown off by her sudden laughter. It was a sound that danced between amusement and something crazier . "What do you mean, 'of course'?"
"Why wouldn't I send you?" Hecate mused, her eyes glinting with mischief. "I needed help. Future me sent a hero from the then-present, to help past me. It's delightful, really. The Fates must be laughing at me."
"Isn't that like a paradox or something?"
"Oh, no need to get into specifics. It gets wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey, you know?"
Percy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Look, I get that." He did not, in fact, get that. "But I need to figure out what I'm supposed to do."
"Ah, but that is the question, isn't it?" Hecate replied, her tone suddenly serious. "What does a boy like you, who has already faced death, do in a world where magic runs rampant and danger lurks around every corner?"
Percy swallowed hard, the weight of her words settling over him. "I guess I… help people. Figure out what's threatening this world and take it down."
"A noble pursuit, indeed. I see why I chose you. But I caution you, Percy Jackson: this world is unlike your own. The magic here is unpredictable, and the power struggles are deep-rooted. You might not be the only one looking for a way to tip the balance."
"Great, more enemies," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Just what I needed."
Hecate regarded him for a moment, then her expression softened slightly. "But you also have allies, Percy. You are not alone in this, despite the veil of secrecy that shrouds your existence here."
"Allies?" He said sarcastically. "Like you?"
She nodded. "Exactly like me. I can teach you magic! It'll be exactly what you need to navigate this world," she continued, her eyes sparkling with intrigue. "Magic here is not like what you're accustomed to; it flows differently, shaped by intent and will. You have a natural affinity for it, thanks to your divine heritage. Learning how to harness it will be easy."
"Right."
"And then you can go to Hogwarts! A demigod in Hogwarts…" she frowned. "I don't think that's ever been done!"
Percy nodded as if he knew what this 'Hogwarts' was. It sounded like a distant relative to the Clazmonian Sow.
"Oh!" Hecate clapped her hands together. "Who is your godly parent? I sense the sea on you. Triton, perhaps?"
Percy made a face. "No, its-"
Hecate help up a hand. "Maybe Kymopoleia?"
"Who?"
"A river spirit, then? Has Thetis finally gotten over Achilles and given birth to a mortal child?"
"No!" Percy said. "My dad is Poseidon."
"Poseidon?" Hecate said, mouth agape. "I was under the impression that he and his brothers had sworn not to have kids."
"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence," Percy replied, crossing his arms defensively. "He's not exactly the type to stick to rules. But that's a long story."
Hecate studied him, her gaze piercing through his bravado. "A story I'd like to hear, but we have more pressing matters. If you're the son of Poseidon, your potential is much greater than I initially anticipated."
Percy raised an eyebrow. "Great, but I don't know the first thing about magic. I can barely control storms half the time!"
"Magic is not just about control," she said, a knowing smile forming. "It's about understanding. You've already demonstrated immense strength and willpower in your past battles. Now, you need to learn how to channel that into magic. And I could help you with your father's other aspects and powers…"
"Okay, so what's first?" Percy asked, eager to change the subject. If Hecate could help him unlock his other powers, his powers as a son of the Stormbringer, of the Earthshaker- Percy found himself anticipating it, despite himself.
"Mortals. So impatient. We must set up a base of operations, so to speak. If you truly want to save the wizarding world, Percy Jackson, you must be prepared. And I will not teach you magic in a cafe."
Percy nodded. "Got it. And thanks... for not blasting me to Tartarus or anything."
Hecate's lips quirked into a faint smile. "Just remember, the world of magic has its own dangers. Watch your step, and perhaps you'll live long enough to fulfill whatever purpose brought you here."
Percy winced internally. Great. More cryptic god talk.
Hecate got up, leaving a few coins on the table. She winked at the waiter, then walked out the cafe, Percy right behind her.
Percy might have been in a new land, in an old time, but at least, for now, he had an ally - or at least, not an enemy. And that was something.
Boom shaka laka! This is basically just me being my fourteen year old self and making a PJO/HP crossover!
Any ideas for pairings, plot, or anything really is appreciated.
On a more positive note, I might update this regularly if enough people seem to like it.
Over and out!