Chapter 8: A Hero falls
Percy's PoV: What is the essence of Change?
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.
Polyobtes 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.
Zeus:
The boy saved me, despite my reservations, despite my often outspoken preference for seeing him dead. He did it without hesitation, charging in even when he was outmatched. But why? Why would he risk everything for me? Did he think it was the right thing to do? There was no time for strategy in his actions—he moved too swiftly for that. Was it because we're family? Because I'm his uncle? Does his loyalty extend to me, of all gods? He's close with my children, and Hestia holds him in high regard. And there's something unsettling about him—he's uncannily like me.
He looks at me, and I give him a curt nod, acknowledging what he's done. His handling of Gaia was expertly done, far beyond what I would expect of a demigod. The battle of divine will and essence is something even the younger gods struggle with—to see a demigod not just resist, but meet another god's aura, a primordial's at that... It's unheard of. Impossible. How could he have enough power? How could he possess the knowledge, the control? Was it instinct? The discipline and centralization of one's consciousness, and the sheer will to impose control outward—it's impressive.
I speak to him then, "You did good, boy. Thank you." His eyes go wide, and I have to hide my smile at his reaction—it's almost absurdly comical. "Flabbergasted at me having manners in the middle of a battle... really, sea spawn?"
Perseus blinks, his expression caught somewhere between shock and confusion, and this time, I can't hold back a rumbling chuckle. "Come," I say, turning back to the chaos around us, "I can sense the Fates. It seems they're tangled up with Thoon."
I lift my Master Bolt, aiming without hesitation, and a single strike blasts a hole straight through a cluster of monsters. Where Perseus had to dive and dodge, slicing and slashing his way through, I carve a path effortlessly. After all, I am a god. But as I glance at him, charging forward beside me, a thought lingers at the edge of my mind—perhaps one day, the boy will be one too...
The Fates:
The Fates find him seated at the table, shuffling his deck with a precision that whispers of experience and practice. Thoon's eyes—milky silver, like twin moons glimpsed through a mist of blood—are fixed on the shifting patterns before him, each card landing with a ripple that distorts the air, as if existence itself is wincing at his touch. He does not look up, his gaze locked in a trance, drawing from the fractured currents of fate that warp and twist around him, as if he is a wound in the fabric of reality. A monster bred by a mother's grief.
The Fates move in unison, their robes flowing as three ancient chairs materialize with a sound like bones cracking. They seat themselves, their presence a steady pulse against the tumultuous swirl that surrounds the ancient giant. Here, they are beyond time's grasp, a sanctuary cut from the chaos of existence, accessible only to those who spin the threads of destiny—or seek to sever them. It's a space where even the stars cannot intrude, where each breath hangs in perpetuity, awaiting an end that will never come.
As the Fates draw their own decks, the cards glinting with the promise and weight of countless destinies, Thoon's head lifts. His grin stretches too wide, splitting across his face like a gash, revealing teeth jagged as shattered bone. He meets their gaze, and those silver eyes—bottomless, gleaming with an ancient defiance—reflect a secret that gnaws at the seams of the universe. A low, mocking chuckle escapes his lips, and the space around them ripples, quaking as if reality itself recoils at his presence.
His voice rumbles through the air, a discordant hum that ripples through the fabric of existence, setting every particle on edge. "Come, Sisters of Fate. Will you weave your threads tight enough to bind me, or will you learn that even your tapestry can fray?" The void shivers beneath his challenge, each word warping reality, bending it under a force that should not exist. For Gaia to birth one meant to oppose her own kin—Ananke's design—it is a crime nearly as great as her first, the murder of Chronos, the father of the Fates. Their hatred for Gaia and her "monsters" runs as deep and infinite as the sea of chaos itself. Thoon is a splinter of something wrong, a wound Gaia has carved into the cosmos, a defiance of Ananke's design—a being that should not exist, yet stands, an abomination against the natural order.
As the Fates lay their cards upon the table, their symbols shifting like shadows beneath water, Thoon's grin widens, revealing rows of sharp, gleaming teeth. Clotho places her card: Zeus—the embodiment of authority, power, kingship, and stability. Lachesis follows, placing Coeus—insight, foresight, and the wisdom to see beyond the present. Atropos lays down Hector—duty, honor, strength of character, and unwavering majesty. Their choices speak of the desire to preserve order, to maintain the balance of what is, countering the what could be, that Thoon threatens to unleash.
But Thoon's grin only deepens, as if their choices have played directly into his hands. "So, even after all these centuries, you haven't changed a bit?" he purrs, his voice echoing like nails scraping across a chalkboard. "The faces on the cards may change, but their meanings remain the same. This is the same hand you played last time."
"It Won," Clotho says, her voice a cold whisper.
"Last time," Atropos continues, each word slicing through the air like a knife.
"Didn't it?" Lachesis finishes, her tone laced with a confidence that tries to mask the unease lurking beneath.
Thoon chuckles, a sound that reverberates through the air like a death knell. "Yes, which is why I prepared some new cards of my own..."
With a flourish, Thoon lays out his hand. The first card is Kronos—upheaval, usurpation, a fall from grace. The second is Gaia—birth-giver, mother, creator, the promise of rebirth and renewal. But the third card... the third makes the air itself shudder. Thoon, his own twisted face staring back from the card, his eyes like silver voids. The Improbable, a Fatechanger, and a discordant note in the symphony of the cosmos.
The Fates hiss in unison, their voices a jagged symphony that cuts through the air, their faces twisted with a wrath older than Olympus, older than the first breath of creation. Thoon's card isn't just rebellion—it's blasphemy, a violation that makes the fabric of reality shudder in response. He doesn't seek to control the threads of destiny or bend them to his will; no, he means to rip them apart, to shred the tapestry of fate into tatters and let the world drown in raw, unrestrained chaos. His intent radiates like a wound in the cosmos—to unweave the universe, laying it bare to the raging fires of disorder, scorching away every intricate thread the Fates have spun since Chronos and Ananke first clawed their way from the void of Chaos, entwining time and inevitability with the fierce, unyielding love that binds existence together.
The air thickens, a clash of ancient forces—one woven into the fabric of the world's design, the other a rogue element, a wild card that gnashes against the gears of fate. The space around them fractures like glass under strain, time and space bending as the cards strike the table with a sound that echoes like a cosmic scream.
It is a battlefield of thought and essence, where each card alters the balance of fate, where past, present, and future twist and warp with every draw. The Fates, guardians of the universe's order, face a creature who embodies improbability itself, a living contradiction. And Thoon, this abomination born from Gaia's defiance, grins with the madness of one who knows he is a living paradox, a thorn in existence, a defiance of all that is sacred.
Every move, every card laid down, is a clash of will and power, a contest that threatens to either bind Thoon once more or tear the fabric of reality apart, plunging the cosmos into chaos. The cards fall like the strikes of a hammer on an anvil, each one a challenge to the universe's design, as the Fates and Thoon gamble with creation itself.
Zeus:
Finally, we arrive, but what we find…
I don't know what we have found. A swirling vortex, a maelstrom of reality itself twisting and turning, folding in upon itself like a storm of possibilities. And within it? Countless visions, each flickering like lightning strikes. I see the battlefield as I would see it in my true form—viewed from above, every detail sharp and distant, yet impossibly clear. It's as if I am staring into the beating heart of possibility, where each pulse births a new thread of fate.
Then the Visions start.
I see as it takes shape, I see my brothers charge at me, their faces awash with emotion. Poseidon with a rage that was total and complete. Hade's face was grimly determined as if He didn't wish to do this, but I had given him no other choice. Each attacked from one side, their power pressing down on me like the weight of the sky itself. I fend them off, each clash of our weapons sending shockwaves through the air. For a moment, hope flares in my chest—the hope of escape, of turning the tide. But then, a sharp, burning pain blooms in my leg. I look down, stunned. Only to find Jason's Axe buried deep, his eyes blazing with hatred.
"That's for my brother," he spits, his voice ringing with betrayal.
Before I can even react, another weight presses down on me from behind. A shadowed figure climbs onto my back, cold steel slipping between my ribs. A chill voice, as cold as the underworld, whispers in my ear, "And mine."
