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“It hurts to breathe,” he thought, “Every breath, pure agony,” he clawed at his throat, to no avail. All he could see were skies of blood red clouds, hanging above his head like an executioner. The air constricted like a noose around his windpipe. “No no no no no!” He couldn’t do anything. He could never do anything. “Please! Make it stop!” Loose, and loose was all he could do. He screamed. Raw and painful, as tears fell down the  sides of his face. He felt helpless. He was helpless. Nobody was coming to save him….why would they? “PLEASE! Let me go!” Maybe, they all saw him for what he truly was….a monster. Just like his father, like all his siblings. Because all the water in the world couldn’t wash away the blood that stained his hands, his soul. Did he even have one? Did monsters have a soul? Why couldn’t he have been normal? Why couldn’t they let him be? He pushed up to his knees, the obsidian cutting into his skin, but he didn’t bleed. Because he wasn’t human. He never was. Monster, Monster, Monster. He vaguely recognized that he was screaming again– the ripping sensation of his vocal cords exerting themselves. “Why! WHY ME!” He could taste the iron of blood, as it ran down from his eyes, because he didn’t cry tears like a human. No, he was an abomination that cried the blood of people he had killed. Of people who had died because of him. Friend or foe, they would die–he wasn’t worth saving, they all knew it, he knew it– and it would be his fault. “I just want it to end,” the monster thought as he stumbled to his feet, a gaping hole in his chest dripping ichor.  The golden drops sizzled as they fell onto the ground. He walked for ages. He lost track of the passage of time. He wasn’t worth anything. WORTHLESS MONSTER.

Percy sat on the deck, the rough wood abrasive almost against his bare thighs, as the sun glared down at the boats. He-not for the first or last time- desperately missed the modern invention that would be sunscreen, hell he’d kill for some gods forsaken pants! There was little in the way of work, seeing as Percy was an “unexpected extra” as Patroclus had put it in their first few weeks sailing. At first he’d mentally said “fuck it, I could use a vacation” even though getting stabbed in the chest by the minotaur, then dying but not really and landing in ancient Greece was hardly the place for his impromptu “boat cruise.” What a shitty cruise this would be if it was, not free continental breakfasts that Percy loved, or the Poke stalls that had been on one of the cruises that he and his friends had taken that one winter. There were no bottomless virgin margaritas for him to enjoy, or a virgin daiquiri with an unnaturally vibrant red maraschino cherry that had been speared by the tiny umbrella. Only sweaty men that didn't bathe and the smell was absolutely horrendous(so not that far off from a modern day cruise). At least it was-till his nose took mercy on his mental state and went blind to it.  Now Percy was getting restless, frustrated almost. His arms ached with the need to do something, and his legs screamed at him with the need to move, but the small cargo boat they were on was both a) too small to get a good run going, and b) to crowded that even if he worked up a rhythm of running one end to the other, he’d end up bumping into someone. He couldn’t even go for a swim! For Hades' sake!  And none of his cousins could come entertain him either. Not that he needed to be entertained, he wasn’t a child. 

So there he sat on the deck, his hands absently carving delicate details into a block of wood. Hopefully the ability to suck at carving wood wasn’t genetic, because Percy had seen the little turds that had come from Hermes' “skilled” hands. He was currently making an owl, shaving away little slivers of wood to make feathers. 

Gods, he missed the Argos II, even if it was a boat/airship from hell (Leo's hands) that constantly needed repairs. He yearned for that boat, because even if they were headed to their deaths, they had each other. Now he had no one. Achilles and Patroclus? No, he was lying to their faces. He was lying to everyone, in the past and in his present. Why couldn’t I be honest ? A little voice in the back of his head whispered. The blade slipped and sliced the pad of his thumb, causing him to hiss and return to reality. He sighed as he stuck the thumb into his mouth, that was enough carving for today. The sea was calm like it always was, well behaved. They would reach the beaches of Troy in a week, and Percy felt a sense of foreboding and dread start to clench around his neck like a hand. How was he supposed to go through and let his friends die? What would happen if he stopped Achilles from dying, Patroclus? He knew it was Achilles’s destiny to die, he had made that choice when he signed up for this war. He practically forfeited his life in the name of glory. “Hubris will get you killed,” he thought, words someone had told him long ago, “it is what killed all of Odysseus’s men, Icarus.” Suddenly he was 13 again, sitting around the campfire, singing his little heart out with his friends, just before the end of summer, with the promise of war far ahead in his future. 

