Update ~ Important Clarifications

First, a bit of clarification: there will be no harem. I never intended for that from the beginning. However, there will be some conflicting interests, which I believe will add depth to the story. Multiple characters may develop feelings for the same person—like Percy—though he's not the only one. Since this series is called His Lady of the Moon, Pertermis fans, you don't need to worry. While planning the story, I did consider changing the title, as I was a bit conflicted on pairings, particularly with Percy, but I ultimately decided against it.

I have a detailed outline that extends well beyond the current events. After the battle, I'll be reorganizing the story into distinct books:

Book One: Forged by Fate – covering everything up to this battle.

Book Two: Echoes of the Road.

A third book is also planned, though it's currently unnamed.

Guaranteed Pairings (No Exceptions):

Percy and Artemis (Sorry to those who may be tired of this pairing—it's my all-time favorite, and I wish it had been the canon one. Zoe's death was Percy's first real loss, and he breaks every deep-seated stereotype of men that Artemis and her hunters hold. He took the sky for her, and he befriended her closest companion. Rick could have made Percy a god, creating a natural transition into a two-part series. One part could follow the next generation, focusing on The Seven and maintaining its young adult themes, while a more adult continuation could explore Percy's adjustment to godhood and adulthood, giving those of us who grew up with the series a chance to follow him into a new chapter of his journey—just as we've grown up ourselves.)

Frank and Hazel (Not messing this one up)

Jason and Redacted (It's guaranteed, but I won't spoil it. I don't consider Percy and Artemis's relationship status a spoiler, given the title of the fic. And for those who aren't fans of Jason, I'm sorry—I'm a big fan of his character, and I love stories where he, Nico, and Percy become like brothers. Anytime the children of the Big Three act toward each other the way their fathers should have, it's something I really enjoy. So, expect a strong alliance between the children of the Big Three.)

Annabeth and Redacted (I Don't hate her either, and I tried to make the breakup make sense without compromising either character. I hope I succeeded in giving them both good reasons to feel the way they did. That's why I included both of their POVs—to ensure both sides of the story were understood.)

Piper and Redacted

Leo and Calypso (Gonna be more wholesome, I am not a fan of how it was portrayed in TOA, It felt kind of predatory, given the age imbalance and the way she treated Leo, given his inexperience)

Nico and Will (The Sun and the Star, not messing this one up.)

Lastly ~

I believe in the ability of characters to share deeply intimate moments without any need for sexuality—platonic intimacy. Frodo and Sam are a perfect example. Tolkien understood this concept, likely influenced by his experiences during some of the darkest moments in human history. Those young men faced hell together, and in that purgatory of trenches and death, they found solace in each other through their shared struggles.

I feel that, with the de-segregation of genders (which is absolutely a good thing—I want to be clear about that), there's been a kind of blindness to this form of emotional attachment. Today, if two characters share a meaningful moment, they're often immediately paired romantically. But I think there's something special about exploring relationships where the depth of connection doesn't rely on romance—brothers in arms, a lady and her attendants, a king and his subjects, or a general and his soldiers.

One of my all-time favorite tropes in fiction is 'Found Families.' I want to create a story where the characters grow up together, forming a family around each other as they navigate the trials of life. It's about their journey to becoming the people they'll be for the rest of their lives—growing up, together. It's something I've felt was lacking in Rick's later writings. And above all else, I'm using this as an opportunity to improve my craft—testing what works, recognizing my strengths, and identifying areas where I can grow. I hope to write my own stories someday, so I want to say this: thank you for the engagement. It's been truly rewarding and has given me a lot of confidence in my writing.

Zeus:

"Alive! Fates, I feel young again! These old muscles, stiff from centuries on that blasted throne, numbed by wine and fleeting pleasures—awakened at last. This is bliss! A fire I've longed for so dearly, now coursing through my veins like a thunderclap, electrifying every fiber of my being. I had forgotten what it was to feel this way—to live on the edge, every sense sharpened, every strike of my lightning a herald of the end times. I am more than a king—I am the god of the sky, lord of the heavens, a warrior above all others. I am power unchained. This... this is what it means to live.