It's the son of Hades, his words dripping with dangerous intent. My strength falters, my knees buckle, and I slump under their combined assault. My brothers loom over me, weapons raised, faces grim with the finality of what's to come. I meet their eyes, each filled with a resolve that burns brightly as they know the end is near. I close my eyes against the sight of their poised weapons, bracing for the final strike.
And just before the stroke fell, I felt the vision shift.
As the scene shifts I can't help but think 'Fates, spare me this torment,' but then as I gather my bearings I am blinded by the blinding brilliance of a sun that rises too quickly, and too violently. Apollo stands before me, no longer the golden boy of Olympus, no longer the cheerful, carefree god who sang songs to soothe the world's sorrows. His chariot blazes behind him, the horses of the sun screaming in their harnesses, flames licking at the air as they pull his wrath across the fractured sky. The rays that once brought warmth now sear like a thousand daggers, burning hotter than anything I've ever known, each beam tearing into the earth, turning the ground beneath him into a scorched wasteland.
His face—a face I once knew as a reflection of joy, of light—has been twisted by grief, contorted into a mask of pure, unrestrained wrath. His skin glows with the heat of the sun, his eyes twin orbs of molten gold that hold nothing but pain and fury. The sky behind him is split open, a fiery rift that bleeds across the heavens, shattering the blue into jagged fragments. It's as if the fabric of reality itself is coming apart at the seams, torn open by the god who once rode its rhythms like a song.
Apollo's voice, when he speaks, is not the melodious lilt that once charmed gods and mortals alike. It is raw, a tortured cry that echoes through the fractured heavens, reverberating through the earth with the weight of a thousand laments. "You chained me to this fate, Father!" he roars, and each word cracks the sky wider, the rift behind him blazing with the fury of a dying star. "Why did you do it? Why must it end this way?" His words are arrows, each one piercing through the space between us, each one burning with a question that has no answer. "What curse is this fate we now must bear?"
There is a madness in his eyes, a desperation that churns with a bitterness I have never heard from him before. His grief pulses through the air, turning every breath into scorching embers. He raises his hands, and the sun above obeys, swelling to a size that dwarfs Olympus, a seething orb of flame that threatens to consume everything in its path. His hands clench into fists, and with a gesture, he calls down fire from the heavens, sheets of flame cascading like rain, each drop a burning lance that spears through my armies.
Olympus's legions, those who stood as shields and swords against our enemies, are swept away in a tide of searing heat. They disintegrate before my eyes, their forms crumbling into ash and embers, their screams lost in the roar of Apollo's rage. The earth beneath us buckles and cracks, veins of molten rock splitting open as the ground is scorched bare. Forests ignite in an instant, rivers evaporate into steam, and the air itself ripples with unbearable heat.
He turns his gaze on me then, those molten eyes burning through me with a fury that refuses to be contained. There is no respect left in his expression, no love, only the seething anger of a son betrayed by the one who should have protected him. "You have brought all of this upon us! Your pride, your blindness!" he shouts, his voice a conflagration that shakes the very bones of the earth. "You were supposed to be our father, our king! But look at what you have wrought!"
The sun flares behind him, growing larger and more volatile, and I feel the heat of it singeing my skin, boiling the blood in my veins. The ground beneath me trembles as if it fears the wrath of the sun god. The chariot wheels grind against the sky, sparks flying as the horses of fire rear up, and Apollo's hand reaches for his bow, a weapon that glows with the heat of the sun's core. He draws back the string, an arrow of pure flame appearing in his grip, aimed directly at my heart.
"I trusted you," he whispers then, so quietly I almost miss it, a raw edge to his words that sing of betrayal and loss. "But you left me with nothing. A shattered family. No home. Nothing but this curse of an eternal life."
With a scream of fury, he releases the arrow, and the sun behind him erupts, exploding outward in a blaze that devours the sky. The light swallows Olympus whole, the flames engulfing the mountain like a tidal wave, burning away the last remnants of what we built together. The heat sears my lungs, blinding me with its radiance, and I hear the world cracking open beneath the weight of his wrath. As I am consumed by the light, all I can see is the silhouette of my son—burning, broken, lost to his rage.
And then, just before the vision shatters, I hear his voice one last time—a whisper that slips through the fire, distorted, it sounds far older than my son, older even than me. "Destruction incarnate is coming, Zeus. He can save you... or he can destroy you."
And then it shifts—a vision of an Endless Night. I see Artemis, but she is not the goddess I know—no longer my little girl. Instead, shadows cling to her like a second skin, her silver bow drawn tight, an arrow of pure moonlight aimed unerringly at my heart. The stars themselves dim in her presence, constellations that once guided sailors across the seas flicker and die, swallowed by the darkness that she now carries. Her face is a mask of grief twisted into something unrecognizable, eyes that once shone like starlight now filled with a terrible resolve, a depth of pain that swallows everything around it.
Behind her, the sky has turned into an abyss, an all-consuming blackness that stretches beyond the horizon, where no dawn will ever break again. The moon above burns crimson, casting a bloodstained glow over the ruins of Olympus that lie shattered beneath her feet. Her voice, when it comes, is colder than the ice of Hyperborea, colder than the edge of her arrows.
"You have taken everything from me," she whispers, and her words cut deeper than any blade, every syllable laced with a sorrow that borders on madness. The air grows thick, a suffocating weight pressing down, choking out even the whispers of the wind. "I'll kill you, for taking him…" She weeps, and my heart breaks, what have I done? Why have my children forsaken me?
She steps forward, the ground cracking under her feet, frost spreading in jagged veins through the stones of Olympus. The shadows follow her like an obedient hound, coiling around her limbs, twisting the air into knots of darkness. Her red hair, once flowing like a living flame, now hangs like a shroud, strands clinging to her face as her breath comes out in misty puffs.
I feel the weight of her grief, her loss—a wound so deep that it has become her entire being, festering into something darker than the void between stars. She levels her arrow at me, her gaze unwavering, her lips curving into a smile that holds no warmth, only the promise of vengeance. The chill in her eyes is one I recognize too well—the chill of an immortal who has lost everything, who has nothing left but her rage.
I know, even without the words being spoken, what drives her now. What burns behind those eyes that once only saw me with respect, and love. There is no mistaking the depth of her hatred now though, the way the sight of me sharpens each breath she takes, the way her fingers tremble ever so slightly as she holds her weapon steady as if warring against the memories of what was lost. I try to speak, to call out her name, but the air is too thick with sorrow and the echo of her crippling grief.
Her arrow flies, and the shadows surge with it, a wave of darkness that rushes forward, cold and absolute. It tears through my defenses, rips the air from my lungs, and the chill of death wraps around me like a shroud. Her power bites deep, colder than the deepest sea, colder than anything I've ever known, a cold that freezes even the thunder in my veins.
I stagger back, the world around me dimming, and in the last flickering light of consciousness, I catch a glimpse of her face—twisted, haunted, but beneath the hatred, there's a glimmer, a moment where the mask slips. And there, for just a heartbeat, I see the heartbreak, the deep, aching wound that fuels her wrath, the wound that I had inflicted upon her.
Then, the chill claims me, and all that remains is darkness, and all I can hear are the screams of those I've now lost.
These visions tear at me, but finally, I force myself to look away, driving down the rising tide of anger and fear. And there—amidst the chaos—I see the Fates locked in battle with Thoon, their spears flashing as they shift from one form to another. One moment they are young, ethereal, their beauty radiant, wrapped in silken robes that shimmer like the edge of a blade. Their silver hair whips through the air as they move, their lithe bodies deftly evading Thoon's strikes. The next, they are ancient crones, hunched and bent, playing a game of cards with hands steady as the fate they weave. Each shift between youth and age pulses through the vortex, echoing with the rhythm of their mother's will.
