More to come! I hope you enjoy what's next, and thank you all for the kind reviews. I'm so glad you've enjoyed the story so far!
Athena PoV:
We arrived just in time. The giants, in their arrogance, have finally declared their intent. War is here, and now we get to end these pathetic excuses for replacements. Our so-called banes—what a joke. Some even dare to think they can claim us goddesses, as if we're trophies to be won. They'll learn the truth soon enough. We are not the fledgling gods we once were. We're ancient, entrenched, and our power has only grown sharper with time.
The real threat is the Earth Mother, now that she's awake. But my father and uncles should be able to handle her. Together, they should be more than a match for her. And if they're not... well, that's where the fear comes in. Only the Big Three have a chance against her.
I find my daughter among the chaos. Annabeth looks up at me, eyes sharp, expecting answers. She deserves them. I haven't made her path easy—perhaps I'll make amends after this. The boy has earned my favor, and a few other rewards might just patch things up between us. She's my best, my greatest, my favorite, even if I haven't always shown it.
I lay out the plan, quick and to the point. "We cut the head off the snake before Gaia can pull herself together. We can't let her unite with the giants. They need to be taken down fast—separated, isolated, beaten before they can rally to their mother."
Annabeth's brow furrows. "Just like that? You're not even worried about them?"
I shake my head, almost amused. "They're gnats, Annabeth. They may be tall and full of bluster, but they're nothing compared to us. The only reason they're a threat is that they can't die unless one of you sends them down with us. But with us—Olympians—and the strongest demigods of this era? They're already as good as dust."
Her expression shifts, but I keep talking, my voice low. "We each face a different bane. No distractions, no egos. We can't afford even one mistake. It's cautious, maybe too much so—but I'll take caution over defeat. You know what's at stake if we fail." I don't need to spell it out for her. The shame, the indignities that would follow... it's a future too bitter to imagine. No, better to focus on what we can control—on cutting down every last one of them.
Then I see him—Percy, diving into the fray, a force of nature amid the chaos. For a moment, everything else fades away. There's something captivating about the way he moves—too skilled, too disciplined, too furious. He fights like a god of war, but not like Ares. No, Percy's rage is a controlled burn, refined into a weapon, precise and lethal. My grip tightens on my spear, my hand sliding along the shaft as if it has a mind of its own, as though my body is acting on instinct, separate from my mind's reason. He shouldn't be this good.
Riptide is a blur of bronze in his hand, each arc and thrust cutting down giants with a savage grace. Anger and amusement flicker in his sea-green eyes, like he's daring the chaos to overwhelm him, and somehow, he always wins. With a vicious swing, he severs Mimas's hand clean off, and the giant staggers back, howling in pain. But I know it will heal; it always does—unless god and demigod strike in unison. But Percy doesn't falter. He doesn't hesitate. He drives forward, heading straight for Polybotes—his father's bane.
Why does he infuriate me so? I should despise him. He is the son of my greatest rival, an upstart sea spawn who dares to think he belongs beside my daughter. I've told myself that a thousand times, clinging to logic like a shield. He isn't good enough for Annabeth—how could he be? But the thought rings hollow, brittle, crumbling under the weight of what I've seen. It shatters in my mind when I watch him fight, the way he moves—like he's part of some grand ballet, elegant and furious in equal measure. I've seen him achieve the impossible too many times. Slaying his father's old lover, Medusa, and mailing her head to Olympus as a message. Beating Ares—my brother—in single combat. And he did it using Annabeth's own advice, that strength must bow to wisdom. To my surprise, he listened. He bowed to wisdom—my wisdom—without even realizing it, like some twisted, unknowing pledge of allegiance to me.
It makes me furious. And yet... I remember the way he saved Artemis from Atlas, the way he throws himself into the fires of the world to protect those I hold dear. It's not just Annabeth he's protected, time and again—it's everything I hold sacred. Why does it bother me so much? Why does his presence on this battlefield make my chest tighten, a warning I can't quite put into words?
Poseidon is near him, swatting away monsters with barely a thought, trying to reach his son. Zeus battles nearby, hurling thunderbolts with a fury I've rarely seen. And across the battlefield, Artemis cuts her way toward Percy, her expression fiercer than I've ever seen. She's been... different, ever since he saved her. There's a softness, a vulnerability that she never showed before, even if it's buried beneath her ferocity now. I don't understand it, and it grates against everything I thought I knew. It fills me with something foreign, something hot and spiteful that twists deep in my chest.
Then, cutting through the chaos, comes a manic, chilling laugh. I turn sharply to see Dionysus, his face wild with glee as he breaks a Cyclops's mind with a mere look. Madness burns in his eyes as he sets his sights on his banes, Otis and Ephialtes. He's too far gone to stick to the plan, drunk on the bloodshed and chaos. With Father lifting his leash, there's no hope of controlling him. He is madness incarnate, unleashed.
I grit my teeth, turning to Annabeth, urgency boiling over into frustration. "Dionysus was supposed to fight my bane. We're supposed to fight his. We have to back him up. Now. With me."
She nods, understanding the urgency, and we charge. My spear tears through the air, each strike vicious and unrelenting, ripping through anything that dares stand in my way—it cannot be withstood. Annabeth's drakon-bone sword is a blur beside me, cutting down enemies like they are nothing but reeds in a field. She moves with precision, with a ferocity that burns as brightly as my own. Pride surges through me, fierce and undeniable. She is my daughter, my greatest creation.
But behind that pride, a nagging, gnawing question festers—a thought I can't quite shake. Did I lose her? Did I push her away, all because of my stubborn pride, my refusal to accept her relationship with the Sea Spawn, and my role in her descent into Tartarus? I sent her on a fool's quest, both dangerous and impossible, a decision born of a manic madness, driven by Minerva's rage. The weight of that miscalculation lingers like a shadow, even as we tear through the battlefield, even as I fight beside the daughter I might have failed.