Polybotes lunges, his trident gleaming as it slices through the air toward my chest. I don't bother with my Master Bolt—why waste the effort? Instead, I sidestep, seize the trident's handle, and unleash a pulse of raw electricity. The weapon crackles in my grip, the surge forcing him to drop it as his muscles convulse. My fist crashes into his jaw with a satisfying crunch, and I summon the winds to sweep him off his feet, sending him sprawling across the ground.

As he tumbles, I raise my Master Bolt—an extension of my very being, as much a part of me as my arms or eyes. His gaze meets mine, wide with the realization of what's coming—just before—

BOOM.

He is vaporized, disintegrated into a cloud of ash, but the victory is fleeting. Even as his remnants scatter, his form begins to knit itself back together, bones and sinew pulling from the dust like a grotesque mannequin. He isn't who I want—Porphyrion is the blood I desire. That beast, the things he's said about my Hera…. He captured her while I was helpless on my damned mountain. My throne chains me, these damned laws we were forced into by the Fates to secure their continued loyalty. I dream of stretching my wings as I once did, of being a god again. To not hide, but rule as we did in the days of old.

I sigh, scanning the battlefield for a demigod—no, for my son, Grace. A proper son, dutiful and strong, who has brought me pride time and time again. Yet as I scan the chaos, something else pulls my focus.

There, cutting through the maelstrom like a force of nature—Jackson. He moves like a hurricane,, fire coiling around him like molten gold, flowing like a river of magma. His blade, is a streak of bronze, slicing through the air, every strike precise yet wild, like lightning cracking through a thunderhead.

With a single, seamless motion, he swings, and Mimas's hand flies free, severed clean from the giant's arm. The ichor spills out in a burst, spraying across the battlefield like rain, leaving trails of golden mist in his wake. It's brutal, a raw display of power, and I can't help but feel the sheer intensity of it—an echo of the untamed storms I once reveled in.

I sigh and close my eyes, letting the chaos around me fade into the background, feeling the world as it truly is—my domain. The sky hums in my veins, every current of air a thread I can pull, every drop of water and wisp of vapor as familiar as my own breath. The storm's electricity pulses through my blood, growing with each beat of my heart.

I stretch my senses outward, soaring above the battlefield in my mind, seeing through a thousand invisible eyes. My armies shift below, a living river surging through the broken terrain, their movements guided by the whisper of my winds. I nudge a current here, turn a breeze there, directing their strength where the lines falter, turning a retreat into a charge, pushing them forward with a sudden gust. The air carries my commands, and I feel their answer in the rumble of the ground beneath me.

Farther out, I sense a familiar presence—my son, high above the fray, the storm swirling around him. Jason rides the currents like a master, tearing through enemy ranks with blasts of wind and bursts of lightning. The western flank trembles under his wrath, the monsters scattering before him.

A smile tugs at my lips, pride swelling in my chest. My son—young, fierce, seizing the moment with all the force of a true son of the sky. I savor the sight for a heartbeat longer, then I join my power with his, sending my own bolts crashing down across the battlefield. Lightning splits the sky, striking in a hundred places at once, scattering our enemies like leaves in a hurricane.

I hear the roar of my soldiers in the distance, their cheers rolling like thunder as they surge through the paths we've cleared. For a brief moment, everything aligns—the will of a king, the might of an army, and the fury of the storm, all bending to my command. I hold the vision, feeling the harmony of it thrumming through my veins. But beneath it all, the satisfaction lingers. My power is the infinity of the open sky, and today, it will have its due.

And then I open my eyes and i'm back. I see Percy, diving into the fray, a force of nature amid the chaos. For a moment, it's like staring at a reflection. The thought hits like a hammer to the chest, leaving me both nostalgic and angry. I see myself in the boy—my own fire, my own defiance. I remember when I stood against my father, Kronus, when I faced him not for the sake of a throne or dominion but for the sake of my family. My brothers and sisters, broken and devoured, suffering in the darkness of his belly. The horror of it all burned inside me, turned my blood to molten rage. I swore that I would not rest until I tore them free, until I made Kronus pay for every ounce of pain he inflicted upon us.