I step forward, attempting to cross into the maelstrom, but a barrier snaps into place, unseen yet unbreakable, like a wall of tempered glass between me and the vortex. I press against it, but it resists with a force that makes my bones hum, like the time I chased Morpheus to his mother's hall. It's the same feeling—pressing against a bastion of reality itself, an ancient presence that claims its own dominion. A place where even I am not welcome. My power whispers in my ear, urging me to retreat, to flee this place beyond my reach. My pride flares, hot and furious, but even it must bow to the truth: this is a battlefield where my might holds no sway. A space where the rules bend to another's will, not mine.
Reluctantly, I pull back, the weight of my limitations settling in my chest like a hot coal. I turn to the boy, to Perseus, but he is gone. Surprise flares through me, sharp and unwelcome, and I whirl back toward the vortex—and there he is. Within the swirling chaos, I see him, Perseus, stepping through the maelstrom like it's a veil he can part with his will alone. He's entering this cosmic battlefield of fate, joining a struggle that not even I dare to approach. Is that the power I sense in him? The one not tied to any other? New, and unmade, up until he himself discovered it?
My grip tightens around my bolt, the lightning crackling with my frustration, my power lashing out at the air. I can do nothing but watch as the boy—this upstart demigod, this son of my rival—steps into a realm where gods and titans alike fear to tread. He disappears into the vortex, swallowed by the twisting light, and I am left standing on the outside—a king forced to watch his kingdom's fate be decided by one who is not me.
Percy's PoV:
I don't know why, but something deep inside me pulls me forward, a primal urge demanding I step into the fray.
"Drawn by your thread, boy?" Clotho murmurs, her voice a threadbare whisper.
As I draw closer, the scene sharpens into focus—the Fates slumped around a table, their forms hunched with exhaustion, their ancient bodies trembling under the weight of their battle.
"He is stronger than we hoped," Lachesis intones, her eyes never leaving Thoon.
Yet their eyes gleam with a savage satisfaction, a look that promises ruin.
"But at last, the turning point has come," Atropos hisses, her smile sharp and cruel.
Thoon's smile falters as he sees me, his milky silver eyes meeting mine, and I feel it—the sheer, overwhelming wrongness of his power.
"A power that defies our mother's order," Clotho sneers, her voice like a blade slicing through darkness.
The power is intoxicating, a pulse that thrums in the air between us, a dark echo of the power I've felt coursing through my veins all day.
"But nothing so twisted can stand for long," Lachesis growls, her fingers tightening on the edge of the table.
I see it then—his power, twisted like a poisoned wound festering in reality, a sickly thing that should have never been born. It's an attempt to seize control of a domain without ever truly understanding its purpose or its nature, an arrogant reach for what was never his to hold. And when that grasp slips, when the truth of it eludes him, he resorts to a final, desperate act—seeking to obliterate what he could never possess.
"He is an infection," Atropos declares, her voice laced with disgust, "and we will cut him out."
The Fates slump back, spent but smiling, their lips curling into something feral as they stare down Thoon.
"We knew this would come," Clotho says, voice hoarse but certain.
"Did you—" Clotho hisses.
"Really think—" Lachesis growls.
"Mother didn't foresee your twisted little game, you abomination? That we, the arbiters of fate, couldn't see what you and that bitch of a mother were planning?" Atropos finishes.
Their voices coil together, rising and falling in perfect, chilling harmony.
"Did you believe we wouldn't feel your true intent? Not to replace us—" Clotho says.
"But to tear our existence apart?" Lachesis continues.
"Look upon our answer, Thoon. Behold Gaia, the defiance of Ananke, her devotion to Grandmother's law. Behold our Anathema, the weapon forged to shred your lies," Atropos finishes, her voice dripping with disdain.
The Fates lean forward, their smiles sharp as blades.
"What your mother tried—" Clotho says savagely.
"And failed to make, in you," Lachesis finishes.
Their voices lash the air like whips, each one cracking through the void, leaving wounds in the space between them. The air trembles, thick with loathing and wrath, and I step forward, the weight of their prophecy settling in my bones.
"You are the Lord of Change, the Antithesis to Necessity. Bred for this very purpose. A scheme eons in the making," Clotho breathes, her voice almost gentle.
I don't understand everything they've said, but I don't need to. All I know is that I am meant to be here, that this fight is mine.
"Face him, boy, and end what should never have begun," Atropos commands, her eyes burning with a cold fire.
I stalk closer, every muscle in my body coiled tight, my heart pounding like a war drum in my ears.
"The time has come," Lachesis whispers, a dark satisfaction in her tone.
"Shall we dance?" I growl, my voice cutting through the charged atmosphere like a blade.
"Show him the truth of chaos. What he cannot ever truly control," Clotho says, her smile dripping with anticipation.
Thoon's grin falters, his eyes widening with a flash of something raw—something that smells like fear.
"Watch Sister" a voice booms, "Watch as I take your children once more, watch as they suffer, as they bleed as they….. DIE" the voice resonating through the realm. It is womanly, tender, but tinged with a spite deeper than all the seven seas. I realize then whom it belongs to... Ananke has come.
Wrath of the Stars
Jason:
Apollo and I cut through Porphyrion's so-called "royal" guard—more like an ugly assortment of muscle. I slashed, and Apollo's arrows followed, making for a rhythm that made it seem like we were born to fight at each other's side. Cyclopes, Laestrygonian giants, even a few empousai, the ones who betrayed their mistress Hecate. They dropped like gnats, not any real threat to us.
Then, we reached him. Porphyrion turned, his eyes narrowing as he spotted me.
"You!" he roared, voice echoing like thunder.
Apollo stifled a laugh beside me. "Forgot about the chicken legs, They look ridiculous. I still can't believe we're related!"
And with that, the talking ended, and the battle truly began.
His first swing wide, and heavy, and I rolled left, I needed to keep my feet moving, I slipped into a defensive stance, one i've trained in longer than I can remember. While Percy was a storm, I was a bastion, unbreakable. I've tried to change up abit. Adding more speed and aggression into my style, using my flying alot more, but here and now? I needed to rely on what I perfected. Come oh great king, face the might of Rome and her children.
Porphyrion turned, his spear lancing toward me. I angled my axe to catch it, deflecting the blow with a vibration that rattled my arms down to the bones. Concentrate. Discipline. Patience I think to myself. I had to wait for his strength to fade, for him to wear down, let his mistakes open him up.
I jabbed the axe into his knee, sidestepping his left hook as he howled.
"You'll die, boy! And after that, I'll raise your soul and torment it for all time!" His voice dripped with venom, his strike cutting down inches from my chest.
Another narrow dodge—and then, over the din, I heard a cry. My father's cry.
I glanced back towards the sound and then I saw Apollo; he was in his own fight, arrows flying, surrounded by a dozen massive Cyclopes. His face, a calm and cocky, flashed with worry at the sound. He was juggling between attacking Porphyrion and fending off the giants, but in that moment, as he looked away, one of the Cyclopes struck him in the head with a bone-crushing swing. He crumpled, as they all jumped onto him, he was now buried under a pile of them, his cries turning into desperate grunts as they beat him down.
This distraction was all Porphyrion needed. He drove his spear into my stomach, the cold shock of the wound freezing me mid-step. I staggered, blood hot against the chill of the spear's shaft. He pulled back, his massive frame looming over me, ready to finish it.
But then, a wall of rage pulsed over me, the primal fear I felt then nearly knocked my blood depleted mind out. It filled me with a feeling ancient and buried. The fear of a man lost at sea, of being trapped in a storm both endless in it's size and rage. My uncle's roar cut through everything. Poseidon was charging toward my fallen father, trident gleaming. Porphyrion growled, breaking off his assault on me and shifting to face this new threat.
I could feel the darkness pulling at me, the edges of my vision dimming. But I tightened my grip on my axe. Discipline. Concentration. Strength. I muttered the words to myself, forcing them through the haze of pain. Somehow, I managed to push myself back to my feet.
The battle had surged on, and I was left standing alone. Poseidon was now engaged with several giants, while Apollo lay in the mud, bleeding out. My wound felt strange, knitting together faster than any ambrosia had ever worked—but not fast enough. Not nearly enough.
The reality hit me as Porpyrion returned smirking, a wound on his face knitting back together, the fear was seeping in like the blood soaking through my armor. I couldn't beat him.