Dionysus:
The Cyclopes are massive, towering over me, but I don't care. I haven't felt this alive in centuries. One lunges, but I sidestep easily, my body moving with a fluidity that feels almost alien after so long restrained. My hand lashes out, cracking against the other's chest with a force that sends it stumbling. Laughter bubbles up from deep within, high and wild, as I spin back to face the first.
It swings a fist the size of a boulder, but I catch its arm and pull it close, dragging it into an embrace. I feel my form swell, stretching until I meet its eye to eye, matching its monstrous size. The wine boils in my veins, thrumming with the power Father finally let me tap into. It's more intoxicating than any vintage I've ever known, raw and electric.
"Blood to wine?" I muse aloud, a manic laugh tearing from my throat at the sheer absurdity of it. My fingers dig in, feeling the pulse shift beneath my grip—thick, golden ichor thinning, darkening, transforming into something richer. The metallic tang fades, replaced by the heady, intoxicating aroma of crushed grapes. It shudders, its once-golden blood now a deep, dark red, bubbling up through parted lips like a fountain. I bare my teeth and bite down into his neck, sinking deep into the hot, pulsing flow.
The taste explodes across my senses—dense, complex, like a Château Latour, powerful and wild. Each heartbeat reveals layers of dark plum and earth, mingling with the heat of divine ichor. But there's more, a sharper edge beneath it all—a streak of vibrant acidity like an Aubert Chardonnay, cutting through the darkness with bright, electric notes of citrus and oak. Full-bodied and unrestrained, it's fire and sweetness all at once, burning down my throat and searing through my veins.
It lingers on my tongue, a rich, heady blend that imprints itself on my mind, a secret I'll savor for centuries. The last traces of its essence dissolve into golden dust beneath me, leaving a faint, honeyed sweetness on my lips. A thrill crackles through my blood, a reminder of this wild, untamed power.
The other Cyclops watches, its eye wide with terror, and I can't help but laugh again, the sound tearing through the battlefield. It tries to flee, but I'm faster. My hand snaps out, seizing its head, pulling it close until our foreheads press together. "Look into my eyes," I whisper, voice barely more than a hiss. It shudders, a low moan escaping as I rip through its mind, unraveling the threads of sanity like a tangled spool. I leave it with a gift—a potent cocktail of madness, paranoia, and delusions that would shatter even the most stable mind. I release it, shoving it toward its allies. It stumbles, eyes wild, howling as it tears into them, a drunken, mad puppet at my command.
And then I see them—my banes. Otis and Ephialtes. The sight of the giants, their faces twisted into mocking sneers, cuts through the haze of pleasure clouding my thoughts. Rage swells, untamed and blistering, blotting out everything else. I throw back my head and howl, a sound that splits the air, primal and raw. Without thinking, I hurl myself at them, every ounce of my power focused on a single, animalistic need—destruction.
Hazel PoV:
The gods' arrival slams into me like a tidal wave, the air crackling with a charge that sears my skin and rattles my bones. It's overwhelming—like standing too close to a roaring bonfire, feeling the heat threaten to consume me. But I dig my heels into the trembling ground, forcing myself to stay upright, to focus. I can't afford to get swept away by the awe of it.
Hecate emerges from the shadows, slipping into existence like a sudden gust of icy wind. Her presence bites through the chaos, her eyes sharp and distant, the cold edge of her power cutting into me. But there—beneath that distant gaze—I catch a glimmer of something warmer. It could be pride, or maybe it's just my desperation imagining things.
"Alcyoneus we shall face, child. You will have your vengeance and defeat your father's bane. For a third time, he shall taste defeat by your hands," she says, her voice hammering into me, stripped of any gentleness, raw and unrestrained. It's as if she and the other gods have cast aside all pretense, revealing the unbridled force they've kept hidden behind their facades. Is this what they really are? Power and fury, unmasked and unleashed, no longer pretending to appear human? It's terrifying, a glimpse into the primal essence beneath their polished exteriors, and it sends a shiver crawling up my spine.
After all these years the name still sends a jolt through me, and I tighten my grip on my sword, fighting the tremor in my hands. My death all those decades ago, my mothers death, Asphodel….. No concentrate Hazel!
"How can we beat him?" My voice comes out strained, barely rising above the rumble of shifting earth. "We're in the heart of the gods' kingdom!"
Her eyes narrow, her harsh words slicing through my fear. "What have I been teaching you, child? Your power is greater than you know! You are the new mistress of the maze—Daedalus's creation, reborn by your will. I could not have predicted such a thing. Ananke must favor you, child. Now concentrate—open a passage to the land beyond the gods."
Her command strikes me like a whip, the shock snapping me out of my haze. Mistress of the maze? It feels impossible, but there's no room for doubt. I see the expectation in her eyes, the command in her words, and something wild stirs inside me—something that refuses to be afraid.
I grit my teeth and plant my feet, willing my heart to slow. The ground shifts beneath me, rolling like it's waiting for me to shape it. I reach out with my mind, feeling for that familiar, elusive thread, like trying to grip smoke with my bare hands. My breath catches, fear clawing up my throat, but I shove it down, focusing on that thin, fragile thread of power.
The air around me bends, a tremor running through the earth, as if the world itself is holding its breath. The ground groans, splitting open with a sound like tearing flesh, revealing a dark spiral that reaches down into the depths. From that abyss, a door rises, ancient wood twisted and splintered, each creak and shudder like a heartbeat.
And then I feel it—the maze. Its presence rushes over me like a wave, eager and hungry, like a pet too long confined that's finally caught my scent. It purrs, a deep, resonant hum that thrums through my bones, coiling around my mind with an intoxicating warmth. It's wild, fierce, waiting for me to guide it, to command it. A smile pulls at my lips, even as the chill of terror lingers in my gut. The maze is mine, and it's ready to obey.