“Percy?” a hand shook his shoulder, and his eyes snapped up from where they had fallen on his owl. Dark brown looked back at him, kind and concerned. “Percy are you alright? You are crying,” he was? He reached up and wiped his face, and sure enough his fingers came back stained with his tears. 

“Oh,” he responded weakly as his eyes fell to his hand. 

“Percy?! Did something happen?” the voice said more urgently, worry stricken in his calming voice. Finally did Percy shake himself out of wherever his mind had gone. He sucked in a breath he didn’t know he was denying himself. As he looked at Patroclus, his heart felt lighter, the burden he felt coming onto his shoulders lessening. That's right, it wasn’t his destiny, it was theirs, the world wasn’t going to end with his decision. Oh if he had a nickel. 

“Yeah, but…” he stood, feeling a sense of ease as he walked over to the railing “I think everything is going to be just fine.”  Percy turned his head to look at the perplexed prince. That's right, everything was going to be fine. He could feel it.

Chapter Text

Waves crested against the hull of the boat as it carved its path towards Troy, Odysseus stood at the helm as his ships followed the rest of the army. Eurylochus had earlier expressed his displeasure in being put in the back, which led to the two brother-in-laws fighting; Polities had to send them to separate ends of the ships like scolded children. “Childish?” Odysseus wasn't childish, he was king of Ithaca for Lord Zeus's sake! He picked at the wood on the railing as he muttered to himself in frustration. At least it had been smooth sailing so far, calm winds and pleasant skies were a blessing from the lord of the Sea himself.

“Odysseus, I have a matter of importance to speak to you about,” he jumped at the sudden voice of his goddess friend. Athena had been a dear friend of his since boyhood, after he had seen through her disguise. He could feel her presence in his mind as he turned to look at the corporeal form of the wisdom goddess. Her large owl wings were tucked behind her back as she moved to lean on the railing. She removed her helm and shook her golden waves free, “It has come to my attention that someone new has joined the ranks of the greeks”

Odysseus tensed, because attracting the attention of the gods wasn’t always a good thing, and though Athena was what the king would consider one of the more tame ones, she was still a goddess. And if his suspicions were correct she was talking about a certain vibrant eyed nymph. Why would Percy attract the attention of the gods? Other than his beauty, and maybe his fighting prowess, though he personally hadn’t seen much of that yet. “What is the name of this man that you speak of?” he feigned ignorance, hoping that it would be anyone else. 

“You address him as Percē” Athena spoke firmly, clearly she knew he was pretending to not know who exactly she was talking about. “My sister-in-law’s bastard,” she smirked a little, the corner of her mouth quarking as if there was humor to be found in her words. 

“What of him?” he questioned cautiously, “has the nymph done something to offend the gods?” He knew Percy was very blase about the gods, to a startling degree, so it wouldn’t be something to put past the boy.

“Nymph? He is no nymph” she chuckled at his foolishness. “Though he is quite beautiful” she materialized an owl carving into her hand, its wood slightly charred from the offering pyre, “and very kind,” Athena murmured softly, she tucked the statuette into her robes, "I need you to protect him, his destiny is very important to us,” her grey eyes looked into his. After a moment, he sighed and shifted to gaze at the water below. 

“I’ll do my best, but he is not among my ranks, he has aligned himself with the Myrmidons and their princes.” the wind picked up a hair at the king’s words, as if nature itself was against such things happening, though, he wouldn't know why till much later in his life. Odysseus turned to look at the wisdom goddess, but found he was alone once more, “she always does that!” he huffed in annoyance, (not even a simple goodbye! ARG) 

 Luke sat in Cabin 3, holding a picture of a group of friends, 7 demigods. The quiet pitter patter of rain hitting the window pane in the background. He didn't know most of their young faces, but his, his stood out; he wasn’t looking at the camera. He was looking down into a pair of grey eyes, a small smile on his face as the demigod gazed at his girlfriend. He swallowed thickly and set the photo back on the night stand. Gods how had things turned out this way, no…that's right, he went crazy and tried to kill everyone, in the name of “justice”. But justice for who? Certainly not the demigods he swore to make a better life for all those years ago. Not his aching heart after every child died in the war, died under his command or otherwise. But “sacrifices must happen for change” as Kronos would always say. What a load of shit, he was so stupid to fall for such lies. He traded the family he did have, in favor of one that was only using him as a pawn. A titan that had taken advantage of a broken child and molded him into a weapon of war. 