Porphyrion POV:
I planted my spear in the ground. I wouldn't need it for what came next, and I wanted Zeus to hear every word. After he dared to send my brother back to Tartarus with that sea-spawn, I wanted him to know what true power looked like. His spawn, the so-called warrior, struck at me, but his movements were slow, labored. I batted him aside with a single backhand, felt his cheek splinter beneath my knuckles, the bone caving in like brittle rock. He stumbled, and I pressed him down with my foot, claws digging into his flesh.
"Fight, little godling," I whispered, my voice a venomous growl. "What, no mommy to save you this time? She'll make a good wife—taking care of her husband's bastards, just like she did with you."
I push my foot deeper, slowly crushing him. "I'll enjoy this, taking everything from you and your precious Olympians." I told him, almost tenderly.
He tried to speak, his lips twitching, blood dribbling down his chin. "I... I..."
I lifted my foot, curious, indulging the pathetic creature. If he had something worth saying, I'd grant him that—after all, I am a gracious and honorable king.
He coughed, then grinned with a mouth full of broken teeth, a look of reckless defiance in his eyes.
"I just wanted you to shut the fuck up. You were monologuing and I hate it when villains do that, to cliche."
Those were his last words? Insolent filth. Rage boiled over, and I seized my spear, lifting it high, ready to drive it down and pierce his worthless heart.
Jason PoV:
The spear hurtled toward me, its polished tip gleaming in the light, a deadly point streaking through the air. Time seemed to slow as it drew nearer, each heartbeat stretching out until the entire world froze, like a painting held in place.
"What the hell?" I muttered, glancing around at the halted battlefield.
A low voice, wry and unmistakably amused, echoed from behind me. "Are you just going to sit there? Even for one as awesome as I, this is... difficult. I'm only connected to time, not its owner. I could only do this since time's headless with Gaia's brat, Mía."
I turned, bewildered, to find the speaker—a figure with a gleam in his eyes like the starlit cosmos. "You did this... but how? And... why?"
He shrugged, casting an exaggerated glance around as if the explanation should be obvious. "My kids spoke highly of you. Would've preferred you gave my granddaughter a chance, but whatever. She came on a little thick; runs in the family."
I blinked, trying to piece it together. "Right. Thanks, but... how? And who are you?"
"Oh, right, introductions," he chuckled, shaking his head. "It's strange being... well, down here. The air's too thick, makes me feel a little... wonky. Anyway, I'm Astraeus. Father of the Four Winds. God of space, stars, the vast cosmos—yadda yadda yadda. My grandkids could list all my titles, but I don't have the patience." He gave a dismissive wave. "Essentially, I'm the personification of space. Brother to Chronos and Ouranos—the last of the original trio. You know, space, time, and sky. We ruled until Gaia killed the other two. I left after that—well, fled, actually—when she started her... how should I put it... 'creative rampages' with all her kids." He paused, his grin shifting into something sharper. "Now I just show up when I can mess up her plans. Family affairs, right?"
"Oh... so you froze time just to give me a chance to heal?" I asked.
His cheery expression flickered into something darker. "No." The lightness in his voice drained away. "I'm here to witness the final play. It's happening whether you win or lose, whether you survive or not. Sorry if that's harsh, but I don't candy-coat things. Only Mother's play matters, and she's grown tired of her younger kids and their... improvisations. But then I saw you... Never thought space needed a ruler. Chaos, mystery, randomness—that's what I believed in. But watching you... I realized maybe the stars and space between them could use someone at their helm after all. You're not perfect, mind you—need to loosen up a bit. But we'll work on that." His grin returned, mischievous, sharp. "We'll have eternity for that."
"Wait... what?" Panic flared in my chest. "What are you saying? What are you going to do to me?"
"For now?" he said, his tone as casual as if we were talking over coffee. "I'll lend you some of my power, like a... trial run. But eventually, you'll inherit the full deal, with domains, immortality and all the responsibilities that come with them."
"Wait—inherit? A god?" I stammered, unsure if this was some kind of cosmic joke. "How could I ever be a god?"
Astraeus sighed, giving me a look that bordered on sympathetic. "You're already halfway there, kid. The transformation's started—weeks, months, maybe a year, but soon. You're on the path, whether you see it or not."
I swallowed, my resolve hardening. "If it helps me win here, if it saves everyone, then... yes."
He gave a satisfied nod. "Good. And yes, space is tied to time, which lets me bend things a little—so long as I don't overstep the true ruler's bounds. Luckily that ruler is a vegetable, fitting given what he and his mother did to my brother. But this isn't easy or comfortable, let me tell you. It's like wearing clothes six sizes too small and lined with poison ivy. Very tight, very itchy."
I couldn't help a small, shaky grin.
Porphyrion PoV:
He just disappeared! Gone, just gone, where was he? I whipped around, eyes scanning for any flicker of movement in the smoky darkness that the battlefield had become. There! Out of thin air, he reappeared, his eyes blazing, twin orbs of pure white light searing through the shadows, like twin white stars. Space seemed to warp around him, each line and edge bending toward that burning gaze, gravity itself orbiting his rage.
Before I could react, he surged forward, his form blurring, shifting—no, becoming light. In a breath, he was upon me, faster than any demigod should ever be, his axe swinging down with force like a falling star. I raised my spear to parry, bracing for the impact, but it was like trying to hold back an avalanche, no longer did I have the advantage of strength, this shouldnt be possible, for a mortal to not just meet my strength, but surpasse it. Not even Hercules was able to equal me in strength. A shockwave blasted outward from our clash, rippling through the air, flattening everything within its reach.
"You think you can best me?" I sneered, forcing his weapon back. "Just another puppet, dancing on strings, chasing some father's approval—"
But his expression was unmoved. His form shimmered, as though he were shifting. His entire body pulsed, expanding, twisting with streaks of light. Before I could process it, he split—two, three, four figures, all surrounding me. He was still there but beside him were living constellations. They moved with eerie synchronicity, each one a cluster of stars forming a figure, their outlines were of mythical beasts—lion, serpent, wolf, falcon—each pulsing with a lethal energy.
One lunged at my leg; I barely twisted away, and the lion seized my arm, claws biting into my flesh with cold, spectral fury. I bellowed, swiping at it, but my spear sliced through empty light. Off-balance, I stumbled, fury igniting within me.
"Enough of your tricks!" I roared, slamming my foot into the ground, sending a quake that rippled outwards. The beasts faltered, their forms wavering, and I lunged forward, spearpoint aimed directly at his chest.
But he vanished—no, shifted. The air where he'd been shimmered, only to coalesce behind me in a burst of blinding light that forced my eyes shut. A raw beam of plasma erupted from his hand, scorching the earth as he hurled it toward me, like a star in miniature, seething and unrelenting. I braced myself, transforming my spear into a shield. The plasma struck, its heat blistering through even my armor, licking at my skin.
I growled, forming my shield back into my spear, and sprang back, gasping for breath that felt thick and heavy. The very air seemed to press down on me, a weight unlike any storm I'd ever faced while fighting Zeus. It was not the sky he was manipulating, I realized, horror slicing through my disbelief. He was bending space itself against me.
"What are you? Who gives you these powers?" I demanded, voice rasping with shock.
He said nothing. The air thrummed around him, shimmering with starlit energy, each inch of him a piece of the cosmos, a black sky pierced with a thousand points of light. He flicked his hand, and the stars orbiting him condensed, coalescing into a dense sphere that warped gravity around it—a miniature sun, burning and deadly, casting an otherworldly glow over him.
He was a silhouette against the void, an embodiment of space itself, his form woven from the very night sky. Stars drifted around him in orbit, aligning into the delicate yet vast shape of wings—a constellation brought to life. Each point of light shimmered like distant stardust, the wings stretching outward as if the heavens themselves had formed his celestial plumage. They were angelic, and ancient, a breathtaking constellation set against the deep void of his body. His eyes, twin pools filled with the radiance of countless galaxies, blazed with cosmic power. He was the dark space that bore the stars, a living constellation, wings spread wide as if to cradle the universe.