Cold air seeps from the dark passage, biting into my skin, leaving trails of frost where it touches. But the way is open, real by my will alone, leading into a place where gods cannot follow. I've done it—I've carved a door where there should be none, and my heart pounds with the thrill and terror of bending reality to my will.
Hecate's grip tightens on my shoulder, her fingers like shards of ice biting into my skin, seeping cold deep into my bones. Her voice is unyielding iron, sharp and unforgiving. "You must face this beast alone, Hazel Levesque. I cannot follow you through that door. My power would bleed away in that place—drain from me until I am weaker than the shadows themselves. I would become a burden, not an ally."
Her words slam into me like a physical blow, knocking the breath from my lungs. My thoughts spiral, spinning out of control, my vision blurring around the edges as the reality of her words sinks in, deep and suffocating. "Alone?" The word scrapes out of my throat, raw with desperation. "I—I can't—what if I can't—" My voice shakes, each syllable quivering with the cold, clawing fingers of fear. Alone. She expects me to face Alcyoneus alone?
Hecate's gaze snaps to mine, sharp as the edge of a drawn blade, cutting through the fog of my panic. The air around us thickens, pressing in like a vise, squeezing my chest until my heartbeat thunders in my ears. Her eyes burn with a darkness that devours the light, ancient and merciless. It's like staring into the heart of a void where stars dare not shine, where even hope curls up and dies. Her expression is a storm—cold, unrelenting and dangerous.
She doesn't waste another breath. She raises her hand, and the shadows around us writhe and coil, twisting into shape like smoke being dragged through a keyhole. A staff emerges from the darkness, blacker than a moonless night, the ebony wood gleaming with a slick, oily sheen that seems to drink in the light around it. At its head, a skull leers, its hollow eye sockets burning with a faint, eerie glow that pulses in rhythm with my racing heartbeat.
"This," Hecate intones, her voice resonating with a depth that seems to rise from the very bowels of the earth, "is the staff of Merlin. I won it in a wager that cost him dearly, and I made it my own, binding it with the skull of Baba Yaga—a demon from the Slavic barbari of the north. Together, they form a weapon unlike any other—blessed by the gods of two pantheons, Celtic and Greek, and infused with the essence of a creature that knew neither love nor hope, a being of pure malice and darkness. Now, that power is bound to serve whoever wields this staff."
The air around the staff ripples like a heatwave, pressing against my skin with a heavy, tangible weight that makes my legs quiver. Hecate thrusts the staff into my hands, and the moment it touches my palms, a shock jolts through me, a crackling surge of energy that snaps through my veins like live wires. The skull's empty eyes burn with an inner light, piercing through me, scraping against the corners of my mind, testing the strength of my soul.
Her face remains a mask, cold and implacable, but there's a tremor in her voice, a crack just wide enough to reveal a sliver of... hope, a raw, jagged vulnerability that no god or goddess should possess. It's there, fleeting and brittle, buried beneath centuries of hard-won indifference. "Use this, child. Guide him through the maze, drag him through its twisting paths to the land beyond the gods. There, his power will bleed out, and there, you will have the chance to break him."
Her grip tightens on my shoulder, her nails digging in, sharp and unyielding. It's like she's trying to carve her desperation into my skin, a mark that will stay with me long after she's gone. "Don't hold back. Use your power—every last drop—until you're hollowed out. Show no pity, no hesitation. You must be ruthless and unforgiving, child. Crush him with every ounce of hatred you can muster. Let it consume you, sharpen you into a weapon."
Her eyes bore into mine, twin pits of darkness swallowing the world around us. "Forget your mercy. Kill any softness inside you before it kills you. Strip away your compassion until there's nothing left but the desire to see him broken. Make him beg, make him suffer. Do not let him rise, not even for a breath. Destroy him utterly, or you will die beneath his heel."
The air thickens around us, clinging to my skin like tar. Her words lash at me, each one biting deeper, cutting through the fear until all that's left is a raw, burning core of desperation. I can feel the weight of the staff in my hands, heavy with the promise of ruin. The skull's empty sockets glint with a predatory hunger, daring me to embrace what Hecate demands.
Her expression remains a marble mask, but the weight of her command settles like iron chains around my shoulders. There's no softness here, no room for doubt. Only the darkness she's asking me to become.
Hecate's grip is iron on my shoulder, her voice low and fierce, cutting through the chaos like a blade. "I'll send him down, drag him to the depths of the maze where he belongs. Go ahead, child—claim your dominion."
I manage a stiff nod, my throat tight, squeezing shut against the scream clawing to escape. The cold air from the doorway is a slap to my skin, a breath of death and despair that coils around me as I step forward. Without a glance back, I throw myself into the yawning darkness, the world blurring past in a rush of shadow. My stomach lurches as I plummet, the wind shrieking past my ears, and then I slam into the ground, ancient stone cracking beneath my weight. The impact rattles my bones, sending pain skittering through my limbs, but I push it aside. The darkness engulfs me, thick and suffocating, but then... I hear it.
Low, haunting whispers seep through the air—words in a language I don't recognize, winding through my mind like thorny vines. Chanting, a rhythm that thrums through the stone, vibrating through my teeth, my skull, my very bones. It tangles with the ragged, guttural screams of Alcyoneus as the shadows drag him down, grinding against my ears like nails on metal. A twisted smile tugs at my lips. There's power in that sound—my power, bending the air to my will, making the shadows dance to my command.