I was a storm back then, wild and unchained, each blow fueled by the anguish of our suffering and the righteous fury of a son claiming his place as the protector of his kin. The clash of our powers shattered the earth, split mountains, and sent the seas boiling over with the force of our conflict. It wasn't greed, nor the fear of losing my throne that drove me—not then. It was the raw, unyielding rage of a young god who refused to accept the horrors of his world, who would tear apart the very fabric of the cosmos if it meant saving those he loved.

Every strike was a promise, a declaration that I would carve out a future for my siblings with my own two hands. I was the storm that shattered titans, that tore open Tartarus itself, freeing the cyclopi and hundred handed ones. A rebel, a hero, dashing and daring. My wrath shaking the very bones of the world. Before the weight of the throne settled over my shoulders, before the crown dulled my edge, I was everything a god should be—relentless, ruthless, unstoppable... Loved.

And now, I see that same fire in him, but he is not a god. I want to hate him, to resent that mortal heart that dares to defy my will by its mere existence. But how can I, when in him, I see a reflection of what I once was—before the weight of Olympus bore down on me, before the centuries dulled my edge and the glory of my youth faded into memory? He fights with his cousins, with my son, as I once fought beside my brothers, before we poisoned our bonds with paranoia and politics. The fire that drives him, the fury in his eyes—it's the same that coursed through me when I was a young god, unstoppable and free, before the throne chained me.

There is a purity in his defiance, a wildness that the years have stripped from me. He lives unburdened, like I once did. How can I despise the boy, when in him, I see the echoes of my own greatness?

I turn back to Polybotes, fully reformed, a smirk stretching across his grotesque face. I have a few moments before the sea spawn arrives—just enough time to see if Gaia's creation has nerves, and if they can feel the kiss of my lightning."

Jason PoV:

I carve through the chaos, Tempest crackling like a storm in my grip. The head of a Cyclops rolls away as I cleave it clean off, the blade biting through bone and muscle. A dracaena lunges, fangs bared, but I twist, slicing her arm from her body. She crumples with a scream, her blood painting the air as I dive past, wind roaring in my ears, the sky bending to my will. The battlefield below is mine, a maelstrom of death, and my enemies fall beneath me like rain.

I pull up from my dive, Tempest vibrating with the thrill of the storm, and that's when I spot him—my brother. Apollo, riding his golden chariot like a sun god descending from the heavens, loose and languid as he strings arrows with effortless grace. Each shot finds its mark—monsters crumple, pierced through heart or eye. His gaze snaps to mine, a grin cutting across his face, brilliant as the light blazing around him. And then, in the blink of an eye, he's there beside me, stepping onto a slab of solid light as if he's emerged from the sun itself.

"Hello, brother!" He beams, the grin sharp, dangerous. "Fancy meeting you here. Care to help shove our embarrassingly fugly cousins back into the loser corner?"

I smile at him and nod, before turning and looking westward, Tempest thrums in my hands, the power I've stored over the last few days I've owned it, pouring into me, filling every nerve with crackling energy. My veins buzz with raw power, the storm building behind my eyes, thunder pounding in my chest. I suck in a breath, The western flank is failing to make headway—Cyclopi and Satyrs falling back from their push towards the gods and demigods, they were fighting tooth and nail just to hold the line.

I raise my hand, feeling that familiar pull—a tug like a fishhook buried deep in my shoulder, yanking me upward toward the heavens.

Boom.

A hundred monsters are obliterated in a flash, vaporized beneath the largest bolt of lightning I've ever called down. The blast leaves the air sizzling, the smell of ozone thick in my nose. But I don't even feel the strain—power surges through me, burning in my blood, Ever since Hera's kidnapping of me and Percy. I've been stronger than I've ever been. But even as I unleash my power, the realization hits me like a punch to the gut—I am nothing compared to him. Across the battlefield, where our lines waver and threaten to break, the air explodes with power. Bolts of lightning, each one stronger than anything I could summon, rip through the sky, turning night into day. The earth trembles with the force of each strike, and our troops surge forward, rallying with renewed fervor. Their voices rise above the clash of steel and the roar of monsters, a single name chanted with reverence and awe, echoing like thunder.