I looked at him, the power he wielded so foreign, yet so familiar. I had heard tales of it, from wars long past, before even my time—a war waged by my half-brothers, the Titans, the war that begun with the death of Chronos and Ouranos, waged by Astraeus himself. The realization struck like a thunderbolt.
"Uncle!" I bellowed, my voice tearing through the battlefield. "How dare you interfere! You think you can shield him from Gaia's wrath? You won't escape her this time. You'll end up just like your foolish brothers!"
But my words hung in the air, hollow and defiant, as the constellations blazed even brighter, as though mocking my rage with a cold, silent disdain. I knew he'd heard me—Astraeus, that wretched, ancient keeper of stars, favoring his nephew, giving away power that should have been ours. My grip tightened around my spear, each heartbeat pounding out the bitter truth that tore at my pride. This boy was no longer just a demigod; he was a vessel, a conduit for forces far beyond mortal comprehension. He wielded the power of a primordial, just like his father, a privilege that should never have belonged to him. None of them should have such power. Zeus and his ilk—why should they be blessed?
What had they done to deserve it, these Olympians? Was it not we, Gaia's true children, who had fought for her, who had upheld her will? And now, one of these tainted half-breeds dares to wield a strength that by right should be ours. The injustice was a poison in my veins, burning hotter than any wound. It was intolerable that some mortal, one with diluted blood, should inherit the gifts of my uncle—power that rightfully belonged to us, the heirs of Gaia. It wasn't fair; it wasn't just.
In a blinding flash, the star Jason conjured exploded outward, its force ripping through my defenses. The raw heat seared my skin. For a fleeting moment, I felt a pang of something I hadn't known in eons—fear.
Rage snapped me back. I would not yield to the spawn of that airhead of a God, not now, not ever.
I lunged forward, using my size and weight to my advantage, thrusting my spear with brutal force. He twisted, gliding out of my path as if time itself had bent to his will. A cold, invisible force tugged at me, pulling me off balance. Gravity, shifting against me, pulling me into a stumble.
"You've had your fun, godling," I snarled, my voice darkening. "But I am Porphyrion, King of the Giants, and I will see your corpse at my feet."
But before I could raise my spear to strike, he was in front of me again, his form flickering like a mirage. His voice, cold and calm, cut through the air, wrapping around me like the shadows of a moonless night.
"Fight all you want. But your death is ordained and I am it's herald." The boy said, the arrogance of it grating my nerves.
He struck with a force that was relentless, each movement a flawless, merciless dance of power, his attacks crashing down on me like meteors colliding with a virgin earth. His form flickered in and out of the darkness, shifting seamlessly between light and shadow, as if he were bending the very fabric of existence around himself. Space and time seemed to pulse in rhythm with his movements, each shift blurring the lines of reality. Every blow came fast, faster than even my reflexes could anticipate, and each one landed with a savage precision that shook me to my core.
I barely managed to bring my spear up, deflecting a slash that blazed with white-hot energy. But even as I blocked it, he was gone, shifting around me, his form reappearing just out of reach. His weapon came down again, a strike like lightning, shattering through my defenses and cleaving into my shoulder. I roared, the pain slicing through me as his attacks ripped into my very essence, each wound mending only to be torn apart once more by his relentless assault.
He moved with a fluidity I had never seen, a being both present and ethereal, his every attack a vicious note in a symphony that had become my own destruction. My spear clanged against his axe, and I felt the bones in my arm shudder with the impact, a shockwave reverberating through the air. He pressed on, faster, stronger, as if each swing pulled energy from the very stars that circled around him. I was backpedaling now, forced into a corner, my fury roaring within me as I tried to keep up, each moment chipping away at my strength.
In desperation, I rallied every ounce of power I had, summoning the raw force of my giant kin. I swung my spear in a wide arc, hoping to catch him, but he shifted once more, disappearing into the shadows and reappearing above me. His axe descended, its edge glowing with a fierce light that burned hotter than anything I had ever felt. It cleaved into me, splitting through sinew and bone, leaving a gash that even my monstrous form struggled to close.
I tried to swing again, my vision blurring as I fought to steady myself. The air thickened around me, the weight of his presence pressing down like the gravity of a collapsing star. I could feel it—the cosmos bending to his will, weaving space and time in his favor, each pulse of energy tearing through me as though I were nothing more than dust caught in a supernova. Rage drove me on, a final, primal urge to destroy, but deep within, I knew that this was a fight slipping out of my grasp. His power was insurmountable, a strength that felt ancient, untouchable.
But if I couldn't win, then I could still survive. All I had to do was escape, to slip through his grasp and live to see another day. With every ounce of cunning I had, I prepared to make my retreat, searching for any opening to pull back from this onslaught.
And just as I thought I'd found my moment, a blinding light filled my vision. I looked up, feeling the scorching heat of Apollo's wrath, his arrows flying through the air, blazing trails of sunlight. The cursed sun god—he had joined the fight, his arrows streaking down like a relentless rain of fire. I felt one pierce my skin, a searing pain that exploded through me, and then everything went dark.
Jason PoV:
Apollo looked at me, face healing but clothes smeared in ichor. He shot me a grin. "Good one, brother!" There was something off beneath his cheer, though, a flicker of concern in his gaze. "Just... stay clear of our uncles until we get a handle on those new powers. Alright?"
A rumbling voice interrupted. "No need to fret over my reaction, nephew," Poseidon said, striding forward. "Unlike my brothers, I don't kill my nieces and nephews."
Despite Poseidon's words, I felt Apollo stiffen beside me.
"Perseus is close with him," Apollo added quickly, voice soft, "and with his sister, too."
Poseidon sighed, casting a weary look at Apollo. "I know, dear boy. But it's not Jason who needs to worry." He paused, eyes narrowing. "But you and your twin…"
"W-what?" Apollo stammered, disbelief written across his face.
Poseidon didn't reply; instead, he turned and released a devastating beam, wiping out a wave of monsters with an almost careless contempt.
"If not for Hestia," he murmured, eyes still on the fading smoke, "your sister and her Hunt would already be dead and drowned." His voice held an edge. "I've made my peace with Artemis. After what happened last time…when she last invited one of my sons into her hunt. But then she went and invited Percy into her Hunt and got him shot. We had a deal Apollo and she broke it…that's what I cannot forgive. I made her swear to leave my children in peace. So there would never be a repeat of what happened to Orion." Poseidon's gaze flickered, dark and pained, and his voice dropped. "What happens when he offends her in some way? What happens when she kills him? Do you think I'll be forgiving this time? She…she befriended my favorite."
"She'd never—" Apollo began, but Poseidon cut him off with a raised hand, his eyes going wide with a new panick.
"He's gone!" Poseidon's voice broke into a rumble, like waves crashing against a cliffside. It was strange to see a god look genuinely terrified.
"What?" I asked, confusion twisting in my gut. "Who?"
Poseidon turned to me, voice urgent. "Your father was last with him—they're near where the Fates face Thoon. Apollo, come."
And we ran, the gods making the fights far easier to push through. Finally, we reached my father, but all I could see was a vortex, the Fates watching from within. My head spun just from watching it. The wrongness of it—a place outside reason, a sight that defied reality. Gods, what in Hades was happening?
Poseidon's PoV:
And there he was—my son, in the heart of a battle not just of bodies, but of domains. A push and pull, a clash of wills to decide the master of this newly christened realm, each strike sending out waves of destruction, reshaping existence with every blow. The balance of the universe was twisting, fate itself fraying as my son and that thing Thoon dumped raw power into their strikes, only to absorb back the chaos in a cycle that amplified them both. And with each pulse of power, the universe seemed to scream, splintering further into collapse. I saw the fates, they were watching from the realm of fate, their mothers realm, however I could see Percy and Thoon were now somewhere else, it was adjacent and yet…. Alien to where the fates reside.
I realized then, this wasn't just a fight—it was a cosmic reckoning, the birth of something new and it could either be great, or monstrous. I stepped forward to join, but the fates swung their heads an stared at me.
"Do not interfere."
I continued anyways, but I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Have faith brother. You know it's best to listen to the fates, they haven't failed us yet."