And then I feel it—the maze, a living, breathing thing beneath my feet, its pulse syncing with mine, coiling around my thoughts like a serpent around prey. It shifts in time with my heartbeat, my will snaking through its endless passages, shaping it, bending it. The air crackles, thick with expectation, every corner and crevice of the labyrinth eager to move at my whim. It purrs, low and throaty, like a beast ready to devour. The terror I felt facing Alcyoneus disintegrates, replaced by a fierce, electric thrill that surges through my veins like lightning.
I look up as Alcyoneus slams into the labyrinth, shadowy tendrils wrapping around his massive form, digging into his flesh, dragging him down like a drowning man. He crashes into the stone with a sound like thunder, the earth shuddering beneath the force of his fall. Slowly, he rises, ripping free of the shadows with a snarl, his golden eyes burning with raw hatred as he finds me. His smile twists into something cruel, mocking, a predator baring its teeth.
"Well, well," he sneers, his voice rumbling through the darkness, dripping with disdain. "Look who's all grown up—the little daughter of Pluto. Tell me, how is dear old mother? Still digging through the dirt, chasing scraps of wealth? When I take your father's throne, perhaps I'll make her my consort. Think of it—a sweet little reunion, the two of you, kneeling before me." He lets out a laugh, cold and grating, each word driving deeper into the shadows around us. "And here you are, all alone, just like the gods to leave the dirty work to their spawn, tossing away those foolish enough to trust them. You're no different. You think they care? They'll abandon you the moment it suits them. But don't worry," he leans closer, his golden eyes gleaming with malice. "I'll be here to pick up the pieces. I'll enjoy breaking you, child. Crushing you until there's nothing left but your pitiful cries."
A chill settles over me, an ice-cold fury that seeps into every part of me, freezing my blood, numbing the ache in my chest. It's not the kind of anger that burns hot and wild, flaring up and then vanishing. No, this is different. This is the fury of the Underworld itself—slow, merciless, and unyielding, the kind of anger that could turn rivers to ice and shatter mountains into dust without ever raising its voice. It is the darkness of the tomb, the silence of death, the cold inevitability that drags everything into its grasp. My father's fury. Hades' wrath. And now, it is mine.
I can feel it coiling tighter with every mocking word that spills from Alcyoneus's lips, digging into my mind like splinters, feeding that cold fire. The shadows around me sharpen in response, shifting and curling with a hunger that matches my own. My hands tremble—not with fear, but with the overwhelming need to crush him, to grind every smug word into dust beneath my heel. The shadows themselves seem to thrum with my thoughts, eager to devour him, to tear him apart piece by piece until there's nothing left but his broken and flayed psyche, laid bare and trembling before me. They coil and twist, reflecting my own dark hunger, ready to strip away every last shred of his arrogance, to gnaw at his mind until he is nothing more than a hollow shell. The air thickens with their hunger, the darkness vibrating with a promise of pain that makes the edges of my lips curl into a cold, merciless smile.
When I meet his eyes, I don't see a giant. I see a creature I will destroy. I see his end, slow and excruciating, drawn out in a thousand tiny torments. I will break him, as he vowed to break me, but I will do it with a precision and cruelty he could never imagine. No mercy. No hesitation. Just the cold, unrelenting darkness that now flows through my veins, commanding the shadows to obey my will.
The air around us chills, the shadows growing denser, darker, pressing in closer, and my voice comes out like a blade, cold and unforgiving. "You have no idea what I am capable of, Alcyoneus. But you will learn. I promise you that." And in that moment, I know that I will make him suffer, as only the darkness knows how.
Dark, twisted ideas flicker through my mind, weaving together into a tapestry of torment. Why take him to the land beyond the gods so quickly? Maybe I can make this last—drag it out—see how he likes the taste of fear when the shadows are clawing at his flesh, when the maze twists around him, reshaping itself into a prison with no escape. A smile creeps across my lips—sharp, feral—as the air around me ripples, the shadows bending to my will.
I step closer, letting the darkness curl around me, swallowing the fear that once gnawed at my mind. "You think you're in control, Alcyoneus?" My voice is a rasp, barely a whisper, but in this place, it carries, slicing through the shadows like a blade. "Let me show you what control really looks like."
The air thickens, the shadows twisting and writhing at my command, eager to reshape reality into something monstrous, something that will break him. "You're in my domain now, Alcyoneus," I hiss, my voice cutting through the darkness like a blade. "I can make you see anything, feel anything. Illusions? Nightmares? I'll peel back your mind layer by layer, twist it until you're begging for the final darkness my father offers, until you'd do anything to be swallowed whole by oblivion." The shadows pulse with my words, their edges blurring as they tighten around us. "Here, I am more than just a demigod. I am everything."
I take another step, and the shadows surge with me, coiling tighter around him, and I bare my teeth in a cold smile. "You think you're invincible, but down here, in my maze, I may as well be god. This place bends to me, and I'll make it break you."
Nyx:
Shadows writhe around me, slick and sinuous, as I weave through the unseen spaces between worlds. They pulse with a dark, restless energy, almost mirroring the beat that has begun to throb within me. I hover, hidden within the folds of night, watching, and something strange curls through me—something sharp, almost painful. It started when Perseus stumbled into my domain, a mortal blazing with a defiance that cut through my shadows like a blade.
His light had no place in my realm. It seared through the dark, casting shadows so deep they seemed to stretch to the heart of existence itself. He should have been swallowed by my night, his hope crushed like all the others before him. Yet he burned, fierce and unyielding, carving out a space where even my darkness dared not press. It was a challenge, a disturbance—a king of shadows, born of blinding brilliance, daring to walk through the heart of night without flinching.
I realized then what had eluded me for so long—the duality of him. His light, so blindingly pure, cast shadows deeper and darker than any I could conjure—me, the embodiment of night and terror. That is the beauty of him, the thing that has haunted my thoughts ever since I first met him. It's the brilliance of his light, burning bright, and yet, in its wake, the darkness that follows—darker, richer, more profound than anything I've ever known.