He looked around at the lived in cabin, years; years of memories he missed out on. Years of happy memories he could have had but and thrown away when he tossed his lot in with his great grandfather. The minotaur horn, a few drachmas, and a watch sat on a shelf by the bunk. Luke found himself reaching for the horn; thumbing at the cartilage of the ancient beast, in some sick way he found himself feeling that he would do it all over again if it meant that he could see his star again. Standing in front of him, face contorted in a beautiful expression of rage. Defiant as he would raise his bronze sword to Luke’s. To stand across Percy and exchange blows, fighting for each other's lives. He took a shuddering breath as tears started to prick in his gold rimmed eyes. Rationally he knew Percy was alive and well, he had made sure of that; that didn’t make it any easier. 

“What are you doing in here,” an angry voice demanded as the cabin door flew open. There stood a fuming son god. Just great. Luke placed the horn back in its spot on the dusty shelf that Selina would’ve marked down for room ch–. A tired sigh escaped his body as he pushed himself to his feet. Only to be shoved against a wall roughly, the shell and coral inlays poking at his back. “You have no right to be here,” Apollo snarled, his eyes glowing and his skin burning with the heat of the sun. If he were mortal, Luke would certainly be a black spot on the wall; he would never be mortal again. 

“None of your fucking business” Luke growled back as he shoved the god away, “I can be in here if I want,” he wasn’t going to be pushed around, not by him.“What are you doing here” the son of Hermes snarked with an air of condescension that he definitely didn’t deserve to have.  The room seemed to crackle with divine energy as the sun god, and once demigod, now something else faced off. The brikabrak on the shelves and walls started to clatter. 

“I can be in my boyfriend’s room, if I so choose, besides,” Apollo crossed his arms, tossing his curly blond hair to the side with a slight jerk of his head “I was looking for this mortal anchor, as you so unhelpful put it,”  

“Unhelpful! Ha, that’s ironic coming from you,” Luke snapped, his voice cold like his blade, “you make me sick, acting like you care about Percy,” Apollo gasped in horror and fury, but Luke wasn't backing off; it was his turn to push back. “Acting like his “death” means anything to you, it’s only by my grace that he is alive!” He was starting to shout, “how many years? How many years have you let him go off on quests? To nearly die for you?” 

“BECAUSE OF YOU!,” Apollo roared back, “had you not sided with the Titans! Had you not thrown the gods away in favor of evil—”

“I WAS A CHILD! And the gods threw me away first! The gods forsake their children, all the fucking time! Do you know how many children I had to hold as they cried about being unwanted? TO MANY! I shouldn’t have had to play parent at 17! Or any age before that! I wanted a better life for demigods,” Luke didn’t realize it, but his golden rims were starting to glow as his voice rose. Time seemed to slow, and the rain outside was frozen in the air. “YES! I know I chose the wrong person to trust, because he was the only one promising me something different! But, if I could go back? I would do it all over again,” he took a shuddering breath as the sun god took a step back, his divine senses overwhelmed with his grandfather’s power. “I wanted Percy to join me,” he smiled bitterly and looked at the horn once more, “if anything because I saw every trait of myself in him.” The more he breathed, the more the glow dimmed, till his once bright blue, rimmed with gold, looked pale. Hollow. The rain hit against the glass, breaking the silence. 

“Percy is nothing like you,” Apollo growled defensively, “you are a monster,” and he turned on his heel, slamming the door shut behind him. After sighing for the millionth time, Luke sat back down on the bed, he crumbled into the thin mattress and sheet that smelled of ozone and sea spray, with a hint of horse. He buried his face in the pillow and just breathed. Slowly but surely he entered the realm of Hypnos. 