"Zeus"

"Zeus"

"Zeus"

I glance back at Apollo, the urgency of the situation taking root in my psyche. "We need to take down these giants—quickly. Our forces might be able to break through their rearguard, but right now, we're surrounded. And I don't fancy facing both giants and thousands of monsters at the same time."

Apollo's smile falters, sharpening into something predatory. The light around him dims, turning cold, focused. "Then shall we?"

"We shall, brother." I clasp his hand, and a jolt of raw energy crackles between us, lightning sparking where our grips meet. Our eyes lock—brief, searing—a silent understanding passes between us, the weight of our father's legacy heavy on both our shoulders. Two sons of the king, forged to be weapons in service of the throne, tempered in the fires of battle. There's no need for words, only the unspoken promise of what we'll unleash together.

The chaos rages below, the air thick with blood and smoke, but all that matters is the thrill pounding in our chests. This moment, the storm and the sun, united for a single purpose. I tighten my grip, feeling the power coil within me, and as we dive, our minds are in sync, both thinking the same thing:

Let's end these bastards.

Percy's PoV:

Chaos. Pure, raw chaos—gods unleashing their power like wild storms, giants roaring with fury, a sea of monsters tearing through everything in their path. And me, caught in the middle of it all. Yet, through the madness, my pulse thrums with a wild, reckless joy. I'm alive. Gods, I'm alive. The air crackles around me, buzzing with each clash of power, every scream, every shuddering impact. Time stretches, warping, like the world is holding its breath just for me, letting me feel everything.

I move, cutting through the air like a blade through water, the chaos flowing past me, around me, through me. The hope rises like a tidal wave, then crashes into despair—the surge of power rippling through the air with each blast of Zeus's lightning, every howl of wind my father sends tearing through the ranks, the earth groaning under the weight of their might. It's heady, electric, sinking into my bones. I can't explain it, but I feel it—every pulse of destruction, every heartbeat of the storm. It's like the world is coming apart around me, threads unraveling, and I'm at its center, feeling every twist and fray as it comes undone.

But beneath the rush, beneath the fire coursing through my veins, there's something else. It twists beneath the surface, slipping through the cracks of reality, alien but right. It feels the same as when I locked eyes with Thoon, that sensation of the world bending, reality buckling, the fabric of what is and what could be pulling apart. Like chaos so deep, it warps the very essence of reality. I can't find the word. The opposite of fate, of destiny, of all those threads that bind everything in place. It's...

It's Change.

I push through the throng, cutting a swath through the battlefield as I make my way toward him. A serpent-bodied empousa lunges at me, fangs bared and eyes glowing with hunger. I twist, Riptide slicing through her neck in a clean, savage arc. Her head rolls across the dirt, and I keep moving, not sparing a glance for the body crumbling into golden dust behind me.

A pair of telkhines—dog-faced sea demons—snarl as they charge, their blacksmith's tools swinging like clubs. One of them raises a molten iron bar, aiming for my head, but I duck low, driving my sword up through its ribcage, feeling the resistance as Riptide cuts through sinew and bone. The second swings at my side, but I twist, slamming the hilt of my sword into its snout, shattering teeth and sending it sprawling. Before it can rise, I plunge Riptide into its throat, twisting as the ichor sprays hot against my face.

Each kill sends a surge through me, a primal thrill that courses like lightning through my veins. I dodge a spear thrust from a Laistrygonian giant, its tip grazing my cheek, and in return, I decapitate it in a single, fluid motion. Its head crashes to the ground, body disintegrating into a burst of flame and ash. The shadows and chaos swirl around me, but my focus is razor-sharp—my path is clear.

Closer now. The Minotaur is a mountain of muscle and rage, tossing a demigod aside like a broken doll. His hooves crush the ground beneath him, each step a small earthquake that sends shockwaves through the battlefield. My muscles burn as I sprint, but I barely feel the ache—my mind is locked on him, on finishing what we started all those years ago.

A cyclops barrels toward me, its eye wide with hate, but I sidestep, letting its momentum carry it past me. I extend my hand, summoning a gust of wind that drives it further off balance, and as it stumbles, I slash Riptide through the back of its knee. It crashes down with a roar, and I finish it with a swift slice across the throat, feeling the wet warmth of ichor splatter across my arms. I don't stop moving, vaulting over its crumbling body as I close in on the Minotaur.