The memory of that moment grips me, coiling tight around my thoughts, drawing them back to him. It's a gnawing ache, a hunger that I can't quite name. Even now, a sliver of my essence clings to him, wound tight around the threads of his existence, drawn to the ripples he sends through the shadows—ripples that should not be. His presence lingers in my mind, an ember that refuses to die, scorching everything it touches.
I feel his defiance like a sting, a bitter heat that won't cool, even here in the depths of night. His wildness, that untamed strength thrumming just beneath his skin—it lingers in my senses, like the scent of a storm that's yet to break. He met my gaze without fear, stared into the abyss and did not blink, and the memory of that moment is a wound that refuses to heal, a wound I desire to never heal.
He has become an ache that tightens with my every waking thought. I feel it in the way the shadows curl tighter, the way they seem to pulse and purr with a hunger that mirrors my own. He has become a part of my darkness, a thread woven into the fabric of my being, pulling me toward him, over and over again.
Yet now I find myself within the twisting corridors of this labyrinth, and something else demands my attention. Hazel Levesque.
The maze pulses with her presence, as if it's alive, bending and reshaping itself to her will. I can feel her grip on the Mist, the way she weaves it into the fabric of reality, making truth bleed into illusion. She doesn't realize it yet, the power thrumming through her, it's the gift I gave to my daughter—the ability to twist perception, to bend the mind until it no longer knows what's real. Her control is rough, unrefined, a hammer where there should be a scalpel, but it's effective. And oh, the promise in that untamed power... it sings to me like a half-remembered melody, dark and tantalizing.
She strikes at Alcyoneus, shrouding him in nightmare, warping his mind until his own fears are all that is left of him, She is clawing at him from the inside. He thrashes against the darkness, but I hear the shift in his voice, the crack in his defiance as terror slips into the cracks. His roars echo through the maze, mingling with the whispers that Hazel weaves into every shadow. She makes him see horrors that aren't there, and yet they are. She bends reality until even I can't tell where her illusions end and reality begins. It is raw, brutal, but there is beauty in it—a beauty born of shadows and fear.
A low hum of pleasure vibrates through my being. She is imperfect, yes, but she understands something fundamental. Terror isn't just a weapon; it's an art. It's the slow creep of doubt, the flicker in the corner of the eye, the darkness that feels deeper when you're alone. She wraps herself in it, lets it coil around her like a second skin, and I watch as she takes pleasure in his suffering. Alcyoneus's pride crumbles, piece by agonizing piece, until his rage is hollow, a brittle mask hiding the fear beneath.
It is exquisite, this dance of shadows, even if she does not yet know all the steps. Her power swells with every broken cry, every gasp of terror she wrings from him. As she feeds me, I feed her, our essences intertwining like threads in a tapestry of darkness. I see in her the potential to be so much more than a mere player in this war—she could become a weaver of nightmares, a mistress of the unseen, shaping fear like a sculptor molds clay. She could be my Queen of Night.
The thought curls through me, sweet as the first taste of ripe fruit. She could guide the shadows, command them, even rule over me. She could be my voice, my prophet, my heir. I am an unseen force woven into the fabric of reality, and for too long I have been without a true vessel. She could draw terror from the hearts of gods and mortals alike, wielding my shadows with a mastery that mirrors my own. In her, I see raw potential—a power waiting to be refined, capable of shaping the darkness into something truly formidable, something even the Olympians would hesitate to challenge. A ruler of the unknown, holding dominion over the darkness that seeps beneath the skin of every living thing. And I could shape her, mold her into something more—something worthy of that power.
Yet even as these thoughts take root, Perseus lingers in my mind. he is always there, a constant undercurrent, like the pull of a distant tide. My thoughts twist around him, ensnaring me in a fascination that burns hotter with each passing moment.
I want him—not just as a curiosity, but as something more. A partner, a reflection of my own darkness, a force that I could stand beside as it tore down the very foundations of this flawed reality. My mother, the void that birthed me, sees something in him, a rare flicker of interest in the creation she birthed. This above all other has shaped my own thoughts. If she favors him, then there is something there, something I should not ignore. Her will is woven into the very fabric of my existence, I am nothing without her and if she desires Perseus, then so, too, do I.
Hazel is a different kind of promise—one less sensual but no less important, she is unshaped and eager to be molded. She could become my emissary, my shadow queen, while Perseus... he could be a partner, a lover, together, they could reshape the world in my image. A kingdom of shadows, ruled by the night and her queen, with a burning inferno of destruction incarnate at it's heart.
I drift closer, my presence sliding through the darkness like a caress against her skin, I begin slipping my darkness into the folds of her illusions, the very fabric of her maze. She does not see me, cannot see me—not yet—but she will feel me soon enough.
Alcyoneus's screams cut through the dark, ragged and raw, and I watch as Hazel's lips curl into a smile, sharp with satisfaction. She doesn't yet understand how far her power can reach, what heights she could climb. But I do. I could show her, teach her how to bend the darkness to her will, how to become the terror that slumbers beneath the surface of every mind. And with Perseus... the possibilities stretch before me like an endless, starless sky.
It's time to extend my hand, to offer her a taste of the power that could be hers. To offer her everything she could desire—power, vengeance, a freedom that knows no chains. A place by my side, as the Queen of Night.
"Yes," I murmur into the darkness, my voice a breath through the shadows, yet it weaves into the whispers that fill the maze. "Yes, Hazel Levesque. Come, child. Foster my endless night, feed the fear that festers in the minds of gods and mortals alike. Let me show you what it means to rule the darkness."