"If you seek to sacrifice my son for your own gain," I roared, my voice rolling across the battlefield like a tidal wave, "then you will make an eternal enemy of the Heir of Pontus and Thalassa. The seven seas will rise against fate itself—I swear it on Chaos!"
The darkness around us shivered, rippling as if in twisted ecstasy, feeding off the mention of the ultimate annihilator. Zeus's face went pale, his gaze flicking from me to the Fates with a mixture of shock and wariness. Just then, Hades arrived with his daughter, ever the big brother, even though he tries hard for it not to be so, he stepped between me and the Fates.
Yet the Fates only laughed, a sound that reverberated like the tolling of funeral bells. "Good," they intoned, voices blending in a harmony as cold as death. "We're glad that a cornerstone of our mother's plan has such a… devoted father. And that you Olympians are finally learning what loyalty can mean."
One of them sneered, her tone dripping with mocking delight. "And fascinating that you used Grandmother's name, dear Poseidon. Fitting even, though it seems the only thing you understand of her is how to take an unbreakable oath. Well… nearly unbreakable."
"Nearly?!" Zeus demanded, a new urgency sharpening his gaze.
The Fates turned their eyes to him, a flicker of something inscrutable in their depths. "Yes, son of Rhea. Change is coming, and even we do not know what it entails… not fully."
Ananke PoV:
We are all here—Astraeus, Nyx, Tartarus, Erebus, Pontus and Thalassa, inseparable as always; Aether and Hemera; Eros, with his once-mortal Psyche; Phanes; and even Elpis, who hovers on the edges, ever the overlooked one. Content to remain in history's shadows, Elpis has always been a gentle soul, yet there is something new in her—a quiet, potent anger. I see now that she, too, has chosen her side.
Gaia, in her arrogance, has overplayed her hand. What began as my solitary crusade has swelled into a symphony—a unified, resounding stand from every Primogenai. Even Astraeus has emerged from his self-imposed exile to witness this final reckoning. They heed Mother's call, rallying against the threat Gaia dares to bring upon her chosen—the one who holds Mother's favor entirely.
This being was not merely born of her essence but was crafted by her hand, a soul molded in the depths of her infinite abyss. His parentage was carefully chosen by me, with his life written by my hand, each trial and triumph guiding him to this singular moment. Yet I wonder: does Gaia even understand the ruin she courts? Does she sense the cliff's edge on which she stands?
Akhlys is gone, her essence consumed by this being—this strange, new presence in our cosmos, wrought by the Primogenitor herself. Gaia's crude attempt at a "fate-breaker" in Thoon was no more than an insult—a blunt instrument to unravel the essential order I crafted by attempting to steal Mother's fire. Her offense against the sacred order is unmatched in its audacity and unforgivable in its purpose.
Mother stirred when Gaia first conceived her giants, and we, timeless in our watch, observed as Gaia, with her stolen spark, forged a creature meant to tear through the very fabric I wove—a monstrosity whose purpose was to unravel the futures I envisioned. And yet, for all her stolen strength, Gaia remains an imitator of creation, limited to theft and envy but incapable of genuine innovation. With every resource she could desire, what did she produce? A hollow, corrupted abomination—a futile, blasphemous attempt to dismantle what I and my daughters are.
Yet Mother, in her infinite wisdom, took Gaia's theft and reshaped it, transforming the crude into something profound. She created a god of change, a counterforce to necessity, not as a mockery of her chaos but as a true embodiment of it, intricately tied to her primordial sea yet utterly distinct. This god of change—son of the ocean and, soon, the ruler of the Sea of Chaos—is a force I did not foresee. He exists both within and beyond my tapestry, a harmony of Chaos and Change.
And his destiny extends further still. With time itself as his inheritance, the whispers of Chronos's final decree still echo—a declaration made at his death, a legacy he set adrift across eons, betrayed in this place by his trusted kin. Perseus stands not merely to disrupt fate but to shape it, to paint upon the same canvas that I guard. He will rise as the God of Chaos, the God of Time, and the God of Change, carrying on the legacy of Mother's firstborn, a being as cherished as Nyx herself.
Until now, only my siblings, those beyond my design, could influence fate—and even then, only subtly, often fulfilling my intent as they sought to subvert it. But now? This god, should he survive his mortality, will be capable of rewriting the threads, altering destinies set in motion. With his rise and the domains he will inherit—three in total, two of them kingdoms—he will stand as a second artist upon my canvas, should he choose this path. He will become the most powerful of the Olympians.
Even with his strength, he will not stand alone. The heirs of Erebus, Pontus, Thalassa, and Ouranos are no less formidable. And in this new age, my siblings, who have long left their domains to the whims of chance, now turn to appoint their own stewards, compelled by Mother's example. Astraeus and Nyx have already chosen, but who else will follow? If Tartarus abandons his rebellion to rejoin our ranks, might he name an heir? And what of Eros, Phanes, Aether, and Hemera? To grant rule over one's domain is to forge a distilled, concentrated embodiment—a chosen avatar.
These avatars extend the primordial essence, just as I embody Necessity and, through my daughters, Fate. They are a rendering, a refined version of the primordial core, allowing abstract principles to become tangible forces. When my daughters were born, they refined Necessity, extending my reach and strengthening my influence over Fate. Though Necessity is mine, they hold dominion within and over it, wielding and directing its forces. I rouse myself only for profound moments like this, leaving the rest to their command.
Empowering this boy is an act that transforms the abstract into something concrete, shaping the primordial essence into a form that is both real and defined. And once this act is complete, it is permanent—no conventional means can undo it. By bestowing power upon him, Mother surrenders a part of her agency, creating in him not merely an extension but a refinement of her essence. His existence broadens and refines her influence, intertwining his power with hers. Such a choice requires a rare alignment of nature and essence, between the two, which is why it is rarely done. You must find a resonance between candidate and creator. The candidate must profoundly understand the nature of the Primordial he seeks to rule.
None of us foresaw this. Even I doubted at first when the cold whisper first came, its ancient warnings haunting my dreams. But the dread that accompanied it was unmistakably Mother's, and her scrutiny was a weight unlike any other—like treading water above an abyss, knowing ravenous beasts lurk below, awaiting a misstep.
She commanded me to create a perfect fate for him—a journey of trials and choices to shape him. His lineage would reflect Mother's own chaotic nature, and who better than Poseidon, champion of Pontus and Thalassa, those twin embodiments of the sea? They mirror Mother's Primordial Sea, a fitting echo of her, they are her upper-world counterpart. So Poseidon was the perfect choice, one I selected after long deliberation. I almost chose others, Eris, Ate, even my own daughters the three fates, For a long time I even considered Pan. I lingered on him for awhile, the prospect of having the child of her favored be her ultimate end was to good, one last insult. But alsas, I knew my duty, and from the Sea of the Upperland was where his lineage needed to come from.
For his mortal lineage, I chose a woman as splendid as Psyche herself—a goddess among mortals, one who could survive the harshest of our world's trials. I forged her life with hardship, her spirit unbreakable, her love unyielding. She would raise him to embody both strength and kindness, to be a destroyer and protector in equal measure.
Now, we wait to see if he will embrace what he is destined to become.
I let my gaze drift over my kin, lingering longest on Tartarus, who stands proud, defiant—though I wonder how long that defiance will last.
"You tried to kill the boy…" I murmur softly, almost lovingly, the danger seething beneath each word.
Nyx's eyes blaze, her voice low and cold. "We should do to you what awaits your precious bride."
Tartarus bristles, his voice a cacophony of wails and moans rising from the damned. "I came under a sign of peace, to explain myself before our Mother's domain." His voice thunders, then falters as he asks, "Can she hear us? Has she…awoken?" All bravado breaks, and fear laces his words.
The answer comes in a shuddering rumble, vibrating through us. The air itself trembles, the weight of her presence almost too much to bear.
"I thought it was the same game, Mother," he stammers, nearly choking on the words. "I didn't know you had chosen the boy, nor did I know of Gaia's theft."