And then, finally, I meet my old friend—beefcake. His bull-like snarl echoes through the air as he spots me, red eyes burning with recognition. He lowers his horns, charging, his axe swinging with enough force to split a boulder. Our weapons meet, clashing in a shockwave of power that reverberates through my arms, numbing my hands.

Our weapons meet, his axe vs my sword. One high, two low, three more—high, The rhythm of battle flows through me, each movement precise and instinctual. I duck beneath his next swing, slicing across his flank, feeling the resistance as Riptide bites deep into muscle. He bellows, lashing out with his axe again, but I catch it on my blade, the impact jarring up my arms. My feet slide back, digging into the earth as I push against his strength.

His strength is great, but I have something he will never have. True power, unburdened by my previous restraint. With a flick of my wrist, I call a swirling vortex of wind, it wrapping around us like a cyclone. I summon flames, they burst from my skin and spread to the gale surrounding us, the liquid fire coursing along the currents, turning the air into a maelstrom of heat and light. The Minotaur staggers, caught off guard, his monstrous bellow swallowed by the roar of the inferno I've unleashed. His eyes widen with a flash of fear, and I let that sight fuel me.

My laugh cuts through the noise, wild and unrestrained, as I lash out again. My blade slices through one of his horns, severing it with a crack that echoes like thunder. His howl of pain shakes the air, and I match his fury with my own, my voice rising above the chaos. He swings wildly, but I twist away, using a burst of wind to propel myself around him, Riptide carving through his knee in a brutal arc. His leg gives out, ichor spraying like rain, and he crashes down, his massive frame hitting the ground with a shudder that ripples through the battlefield.

I stand over him, chest heaving, blood singing with the rush of it all. Each breath is filled with the scent of battle—sweat, ichor, the metallic tang of my own blood. This is the meaning of life. To live is to fight, to rage against the dying of the light. To stand firm, a shield to those you love. To love fiercely, to hate with all your heart, to live without restraint.

With a final flourish, I channel the storm through Riptide, black-green lightning crackling down its length as I raise it high. The storm's fury and the fire's heat burn through my veins, searing and wild, and I let the exhilaration of the moment carry me forward. I may not understand what's happening to me, but I know this: here and now, I am alive. And I won't let anyone take my family from me.

Zeus:

I kept Polybotes locked in place with my lightning, every jolt sending waves of electricity through his body, his muscles convulsing, twitching under the onslaught. His agony barely registered, a distant noise to me now. My attention was fixed elsewhere, drawn to a far more unsettling revelation—a shift in the air around me, subtle, but unmistakable.

Across the battlefield, I could see it, as clear as day. Jackson, my son Jason, and that daughter of Hades—power radiating from them, pushing against the edges of their mortal shells. It was more than the rush of battle; it was something fundamental, something ancient stirring beneath their skin. A god would recognize it instantly. They were ascending. Not in the hollow, lesser way we grant to our heroes, a sliver of divinity tossed as a reward, but a true metamorphosis. The kind that Dionysus achieved, that Heracles clawed his way toward. The kind that comes when a demigod fully embraces the potential that lies dormant in their blood, when their power grows too vast for a mortal vessel to contain.

Demigods are all born with that spark—the divine essence trickling through their veins, a power muscle that, if strengthened enough, reaches a tipping point. And when that point comes, when the dam breaks, it triggers a cascade that could elevate them beyond their kind. It shouldn't be happening this quickly, this young. Yet there it is, pulsing off of them like heat waves, bending the air around them.

Hazel is wrapped in shadows that aren't hers alone—Nyx's touch stains her, clinging to her like a shroud. It's not the darkness of Erebus, not the chill of the underworld—it's something different, a shadow that devours light, ancient as the terror that haunts mortal hearts in the dead of night. Nyx's influence seeps from her, a whisper of nightmares that crawl through the corridors of her mansion of horror, each breath she takes tinged with that primordial darkness. A chill runs through me, a rare and unwelcome unease. If that ancient being has laid her claim on the girl, there's no telling what dangers might lie ahead. I'll have to watch her closely; the path she walks is lined with shadows that could be a threat.