Alcyoneus's PoV:
I remember the fall—how the shadows tore into me, clawing, dragging me down into this twisted nightmare. At first, I scoffed. How could a maze, a trick of shadows, hope to hold me? I am Alcyoneus, the bane of Hades, forged from the very bones of the Earth Mother herself. But time has no meaning here. Hours, days, years—they all blur together into an endless, maddening stretch of darkness. It feels like an eternity, like I've been wandering these twisting paths forever.
I don't know what's real anymore. The ground shifts beneath my feet—solid one moment, crumbling to dust the next. Walls appear where there were none, shifting like the ribs of some vast, living beast. And all the while, the whispers gnaw at the edges of my mind, slipping into my thoughts like a slow, creeping poison. They tell me lies, twisting my reality, warping my memories.
You are nothing. You are no king, no giant. You are nobody. A pathetic worthless failure.
At first, I roared against them, fought them, tried to rip the shadows apart with my bare hands. But the laughter never stops, low and mocking, crawling through the darkness, filling every corner of this cursed place. My own voice echoes back at me, twisted and warped until it sounds broken, unfamiliar. It's eating away at me.
I've been burned, crushed beneath falling stone, chased by shadows that shift and twist into monstrous forms—some real, some illusions spun from this place. I don't know which is worse. The pain feels real, searing through my flesh, but I can't tell if it's the maze or my own mind tearing itself apart. I lash out at the darkness, but it's like fighting smoke—every strike passes through, every blow lands on empty air.
And then I see it—another shape moving in the darkness, hulking and savage, its eyes glowing like molten gold. It has my eyes and wears my face. My breath catches, and rage surges through me. I charge at it, roaring, my fists swinging, each strike heavy with desperation. I feel my blows land, solid and real, feel the satisfying crunch of bones breaking beneath my hands. It fights back, matching me blow for blow, our roars blending into a twisted, snarling harmony.
But something is wrong. I can feel it—every blow I land reverberates through me, each wound I inflict mirrored back into my flesh, sapping my strength with every strike. My vision wavers, blurring at the edges, my thoughts twisting like tangled roots as I wrestle my opponent to the ground, my hands locking around its throat. It stares up at me with my own eyes, lips curled into a twisted, mocking smile, blood spilling from the corners of its mouth like a dark secret. I squeeze harder, feeling the crunch of bone beneath my grip, but the satisfaction curdles into cold dread as the shadows peel away, revealing what I've truly been fighting.
My own hands.…
My own throat, crushed beneath my fingers. The realization strikes like a thunderclap, forcing the air from my lungs. I stagger back, gasping, the sensation of my own fingers clawing into my flesh lingering like a phantom pain. The shadows writhe around me, warping my reflection into a grotesque mask of terror, eyes wide and hollow, mouth twisted in a silent scream. My voice—warped, broken—echoes through the darkness, twisting through the air like a discordant melody, mingling with the whispers that burrow deeper into my skull, each word like a jagged knife.
You are nothing. You are nobody. Look at you, fighting shadows. Figments of your own twisted imagination, you are fighting yourself down here, how can you possibly win?
I stagger back, pressing my hands to my ears, trying to drown out the voices, but they slip through my fingers, curling around my mind like chains. The maze shifts again, and the air thickens, turning to sludge in my lungs. I run, my legs trembling, barely holding my weight, but every step feels like wading through quicksand. I know I'm being toyed with—know that she's watching me, twisting the maze around me, bending reality to her will.
And then I see her. Looming above me, her form vast and shadowed, her eyes burning with the light of a dying sun—Gaia. My mother. Her laughter ripples through the air, the ground trembling beneath me, each word a hammer blow driving me deeper into the darkness. "Look at you, my weakest child. You think you can conquer this place? You think you're anything more than a failed creation, a monster I should have let your father devour? You are a failure, Alcyoneus, a pitiful mistake I should have buried beneath the earth."
Her voice coils around my heart, squeezing, crushing, dragging me down until I feel the suffocating weight of the earth pressing against my chest. "You are no giant. You are no king. You are nothing but a broken piece of me, Alcyoneus. A fragment that should have never crawled from the earth."
I try to speak, to scream, but my voice shatters, splintering into silence. Her face draws closer, her breath hot and rancid, filling the air with the stench of rot and decay. Her laughter is a sound like grinding rocks, a discordant scrape that tears through my thoughts, leaving only jagged edges behind. I claw at my head, my fingers digging into my skull, desperate to rip her voice out, but it's inside me, devouring me from within.
The shadows shift again, her form dissolving into the darkness, but her laughter remains, echoing through the twisting corridors of the maze, burrowing deeper into my mind. I hear her in every corner, every shadow, whispering that I am weak, that I am nothing. And I believe it. Gods, I believe it.
I turn another corner, my heart slamming against my ribs, and find myself staring at the same dead end I've seen a thousand times before. The darkness presses in, suffocating, a living thing that tightens around me with every breath, every thought. I claw at the walls, at the shadows, but they only close in tighter, squeezing until I can't think, can't breathe. I'm trapped. Trapped like an animal. Trapped like a—
"No," I whisper, but the word is a rasp, lost to the shadows that eat the sound before it even leaves my lips. "No, I am Alcyoneus. I am... I am…."
But the name crumbles in my mouth, turning to dust, and the whispers rush in to fill the void, digging deeper, deeper until they're all I can hear.
You are nothing.
You have always been nothing.
You are a whisper,
an echo of a lie.
My legs buckle beneath me, and I fall to the cold stone, my breath coming in ragged, shuddering gasps. I try to hold on to the memories, the battles, the victories, but they slip through my fingers like smoke. I don't know if they were ever real. I don't know if I'm real. And somewhere in the darkness, I hear her voice—Hazel's—cold and mocking, her words slicing through the shadows like knives.
"Run, Alcyoneus. Run."