"Lies!" Nyx hisses, shadows curling around her like serpents, only to be washed away as a wave of nothingness sweeps over us, stripping us of our powers, leaving our very consciousness wavering, teetering on the brink of annihilation—a warning of what awaits us if we misstep.
Nyx's expression is caught between awe and terror, her body writhing with ecstasy. Tartarus, now kneeling, seems barely able to move as he feels Chaos's presence for the first time in eons. He trembles as he speaks, each word careful, deliberate. "I knew of Thoon's purpose. I provided certain… materials for his creation and the creation of the others. But I was blind to her source of power. None of you enlightened me. My role has always been to guard my siblings' trash, their castoffs. I am forsaken, overlooked. All I wanted was something to call my own, something good. So yes, I aided Gaia. But, like my brother, I found my children…lacking. But what could I do? She has her ways, of all of us, she is the only one to kill a Primogenai. So I did nothing, for I learned from Ouranos' mistake."
Astraeus stiffens, rage overcoming even Mother's crushing presence. "His only mistake was loving an ambitious, traitorous harlot!" he roars.
I laugh softly, rising as Mother's influence retreats back into her depths. "I must say, brother, I do admire your colorful language."
Tartarus sighs. "You are all too harsh. Gaia was made to create, to be the mother of life, and yet Ouranos cast her children into my pit. Can any of you imagine the agony of losing your children?"
"I care not for her reasons, nor her pain, I hope she suffers for all eternity, she killed Chronos, my love, my other half!" I shout, the anger surging through me.
"And Ouranos had his reasons!" Astraeus bellows. "Those children were ravaging humanity, tearing through the world. They left us no choice."
"But still," Tartarus says, his voice cautious, "she too has suffered greatly."
Nyx giggles, her eyes dangerous and cruel. "And still you defend her. Perhaps you would like to join her in her punishment?"
Tartarus roars, "How dare…." but before he can finish his sentence that wave of nothingness again sweeps over us, and for the first time, true terror fills me. Tartarus bows his head so low it nearly touches the ground, and it is as if he communes with something far below. When he finally lifts his gaze, horror fills his eyes. He looks to Nyx and me, voice trembling. "Surely not? Surely it isn't…"
"Our Mother does not make threats," I say, my voice hushed and wary, the weight of truth settling over us all. "Do you not understand? Our very existence now rests on his victory. If he fails, she will wipe the board clean—including us. Mother does not lose. Ever."
"Then Gaia must fall," Tartarus murmurs, sadness thickening the air around him. "May she forgive me."
Hazel PoV:
I arrived with my father, still exhilarated from our victory over Clytius, my head buzzing with questions about the strange warnings he'd given me regarding the dangers of my newfound powers—their origin, their pull on me. But any thoughts of that vanished when I saw it: a vortex, a churning storm of power, with Percy at its center.
I sprinted forward, my father following close behind, and that's when I heard it—a voice, a rumble deep and powerful like the crash of waves.
"If you seek to sacrifice my son for your own gain," it roared, the voice rolling across the battlefield like a tidal wave, "then you will make an eternal enemy of the Heir of Pontus and Thalassa. The seven seas will rise against fate itself—I swear it on Chaos!"
In awe, I watched as my father moved in front of me, stepping between the vortex and his brother. I turned my gaze back to the center of that storm and saw them—the Fates—watching Percy as he fought a monstrous, twisted figure I didn't recognize. A shiver ran through me as the weight of their gaze seemed to reach me as well.
I ran to Jason, who looked… different, his form lit by an aura of powerful, radiant light. His axe shimmered with a strange, white glow, like starlight bound in metal.
"What's happening?" I asked, unable to hide the worry in my voice.
"I don't know," Jason replied, his expression bleak. "The battle's almost over. I just got here myself."
And as I looked around, I could see he was right. The armies of Olympus, led by Talos, had decimated the giants' monstrous forces. The giants were fallen, and only this last, dire confrontation remained. Gaia was still absent, her threat lingering, but for now, we were gathering, witnessing the final giant's fall.
The gods were slowly gathering, drawn like iron to a magnet, watching as the last act of this war unfolded. Artemis, her eyes wide with alarm, tried to push her way toward the vortex, mirroring Poseidon's attempt to enter, but Ares and Apollo held her back, bound by Zeus's command. Nearby, Athena gripped Annabeth by the shoulders, holding her in place as she struggled, her face drained of color, her terror palpable as she strained against her mother's hold, desperate to reach Percy. Leo joined us with Hephaestus, his usual joking demeanor replaced by a grim silence. Aphrodite drifted in, and Piper rushed immediately to Annabeth, murmuring soft words, trying to calm her down.
Dionysus lay sprawled on the ground, visibly spent, his usual carefree mischief replaced by an empty, haunted stare. He looked as though he'd emerged from a decade-long Vegas bender—the kind that doesn't end in stories of wild escapades but in silence, the desperate search for clarity, and the nearest rehab center. His face was drained of color, his eyes unfocused, and he clutched his head as if even the softest sound could shatter what little remained of his composure. Around him, the rest of the gods kept their distance from the vortex, sharing weary glances, each face etched with exhaustion and unspoken dread.
Frank approached me, pulling me into a brief, tight hug and pressing a soft kiss to my cheek. I blushed, momentarily comforted by his warmth, but the feeling was fleeting. The unease around us, the tension humming in the air, left little room for such gestures.
The gods seemed to respect the space that Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades needed for their hushed, hurried conference, yet I saw Hestia standing as close as anyone dared, her expression solemn, her eyes fixed on the swirling power within the vortex. It was all we could do—to watch and hope.
I turned to Jason, a desperate edge to my voice. "What can we do? We can't just leave him."
Jason looked at me, his face shadowed with doubt. "We need to find a way in," he said, but the defeat in his eyes mirrored my own. He looked as lost as I felt.
I wish Nico were here… The thought drifted unbidden into my mind.
Percy's PoV:
Our fight began with a fury that sent shockwaves through this realm, a place unbound by time or fixed form, where the ground itself twisted and pulsed as if echoing our blows. The Fates were gone, replaced by this expanse of raw, moldable chaos, a blank slate responding to each movement as we circled one another, testing, striking, each probing attack met with parry or dodge. Yet, despite his immense power, I realized quickly that Thoon was clumsy, unfocused. Every swing was an overreach, every defense a step too slow. I was faster, sharper, trained. But his resilience—it was maddening. I'd decapitated him, dismembered him, and driven my blade through his heart more times than I could count, yet each time, he simply reformed, the rules of mortality were nothing but a suggestion to him. He was a monster designed to endure—to withstand even death itself. I, on the other hand… I was just a demigod. I needed a god, someone to help me, but I was alone.
Where was everyone? How long had this fight lasted? Hours, days? Time held no meaning here. I had only Thoon, this twisted, endless landscape, and a deepening sense of isolation.
And as the battle wore on, our fight morphed into something darker, more insidious—a struggle not merely of strength, but of existence itself. Every blow I landed, every brutal strike he threw, sent shudders through the realm around us, like stones plunged into a pond, each impact sending waves that rippled outward, echoing through reality itself. I could feel it deep, in the marrow of my bones, a pull that reached beyond flesh and blood, clawing into something far more primal.
Every clash of our weapons seemed to drag something buried to the surface—a hidden, pulsing force. It felt as though each strike was pulling at threads I hadn't known existed, threads that wove through past, present, and futures yet born, twisting them into a tightening knot of tension, straining under our weight. The ground beneath us wasn't just a battleground; it had become the loom on which fate itself was stretched, our blows cutting and weaving new paths into its fabric.
And it was more than that—our wills were tearing into each other's realities, warping them, bending destiny with each swing and every desperate dodge.
With every clash of our weapons, I could feel a shifting tapestry at the edge of my senses—possibilities warping, timelines twisting. My blade slicing through his flesh wasn't just a wound; it was a new path carved through fate itself, each cut trailing an echo of what could be. Our wills collided in a way that bled into the fabric of destiny, shaping reality not just by strength but by intent, each of us tugging against the future itself.