And Jason—my son, riding the winds with a mastery that sharpens with each breath he takes. The air coils around him, the sky bends to his will, every gust and current seeming to carry his name on its breath. But there's a tension in that breeze, a weight that sends a prickle down my spine. It's a presence I know all too well, one that lingers at the edge of every storm—watching, waiting. Astraeus? The thought gnaws at me, a possibility I can't dismiss. It's not just a curiosity; it's a threat. A gaze like his is both a gift and a curse, a double-edged blade that can uplift or destroy. The Father of the four winds, the very same four winds that I claim as my vassals. Astraeus is not a being to be taken lightly. He's prideful, powerful, and ancient beyond mortal comprehension. And if he's turned his gaze toward my son, the implications could ripple through my kingdom, shifting the very balance of the skies I command.

But it's Jackson who unsettles me most. Power coils around him, undefined, a domain taking shape even as he wields it. It's raw, like molten metal cooling into form. And yet, there's something else—a whisper of presences that drift around him like shadows. One stirs a dread buried deep within me, a memory from my youth when the dark corners of the cosmos still held terror, before I claimed the throne from my bastard of a Father. The other... it's vast, ancient in a way that makes even the Earth Mother seem young. Destruction laces through it, the promise of something that doesn't just break, but reshapes the world at its core.

I drive another surge of lightning through Polybotes, his body convulsing under the raw power, but my attention drifts across the battlefield, to those demigods whose strength swells beyond reason. They're on the brink of something transformative—forces that could shift the balance of our world itself. And somewhere beyond the clash of gods and giants, I sense other eyes, watching, waiting for the right moment to strike. If their loyalty holds, they could become invaluable allies—but if they falter, if there's even a hint of betrayal, then I will have to act. I will bear the weight of those consequences, as only I can.

Percy's PoV:

I finally reach the King of the Gods as he faces Polybotes—though "facing" might be too generous a word. It's less a battle and more a one-sided punishment, Zeus wielding his power with a cold, clinical brutality, lightning coursing through the air in arcs that leave the air sizzling. Polybotes writhes beneath the onslaught, his giant form twitching as wave after wave of electricity scorches his flesh. But as I draw closer, a ripple of unease slips through the chaos, a shift in the air that makes the hairs on my neck stand on end.

And then I feel it—a stirring beneath the earth, something ancient and full of hate, roused from its slumber by the sight of her descendant. Gaia's presence surges, a dark, heavy weight pressing down on my mind, seething with resentment. This isn't just the anger of an enemy. It's a personal vendetta—a betrayal that runs deep, festering for eons. She helped save him once, raised him far away from the roving eyes of the Titan Lord of Time, and now, to her, he is the symbol of everything she lost. The ground trembles beneath Zeus, like a beast stretching awake after an endless sleep, and before he can react, the earth itself coils around his leg, dragging him down.

Zeus stumbles, a look of shock breaking through his usual arrogance, and that's when Polybotes sees his chance. With a guttural roar, the giant surges forward, his trident gleaming like a spear of shadows, and drives it into Zeus's thigh. The King of the Gods lets out a roar of pain that reverberates across the battlefield, shaking the very air. The sound pierces through the chaos, freezing demigods, monsters, and gods alike. For a heartbeat, everything stops.

The gods' expressions contort, a kaleidoscope of fury and disbelief. Artemis's bow slips from her grasp, her usually steady aim wavering as her eyes flit desperately between her fallen father and the surrounding chaos, raw panic cracking through her icy composure. Athena's lips compress into a razor-thin line, her spear trembling in her grip, knuckles turning bone-white as if she might snap the weapon in two. Aphrodite's mask of indifference fractures, her hand flying to her mouth as the horror sinks in, her wide eyes glinting with an uncharacteristic terror. Hephaestus's mechanical hand grinds shut, steam hissing from his joints like a wounded animal, while Hera's face twists with something that defies easy definition—an emotion caught between disbelief and a fear she'd never admit. Even Ares, ever the embodiment of bloodlust, hesitates, his swagger stuttering as his gaze fixes on the sight of his father brought low. For a moment, a shadow flickers across his war-hardened face—something disturbingly close to doubt.