Chapter Text

Was his nephew trustworthy? No. Was he a good person? Hardly. Did he make very valid points? Apollo cursed as he tripped over a stray root. He cradled the velvet box close as he made his way up to the Big House.  It had been a week since his run-in with the traitor, and three days since their argument at the last meeting; he was still nursing his anger. How dare that vile piece of– he took a deep inhale, feeling it as the air in his lungs expanded; he held it for a few seconds before letting it out slowly. Castellan had said the window for diving into Khaos was open, and would only last for the next three hours, so the window of opportunity was now. The only slight complication, he would have to go as Lester Papadopoulos. Just his fucking luck. He would think Luke was punking him if his reasoning for such wasn't so sound.

“How would past you react if he sensed another with his powers? Mmh? Would he invite you for tea? Maybe he would ask you questions on how you style your hair?” Luke had sassed him, hand on his hip, other resting on the pommel of his sword. Where he’d even gotten that Apollo didn’t know–he wanted to, he wanted to know each and every crevice of that traitor’s soul, so that he could inflict as much pain as possible. And to his utter dismay, Apollo couldn’t argue back after that. Because he knew, understood that what they were trying to accomplish was dangerous. Luke wasn’t even sure of what he was doing, only ever doing it once before, and even then, it had been done in a moment of desperation. This whole thing could be a fluke, and they were heading to their deaths. He had stopped to ponder how, if Luke was new to this, how he knew so much. But then he assumed it was his grandfather feeding him the knowledge, which sent another wave of unease in his gut. 

He opened the door and Luke had his back to the entrance, stuffing supplies into bags. Medicine, iodine pills, socks, underwear, condoms, flashlight and batteries- Hold on, Condoms?! What in hades did he need those for?! He voiced his question, his throat tight as scenarios played in his mind. Of him and percy. Percy and Luke. Over and over. Percy leaving Apollo for Luke. Abandoning him. If he was being honest he and Percy weren’t the perfect couple; they fought, they bickered. His heart thrummed in his mortal vessel. 

“I’m going to throw them to Zeus," Luke smirked (Apollo would’ve laughed if he weren't coming down from his worry), aware of the mad panic he’d just caused, as he packed familiar looking clothes into a blue bag. He tossed Apollo a cream bag with a sun design on it, he himself slung a brownish bag over his shoulder, and Apollo spied a winged foot decal on its front. When did the fucker have the time to make these? What Etsy shop did he express order them from? 

“Do we need anything else?” He cleared his throat, shouldering the bag. If everything was in order, he was eager to get this unsavory part out of the way. The door opened and Annabeth walked in, curly blond hair pulled back into a braid, grey bag with a fucking owl design on it as well. “Ok, no seriously, WHEN, did you find the time to make custom bags?” He was begrudgingly impressed–he didn’t want to be. 

“You know there’s a craft area here, right? We got a Cricut station, and lots of fabric.” Luke said dismissively. He handed Annabeth a packet of ambrosia chunks and she stuffed them in her bag. 

“And? You know how to sew?” Apollo crossed his arms indignantly, he may or may not have dug himself an unnecessary hole, and was picking fights for no reason. It mattered little that he sounded like a petulant child, even to his own ears.  

“You forget, I was a counselor for a long time.” He bent down to tighten his boots ignoring the hateful glare given to him by the sun god. Apollo shot a look of “are we sure we can’t just do this ourselves?” at Annabeth, though he rationally knew they were pressed for time; they needed to find Percy as fast as possible. But Apollo had a nagging feeling that this was going to end with Luke and him at each other's throats. 

“I brought the Mortal anchor,” Annabeth said, opening the front pocket of her grey bag. She pulled out the minotaur horn and held it aloft for the traitor to take gingerly. Treating the object with almost reverence. Jealousy and anger stirred in him, he wasn’t blind to Luke’s clear affections for his boyfriend. A small, but insignificant and totally irrational voice in his kept telling him that Percy felt the same. He pushed the voice to the recesses of his mind and joined them by the door. 