Every glint of my blade, every drop of blood that splattered onto the ground wasn't just part of the battle; it was a claim on fate. I could see it, flashes of fractured futures flaring out and dissolving as quickly as they came—a world where Thoon triumphed, Olympus broken, my friends twisted in chains of despair. The sick satisfaction in Thoon's eyes told me he saw it, too.
And then he whispered, "You see it, don't you? The ruin that awaits you. I am unmaking your every triumph, unraveling your victories strand by strand." His words wove through the space between us, thick as blood, carving despair into the very air we fought in.
But there was something more—another path, a sliver of power I could feel but hadn't yet grasped. An instinct kicked in, something beyond mortal reach. With every desperate swing, every block that sent tremors through my bones. I soon realized something, we weren't just fighting over destiny; we were deciding who'd to become its master.
Thoon's sneer twisted, his eyes dark and cold, a predator's gaze fixed on me as he leaned closer, his words seething with malice. "I see you ripped apart, stripped of everything you've ever fought for. Your family," he hissed, his voice a poison in the air, "bound in chains, dragged through the filth, their will broken, their minds cracked open by agony and terror until there is nothing left but obedience to my mother. They will not remember you as their savior but as the reason they suffer, despising you with every breath they're forced to take."
His voice dropped, each syllable a blade aimed straight at my heart. "Your friends, left to rot in the ruins of their hope, cursing the day they ever trusted you. One by one, they'll turn, abandoning your memory, feeling only disgust for the fool who promised them safety. They'll waste away alone, embittered and broken, knowing your name was nothing but the start of their end."
He stepped closer, his grin vicious as he continued. "And those you dared to love?" His tone grew sharper, harsher, grinding down on me with an almost gleeful violence. "Their pride and dignity soiled, thrown to wolves that despise them. They'll be mocked, abused, forced to smile as their hearts rot. Each night, they'll lie awake, hate festering as they realize you were never going to save them, as they remember you only with contempt."
Thoon's words grew darker still, his gaze hard as stone. "And the sister you never got to meet," he said, his tone cold and merciless, "she'll bleed out in your mother's arms, the life draining from her eyes while you watch, chained and helpless. Her blood will stain your hands forever, the weight of it carving itself into your soul. She'll whisper her hate for you with her dying breath, her final moments filled with naught but bitterness, her death entirely your fault."
Each twisted word slammed into me like a hammer, and my mind grew heavy, my chest tight with the visions he forced into existence. No not visions, the future, what will be if he wins. His face softened into a sick smile, voice quiet, laced with cruel finality. "Your mother?" He leaned in, his whisper a gutting knife. "She'll weep for a son who never deserved her love. She'll feel nothing but emptiness in your name, her heart hollowed out, her life a cycle of grief she'll never escape. You'll be her curse, the reason she lives in unending sorrow until she forgets she ever knew joy."
He took a step back, his gaze still locked on mine, reveling in the future he had woven. It was raw and cold, a future of loss so total it seared itself into the marrow of my bones, commanding me to falter, demanding I succumb.
With each word, the world around us shifted, responding to his will. It was as if his desires became reality, a sick perversion clawing its way into existence. I could see it—the twisted futures he spun out of darkness, reality bending to his sick fantasies. A landscape of pain and ruin unfolded before me: Annabeth's eyes hollow, her voice a broken whisper; my mother weeping over a shattered urn, clinging to memories of a son who had failed her; friends turning away, betrayed by their own loyalty to me. My heart lurched, and for a moment, I felt a weight bearing down on me, a dread that clawed at my resolve.
"Shut up!" I roared, hurling myself at him, each strike fueled by rage. But with every swing, the darkness grew, as if my very defiance fed into his horror. Yet, in the chaos, I felt something else—a pull. An instinct deeper than rage, something that thrummed within me like the ocean's pull. Like reaching for water, I stretched out, feeling for that invisible current, and then I felt it.
It was a vast web of threads, each one humming with potential, each one connected to lives, to choices, to realities. Fate. And in that moment, I saw everything—the world as it was and as it could be, laid out in endless lines before me. It was exhilarating, a rush of power and understanding that filled me with a strange clarity, like I was both in the fight and above it, able to shape it with every move.
But even with that discovery and the power it gave me, I soon realized the problem. I wasn't just fighting him. It wasn't just his strength I faced, no it was a darkness seeping from him like blood, Gaia's will flooding into every fiber of his being, her fury woven into his bones. The air grew thick, rank with a hatred that went beyond rage; it was raw, untamed madness, the grief of a mother twisted into something vile and unholy. Her essence merged with his, amplifying him to a scale beyond anything I'd ever felt. I could sense the crushing weight of their combined power pressing down on me, an endless, unbreakable force. I was facing not a single monster but Gaia herself—her grief, her wrath, her ancient, malevolent will flowing through him like a poisoned river, drowning me in its depths. I was outclassed. I couldn't win.
The realization hit like a hammer, a brutal blow, and a certainty as cold as stone. I was alone, facing a force that not even the gods could challenge. The weight of it sank deep into me, suffocating any flicker of hope. There was no escape, no breaking through, no path left except to witness my own end.
And he knew it. His eyes gleamed with twisted satisfaction, his lips curling into a cruel smile as he saw the hopelessness dawn in my gaze. He leaned close, his voice a mockery, a whisper sharp and cruel.
"Delicious," he murmured, savoring my despair like a feast. The gleam in his eyes spoke of hunger, a craving that went beyond bloodlust, as if my helplessness was the offering he'd waited eons to savor.
"What are you going to do little hero?" He hummed, his withered old form growing in size as I raised Riptide, determined to die with dignity.
A heroes Fall ~ Percy's PoV:
I darted to the side, barely avoiding Thoon's grip as his massive hand cut through the air where I'd just been standing. My chest heaved, my breath burning in my lungs as I searched for any advantage, any weakness. But with every dodge, every swing of Riptide, he just kept coming, relentless, like a nightmare brought to life.
"You can't outrun this, Perseus," he sneered, his voice like gravel scraping against my bones. "I see every future carved out for you, and they all end in despair."
I grit my teeth, gripping Riptide until my knuckles turned white. "Screw you!" I spat, trying to keep the fear from my voice.
He lunged again, his arms like iron bars slamming down, and I rolled, feeling the shockwave rumble through the ground as his fists smashed into the earth. I scrambled to my feet, swinging Riptide in a desperate arc, managing to slice across his forearm. The blade bit deep, and for a second, hope surged in my chest.
But he only laughed, his eyes dark and hungry, like he was savoring every second of this. "Yes, little hero. Struggle. Cling to that hope of yours." He started listing horrible futures again, his voice a low, sickening drone. His words cut into me deep, twisting inside my mind.
But I kept moving, forcing myself to ignore him. Focus. Breathe. I dodged his next swing, slipping out of his reach just in time. For a moment, I thought maybe—just maybe—I could keep this up. Just keep dodging, stay one step ahead. There had to be a way out.
But Thoon was getting faster. His movements shifted from brutal swings to precise strikes, each one closer than the last. I felt his fingertips graze my shoulder, cold and rough, sending a shiver down my spine. My legs were heavy, every muscle aching, but I couldn't stop. I wouldn't stop.
Then he caught me.
His hand clamped around my wrist, and it felt like a vice, iron-hard, yanking me back. I thrashed, twisting, trying to wrench myself free, but he was too strong. His fingers dug into my skin, pinning me in place. I managed to raise Riptide, but he was faster, his other hand wrapping around my throat and lifting me effortlessly off the ground.
"No," I gasped, trying to pry his fingers from my neck, but his grip only tightened, cutting off my air. Spots danced at the edges of my vision as my lungs screamed for oxygen, my body growing weaker with each second. I could feel my pulse pounding against his fingers, every beat of my heart slower than the last.
"Look at you," he sneered, his face inches from mine, his eyes filled with cruel satisfaction. "The mighty hero, broken and pathetic."
I wanted to shout back, to keep fighting, but the strength was draining from my limbs, my vision narrowing as darkness closed in. Even then, I forced myself to look him in the eye, the last bit of defiance I had left, refusing to let him see me break.
His fingers tightened, and the world went dark.