And then there are his brothers. Poseidon and Hades freeze for the barest heartbeat, their eyes locking on Zeus, and in that shared moment, something raw and terrible flashes between them. A fear that neither of them had ever dared entertain—that they might lose one of their own. The realization strikes like a physical blow, reverberating through their bodies, turning the heat of their rage into something desperate, something frantic.

Poseidon's face twists with fury, his ocean-green eyes churning like a storm barely contained. Waves crash around his feet, the sea itself echoing his anguish, each surge rising higher as if the ocean sought to reach out to its master. His trident shudders in his grip, droplets of sea spray evaporating into steam as they meet the crackling air. With a roar that rips through the battlefield, he lunges toward Zeus, but Porphyrion steps in his path, the giant king's fist crashing down with a force that sends shockwaves through the earth, halting Poseidon's advance and driving him back.

Hades, in stark contrast, goes utterly still, his face a mask as unreadable as the shadows pooling at his feet. But beneath that cold exterior, his fury seethes, volcanic, like magma trapped beneath a fragile crust. His dark eyes burn with a smoldering intensity, a flame that has nothing to do with fire. Cerberus materializes at his side, three heads snarling and snapping, but even the great hound is overwhelmed by the giants closing in. Hades's gaze never wavers from Zeus, his fingers twitching with a desperate need—to reach out, to snatch his brother from the jaws of death. But the path is blocked, his power not enough to carve through so many enemies fast enough. Not quick enough.

It's like watching a horror movie, knowing the strike is coming but powerless to stop it. The wrath of the Olympians ripples through the streets of Athens like a shockwave, a collective fury that shakes the air itself. Yet, beneath that anger, there's a fracture—a shudder that runs through the very heart of Olympus's armies. They falter, their momentum stalling as they witness something ancient and unbreakable splintering before their eyes. The giants' laughter fills the air, low and mocking, rumbling through the mountainside like a chorus of nightmares. And there, lying wounded and vulnerable, is Zeus—the untouchable King—brought low, his immortality tested in ways no one thought possible.

Zeus was brought low, bleeding on the ground. The fear and rage in his siblings' eyes make it all the more real, the shattering of their world, the possibility they'd never allowed themselves to consider—that even a god, even Zeus, could fall.

And I'm the only one close enough to do something.

Polyobotes presses his advantage, a vicious grin splitting his face. He leans down, forcing Zeus's head back, wrapping him in coils of noxious green mist—poison thick enough that even I can taste its bitterness on the air. Zeus struggles, his breaths coming in short, ragged bursts, his eyes burning with defiance even as his face grows pale. Polybotes rips the trident from Zeus's leg, the wound bleeding freely, and raises it high, the jagged tips aimed for the heart of the King of the Gods. I shudder, the thought of Zeus being dragged to Tartarus, reforming himself in its dark bowels, the thought twisted my stomach with dread.

I reach out, and a sudden tug pulls at my core. The air thickens, the battlefield darkening with a presence I haven't felt in years—a presence that sends a chill racing down my spine. The six children of Rhea shudder as if they've caught the scent of something ancient and terrible, a power that belongs to a force they hoped would remain buried forever. Time stretches, each heartbeat pounding like thunder in my ears as I push forward, closing the distance between us. My will surges outward, rippling like a wave through water, seizing the poison that chokes Zeus and wrenching it free. It twists in the air, a stream of dark venom, before I hurl it back at Polybotes. It splashes across his face in a sizzling, acrid spray, his roar of pain cutting through the chaos.

I reach out to shake the earth below Zeus, to shake the king of the gods free from his prison, but as I try I feel Gaia's will, it wraps around the earth, resisting my reach, fighting my attempts to control her domain. But I've fought through worse. I've stared into the pit of Tartarus, bent the rivers of the Underworld to my will, and wrested control of powers much darker than her. I feel the ground shudder beneath my command, Gaia's essense bucking me, as I attempt to push deeper,

Gaia's power coils around me, thick and unyielding, as if the earth itself is trying to swallow me whole. She is the earth itself, ancient and unbroken, and she won't let my hands defile her. But I lean into the struggle, letting my will tangle with hers, a push and pull as intimate as a lover's dance. The air thickens, vibrating with the tension between us, each heartbeat stretching into eternity. I press deeper, my intent threading through her essence, pushing against the weight of her presence until the ground beneath us shudders in response.