So I run, but my feet stumble over the uneven ground, and the maze shifts with every step, twisting back on itself, mocking me with every turn. I know I'll never escape. I know I am trapped. And worse—deep in the pit of my mind, where the whispers have dug their claws—I start to believe her. Maybe there was never anything else? Maybe this is all their is and ever will be. Maybe I am just an echo…. A Lie.
Hazel PoV: I am the Terror in the darkness, I am the death of truth
For Alcyoneus, it's been centuries. For me? Weeks, maybe a month—time twists and bends in the maze, ever shifting to appease me. In the real world, perhaps ten, fifteen minutes have slipped by. But that's irrelevant. It's worked. As we near the land beyond the gods, Alcyoneus is a husk of what he once was—a shadow of his former self, reduced to a weeping, broken shell. He clutches at his head, muttering incoherently, his once-towering form hunched and trembling. The giant who once saw himself as invincible, the bane of Hades, now nothing more than a shivering wreck, shattered by the very darkness he thought he could master.
A dark thought coils in my mind, cold and delicious. Would it not be better—more prudent—to keep him here? Trapped in the twisting depths of my maze, harmless and forever cut off from the safety of his father's kingdom. A prisoner of his own mind, lost in an endless labyrinth, with only shadows and madness for company. It would be so easy. More practical, yes. And far sweeter.
I watch him with a detached curiosity, my fingers tightening on the staff Hecate gave me. His pain... it doesn't stir pity in me. I feel no sympathy, no guilt. Only the cold satisfaction of power—of control. This is my domain, and for the first time in my life, I am the one in control. I decide what happens. Not Gaia. Not Hecate. And certainly not Alcyoneus.
He looks up, eyes wild and hollow, pleading with the shadows that twist around us. He doesn't even know I'm here, too lost in his madness. I almost laugh at the sight—how pitiful he looks, how small. This giant who once loomed over me, who once threatened my father's kingdom, who took my life, my mother's life, is now no more than a broken shell, and I am the one who has made him that way.
A shiver runs through me, not of fear but of exhilaration. The power thrums beneath my skin, flows through my veins like wildfire. This is my kingdom. The maze bends to my will. Alcyoneus is mine. The shadows around me seem to pulse in agreement, as if they too recognize their true master's will.
I could keep him here, turn this place into his eternal prison. Make him relive his nightmares over and over, until he forgets what it was to be a giant—until he forgets himself entirely. It would be so simple, so satisfying, to watch him unravel further. I see the terror in his eyes, the way he flinches at shadows that aren't even there, as if expecting them to swallow him whole. And I want to see more. I want him to suffer, to drown in the endless darkness he once thought he could command. To pay for every life he's taken, for every threat he made against me, my family, and everyone I've ever cared about. Let him know what it means to be truly powerless.
My grip on the staff tightens, the skull glowing with an unholy light. The air crackles with anticipation, and the maze seems to breathe with me, ready to obey my command, ready to lock him away forever. A small smile curls at the edge of my lips, sharp and cold.
"Maybe I'll keep you here," I murmur, my voice carrying through the maze. It's not meant for him—he's too far gone to understand—but the shadows, the walls, the very air seem to respond to my words, pressing in tighter, sealing off the escape routes. "You like it here, don't you, Alcyoneus? So many friends to keep you company. So many nightmares to remind you of what you are."
He whimpers, flinching at a phantom sound, and I almost laugh. There's a part of me that knows this is wrong, knows that Hecate might not approve, that my friends might call it cruelty. But what do they know about what he's done? Of what I've suffered at his hands? The threat he poses to my family. He deserves this. He deserves every ounce of suffering I can give him. And who are they to tell me otherwise? Who is anyone to take this chance at justice from me?
This is my chance to right the wrongs that have haunted me my entire life, to seize control of a world that's done nothing but try to bend me, break me. I've been powerless for too long—helpless against the whims of fate, against the cruelty of the gods, against the relentless fury of giants and monsters. But here, now, in the heart of this maze, I hold the power. The strength to take what I want, to protect what matters to me. It thrums in my veins, a fire that I've never felt before, and I won't let it slip away. Not now. Not ever.
The shadows coil around me, eager to obey, to twist the maze tighter, to make it his eternal tomb. The power thrums beneath my skin, whispering how easy it would be to leave him here, trapped in a nightmare he'd never escape. I could make him suffer endlessly, a fate far crueler than any he would find in Tartarus. I could watch him break, shatter, unravel into nothing. The thought lingers, wraps around my mind like a vice, and I can feel a dark satisfaction bloom in my chest. It's tempting—so tempting—to play god in this place where my word is law.
But then... The voice of the girl I once was whispers to me,
the doorway to the land beyond the gods is still open, waiting to drain away what remains of his strength. A place where I could end this cleanly, send him to Tartarus and be done with it. To end his threat once and for all, just as Hecate intended.
My hand clenches around the staff, the weight of it grounding me, a reminder of the purpose I swore to fulfill.
But do I want that? To let him go so easily? Or do I want to be the one to see him suffer, to watch his arrogance turn to fear, to repay him for every scar he's left on my life? My thoughts twist like the shadows, warping between rage and doubt. I can feel the maze pulsing around me, feeding off my uncertainty, bending to every flicker of my emotions. It's intoxicating, this control, this power, after being so powerless for so long.
But is this the right way? The thought claws at me, raw and uncertain, the last thread of hesitation holding me back from the plunge. Tartarus through the land beyond the gods, or keep him here, under my control, in my dominion? The choice is mine, and for a heartbeat, I'm paralyzed by the weight of it.
I look down at him—this creature who once thought himself a terror, now broken and weeping at my feet. I hold his fate in my hands, and I can't help but savor the sweetness of that realization. For now, he is mine. All of this is mine. The shadows, the maze, the power thrumming through my veins—it bends to my will.
I take a slow, deliberate breath, letting the cool air fill my lungs, feeling the weight of my decision settle within me like a stone sinking into dark waters. The power coils around me, eager and waiting, and I know what I have to do.
