Hello and welcome back to Under the Silver Moon
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-GOD OF SPIDER- Thank you so much for your insightful thoughts! I love hearing your theories, and you're definitely asking the right questions. Kronos always has something up his sleeve, and with Percy in such a vulnerable state, the stakes have never been higher. You're right—Percy's connection to the mortal world and Camp Half-Blood will always be a driving force, but whether he chooses to fight the same battles or forge a new path remains to be seen. I'm excited to share what's next, and I truly appreciate your support! Stay tuned!
- God of Spider- Thank you so much for your excitement and support! I'm really glad you enjoyed the fight with Kronos—I wanted it to feel intense and realistic, given everything Percy has been through. His escape was definitely a close call, and while he's not out of the woods yet, he's proven time and time again that he's a survivor. I can't wait for you to see the reactions to his return! Stay tuned, and thanks again for your enthusiasm—it means a lot! 😊
Chapter 50: The Fallen Hero
Percy's Point of View
Pain.
It was all Percy knew. It burned through him like wildfire, searing every nerve, turning every breath into agony. He was weightless, suspended in nothingness, his body torn between worlds. The portal dragged him forward, his mind barely clinging to consciousness as Tartarus slipped away behind him.
And then—
He fell.
Percy hit the marble floor of Olympus with a sickening thud.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then—
A scream.
It took a second for Percy's foggy mind to register the voice. Artemis.
His body refused to move, every muscle locked in unbearable pain. But he could hear. He could feel. The cold, polished marble beneath him. The thick, metallic scent of blood in the air. The warm liquid pooling beneath him—his blood.
The gods had been in session. He had dropped right into the middle of the throne room.
Somewhere above him, voices blurred together. Shouts. Gasps. Someone cursed. Another called his name.
His vision flickered. Shapes moved around him, but he couldn't focus. All he could really see was Riptide. Still embedded in his gut. The bronze blade glowed faintly, as if mocking him, as if reminding him that his own weapon had been turned against him.
"G-get it… out," he rasped, barely above a whisper.
Then the world tilted, and he knew he was going under.
Artemis's Point of View
She couldn't breathe.
One moment, the gods were arguing about whether they should act, whether they should intervene in Tartarus. The next, Percy had fallen at their feet, broken and bleeding out.
And there was so much blood.
Her legs felt weak. She wanted to move, to run to him, to do something, but she was frozen in place, her mind struggling to process what was happening.
"Percy?" she whispered.
He didn't answer. He barely twitched, his face deathly pale, his breaths shallow.
Then chaos erupted.
"By the Fates," Hermes muttered, stepping back in shock.
Apollo was already moving, dropping to his knees beside Percy. "Someone help me! I need ambrosia—now!"
"Why is his own blade inside him?!" Athena demanded, her voice sharp, but even she looked shaken.
Hestia appeared beside Artemis, wrapping a warm, gentle arm around her. "Breathe, child," she whispered. "He's here. He made it."
But Artemis couldn't breathe. Not when Percy's blood was staining the marble, not when she had nearly lost him forever.
"Move!" Apollo snapped, his voice leaving no room for argument. He pressed his hands over the wound, golden light flickering at his fingertips. "I need space to work!"
Artemis forced her legs to move, stepping back only enough to let Apollo work.
"Artemis…" Hestia's voice was soft. "He's in good hands now."
Artemis shook her head. "I should have— I should have been there."
Hestia just held her closer. "And yet, he survived. He fought his way back to you."
Artemis's throat tightened. That was the worst part. Percy had fought his way out of Tartarus, alone. And this was the price.
Then—
A crack of thunder shook the room.
Poseidon's Point of View
His son.
His only son.
Bleeding out on the floor of Olympus, a sword lodged in his gut, barely clinging to life.
Poseidon had never known a rage like this. It drowned him, filling every inch of his being like an unstoppable tide.
And Zeus—his fool of a brother—was just standing there.
Poseidon turned slowly to face him, his hands clenched at his sides, his trident forming in his grasp. The room crackled with energy, the air thick with the promise of war.
"You denied me," Poseidon growled, his voice dangerously low. "You stopped me from going after him. And now look." He gestured to Percy's broken body. "Look at what your cowardice has done."
Zeus's jaw tightened. "This is not my fault."
"Not your fault?" Poseidon's power surged, making the room tremble. "You forbade the gods from intervening! You chose to let him suffer! You sentenced my son to this!"
Zeus's grip tightened on his Master Bolt. "Watch your words, brother."
"Or what?" Poseidon snarled, stepping closer. "You'll strike me down? Try it. I dare you."
The tension in the room thickened, every god on edge. Athena and Hermes exchanged wary glances. Hera shifted uncomfortably on her throne. Ares, of course, looked far too eager for what was about to happen.
Zeus's lightning flared. "You forget your place, Poseidon."
Poseidon bared his teeth. "And you forget yours, King of Olympus."
Then he attacked.
A tidal wave erupted inside the throne room, crashing towards Zeus with the force of a hurricane. Thunder boomed as Zeus countered, his lightning splitting the wave in two. The gods scattered, some teleporting away, others watching in stunned silence.
Poseidon didn't relent. He lunged, his trident aimed straight for Zeus's heart.
Zeus barely blocked in time, his Master Bolt clashing against the weapon of the sea god. Sparks flew. The floor cracked beneath them. Power radiated from the two brothers, shaking Olympus to its very core.
Poseidon pushed harder, his strength fueled by fury. "You do not get to act like this isn't on you, Zeus."
"Stand down!" Zeus bellowed, shoving him back.
Poseidon didn't stand down. He swung again, his trident aiming for Zeus's ribs—
"ENOUGH!"
The voice that stopped them wasn't that of a god.
It was Apollo.
He knelt beside Percy, his hands covered in golden ichor. "If you two are done throwing tantrums," he snapped, "maybe focus on the dying demigod first?"
Poseidon's rage was ice-cold. But Apollo was right.
His fury could wait.
He turned back to his son, kneeling beside him, his heart twisting at how pale Percy was.
"I'm here, Percy," Poseidon murmured. He reached out, placing a hand on his son's forehead. "Stay with me."
Percy's eyelids fluttered. He barely managed a whisper.
"'Bout… time…"
Poseidon almost laughed. Even now, even dying, Percy still had that sharp tongue.
"I'm getting you out of here," Poseidon promised, turning to Apollo. "What do you need?"
Apollo's expression was grim. "Time."
Poseidon's grip on his trident tightened. "Then you have it."
He turned, casting one last glare at Zeus. This wasn't over.
But first—his son would live. Or Olympus would burn.
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