She resists, but I keep pressing, forcing her to feel my power, to recognize my strength. The tension is almost intoxicating, the way her defiance grates against my command, each moment charged with the possibility of submission or defiance. But inch by inch, she begins to yield, a reluctant shudder rippling through the earth, her ancient resolve cracking beneath the pressure. I force her to bend, to release her grip on Zeus, and she quakes with the aftershocks of our struggle, the air still thrumming with the echoes of our clash.

I shudder, not expecting such an interaction, That thought pulses through me, almost like a heartbeat. Is this what it's like to be a god? To extend beyond the confines of flesh and bone, to be more than just a single being? To become an abstract concept, to merge with the essence of the world itself, to thread your will through the fabric of reality? The idea courses through my mind, intoxicating and alien, as if I've brushed up against something ancient and boundless. I can feel it in the way the earth trembles beneath my touch, in the way the air thickens and bends to my will. I am not just commanding the world around me; I am a part of it, intertwined with something that defies definition.

To be a god is to be a force of nature, to become a current in the river of reality, shaping and shifting its flow. It's not just power, not just strength—it's the feeling of being woven into the very elements, of tasting the breath of the storm, of hearing the heartbeat of the earth beneath my feet. To be not just Percy Jackson, but something more—a fragment of creation, of the world itself, wielding the raw, primal power that has no beginning or end.

For a moment, I understand what it means to be more than human. To be an idea, a storm, a breath that can ripple through the ages. And it's terrifying... and exhilarating.

Zeus begins to rise, and calling him angry would be a laughable understatement. His entire form crackles with barely-contained fury, lightning dancing across his skin. He meets my gaze, offering a curt nod, but there's something more in his eyes—a flicker of a smile, a glint of appreciation for the lifeline I threw him. With a slow, deliberate movement, he raises his Master Bolt, the sky itself seeming to darken in response. Polybotes' eyes widen, terror etched across his face as he realizes the storm about to be unleashed upon him.

I draw in a deep breath, my heart pounding in my ears as I summon my power, molding a sphere of liquid fire in my hand. It burns hotter than any flame I've ever wielded, alive with a wild, untamed energy, a piece of the chaos that thrums through the battlefield. The fire is black as night, with a sea-green core swirling like the depths of the ocean. Beside me, Zeus channels his own power, his Master Bolt crackling with the fury of a thousand storms. In perfect unison, we release our strikes—lightning and fire lancing through the air, twisting together as they converge on Polybotes in a single, cataclysmic blow.

The explosion that follows is blinding—a sun bursting into existence, a shockwave of raw energy that tears through the battlefield, rending the very air apart. Dust and rubble erupt outward, a tidal wave of destruction that sends giants and monsters tumbling like leaves in a storm. Heat scorches my skin even from a distance, blistering the air with its intensity. Polybotes vanishes, his form vaporized in an instant, reduced to nothing but a cloud of ash, swirling away in the searing wind. For a heartbeat, the world holds its breath, frozen in the aftermath, the echo of Zeus's roar reverberating through the mountains. Then, with a shudder, reality crashes back into place, the battle resuming with a deafening fury, the chaos roaring to life around us as the earth itself trembles beneath the power unleashed.

But even as the chaos resumes, I can feel Gaia's presence lingering—a simmering hatred that pulses just beyond sight, crackling through the air like the promise of a coming storm. Her fury is palpable, pressing against my mind like the weight of mountains, but there's something else woven into it, something darker, more insidious. There's a fear, sharp and raw, twisting through her wrath. And beneath that fear... a whisper of something I can't quite place, an emotion that sets my teeth on edge, makes the hairs on my neck rise. It's as if she's seen something she didn't expect, something that has shifted the tide of this war in ways I can't understand.