I lean closer, my voice a low murmur that wraps around him like the shadows themselves. "You are mine, Alcyoneus. Now and forever…"
Hades PoV:
Clytius's agonized howls cut through the air as I drive my Stygian blade into his chest once more. Shadows coil around the wound, devouring the light, snuffing out the last glimmer of life in his eyes. He collapses, his massive form crumpling like a felled tree. But I know better than to linger on this false victory—his immortality clings to him like a curse, dragging him back from the brink time and again. It's a dance I know too well, death and those who are relentless in their struggle against it. A reality that only I can fully appreciate. It should be tedious by now, but my thoughts are elsewhere, drawn back to that closed door, to the labyrinth, to her.
Hazel. My daughter. I watched as she descended into the labyrinth with Alcyoneus, dragging that creature into her domain, into shadows shaped by her own will. The moment that door sealed behind her, I tried to follow, but the maze denied me—its magic locking me out, as if a power both old and powerful kept me at bay. Hecate's decision to send her alone gnawed at me like an open wound, my anger simmering beneath the surface, barely contained by the pressing demands of this battlefield. Yet even as fury and fear twisted inside my chest, I knew my place was here—holding the line against Clytius, keeping this beast at bay until a demigod could strike the final blow.
But now, she's returned. She steps out of the shadows, the darkness peeling back like a veil, revealing her standing tall and unbroken. For a fleeting moment, relief loosens the knot in my chest, but it's a cold, fleeting thing—immediately overtaken by a darker curiosity as I take in the sight of her.
She is... changed. There's a power rolling off her that thrums through the air, vibrating against my senses like a discordant note. It's not the familiar chill of the underworld that I command—the final darkness that envelops souls as they cross the river Styx, the shroud of death that wraps the world in its silence. No, this is the touch of Nyx, the primordial night that cloaks the world in terror. It is the fear of what lurks just beyond sight, the unease that creeps in when the firelight dims.
Nyx's shadows are different from mine, born from the terror of the unknown—the feeling that something lurks just out of sight, hidden in the darkness. They are the whispers that send mortals turning on their heels, searching for threats that aren't there. My power, drawn from Erebus, is different in many ways. It is the weight of the tomb, the finality that comes with death's embrace, the silence that wraps around the dead like a shroud. It is absolute, inevitable—a darkness that knows no fear because it is beyond all terror. But Hazel... she wields shadows that shift when your back is turned, the chill that crawls up your spine as the light fades. Her power is the unknown, the unseen, and that is what makes it dangerous.
Somehow, Nyx has found my daughter and pressed her claim.
My grip tightens around my sword as Clytius charges me once more, a bellow of rage shaking the air. I dispatch him with a brutal swipe, not bothering to watch as his body crumbles back into the dirt. I'll deal with him as many times as I have to—he's nothing compared to the threat that looms over her.
Hazel, my daughter, strides through the battlefield like she owns the shadows, and in a way, she does. As she moves, the shadows of those around her bend toward her, drawn like iron filings to a magnet. They curl and twist, a dark tide that absorbs into her presence with every step, as if each tendril of darkness seeks to be closer to her. It's almost unconscious—her gaze remains fixed ahead, yet the shadows respond, shifting and flowing as if she is the center of their gravity. The darkness clings to her, weaving into her form, growing thicker, deeper, until it seems to pulse with her heartbeat. I feel the shift, the way the shadows thin across the battlefield, drawn irresistibly to her, like soldiers rallying around a new commander.
And others notice, too.
Hecate stands nearby, her eyes gleaming like a cat's in the dark, a crooked smile curling her lips. There is a knowing in her gaze, a twisted satisfaction that makes my discomfort grow sharper, deeper. She watches Hazel like she's witnessing the unfolding of a long-awaited promise, something dark and ancient that only she understands. It's an expression that sends a shiver through me—one that hints at plans that stretch beyond my understanding, beyond the reach of even my dominion.
Hecate's smile is a reminder that the darkness Hazel commands is not just mine. It is not just the quiet, inevitable shadow of death that I know. It is Nyx's touch, the power of fear and the unknown, and it is something Hecate is all too familiar with. The goddess of crossroads and dark magic sees potential in Hazel that is not entirely of my making. And that potential has caught the eyes of others—eyes that linger too long, that calculate and weigh her worth in ways that I do not like.
If Nyx intends to shape her, to make her a queen of shadows as I am the king of the dead, it would place Hazel in a position of unfathomable power... and peril. The kind of power that others will covet, will fear. Power that would make her a target, a threat to be eliminated before she fully realizes what she is capable of.
I cast a glance back at Clytius as he begins to rise yet again, his shadowy form struggling to pull itself together. For a moment, he is nothing but an inconvenience, a distraction from the realization that has taken root in my mind. If Nyx's touch lingers on Hazel, if she has taken notice of my daughter's potential, then others might too. And they will either seek to claim that power for themselves or destroy it before it becomes a threat.
My thoughts twist through possibilities, through dangers. I cannot let that happen. She may have grown beyond needing my protection from giants and monsters, but this is different. This is the kind of danger that whispers to the ancient things of the world, that calls forth the primordial forces that see no difference between god and mortal.
My grip tightens around my sword as I stand guard, slaying Clytius each time he rises, waiting for the demigod who can seal his fate. I will watch carefully, quietly. I will ensure that no one—nothing—comes to claim her, to turn her into a pawn in a game far older than she knows. She is strong, yes, but she is still young. And power like hers... it will demand a price.
When the time comes to face that price, I will be there. Whether to guide her or to remind those ancient forces that even Nyx's shadows can not reach into my domain unchallenged. For I am Hades, and Hazel is my daughter, and woe to any who try to harm my own..