“Ok, I’m not to sure how this works, but, fuck it. Place your hands on my shoulders,” Luke instructed, holding the horn out in the middle of the three of them. They did as told one on each side, “and touch the horn,” they did so.

Luke closed his eyes, brows slack as he focused. At first nothing happened. Apollo looked over at Annabeth in worry, after a long minute. When, a strange feeling started prickling at his finger tips, where they touched the anchor. Second by second it snaked up Apollo’s arm, like lead. It grew into an oppressive weight, ripping and pulling; pushing and dragging. His lungs constricted like he needed to scream but all the air was sucked out. It appeared the sensation was happening to Annabeth as well, her face contorted in uncomfortable pain. 

Luke remained as he was, eyes closed, face blank, but his eyes. His eyes moved frantically under his lids, mouth opening as ancient words, far ancient than Apollo would know, started to spill out of the son of Hermes. At first they were whispered, but as he continued whatever he was doing his volume pitched. And similar to what happened in Percy’s cabin, time seemed to stop. And as his grandfather's power filled the space, Apollo felt terror strike through his heart. Luke’s voice turned discordant and he was now almost yelling.

Bright light exploded from the horn and he opened his eyes. The blue rimmed with gold eyes were like staring directly at an event horizon, somehow sucking all the light from the room, while blinding him at the same time. 

The room, no– the world seemed to shake as Luke let out a primal roar or agony, and the wood underneath their feet seemed to splinter and crack apart. Debris swirled around the three of them in a violent wind, Apollo barely registered the sting on his cheek as wood sliced his face. Annabeth was the first affected, as her head snapped back, mouth and eyes wide open and golden light flooded out of every orifice; Her body was ridged. 

Apollo barely survived the intense heat that overwhelmed his mortal body as he too, succumbed to the power. He screamed in pain as it stroked through his very immortal soul. The ground split open underneath their feet, the cosmic abyss of Khaos below. A bright gold line shot out of the tip of the horn, arched in the air and went flying down into the darkness. It veered left and right, searching for Percy’s soul in time. It started slowly, the gravitational pull of Khaos inching them down into its depths, before yanking them in. Apollo's brown curls whipped in the wind, as did Annabeth’s braid. The sight of the two of them was the last thing Apollo saw before the power of the void became too much and he was forced to shut his eyes.

Luke groaned, pain and exhaustion in every fiber of his body. The last thing he remembered was letting Kronos take over, then intense agony in his core. His throat hurt like he’d been screaming with all his might, scratch and like it was filled with gravel. He could tell he was on the ground, he vaguely registered the sounds of pain coming from his travel mates, as he pushed up and shook the stars that swarmed his vision. Blackness tinged the edge of his sight, and he had to force himself to not throw up from nausea. Looking around, he could tell they were on a well traveled path, wagon wheel marks were prevalent in the dusty road that cut through eucalyptus trees. Annie sat up with a pained winch, clutching her head, she too looked around at their surroundings and probably came to the conclusion that they needed to move. Given that she was quick to her feet. Unfortunately for Annabeth, time traveling through Khaos did things to one’s insides, and she was quick to empty the contents of her stomach. Apollo seemed to be faring better, he was sitting at the base of the tree, eyes closed and breathing in the air. 

Something in Apollo seemed to change, yes he looked like lester, brown curly hair and sky brown eyes. The lines in his face were relaxed, and his face looked more like his as Apollo.

“Can you feel it?” he spoke, his voice soft and at ease despite their strenuous circumstance. 

“Feel what,” Annabeth wiped her mouth with her sleeve, and straightened. Luke too pushed to his feet and dusted himself off. He picked up the horn from the ground and handed it to Annabeth for safe keeping. 

“The world, it feels….alive,” Apollo hummed, taking in long slow breaths, “wild,” 

“Wild?” Annabeth questioned, “wild how?” she was pulling out purple peplos and exchanging her modern clothes for ancient. She pulled on circlets of silver to adorn her lean arms, and sandals for her feet. She fastened a sheer Ampechone, a light shall, around her shoulders.

“The mist doesn’t shroud the world, here people worship the gods,” Apollo sucked in air greedily, “with every breath I feel stronger, it's been so long since I’ve been prayed to so  earnestly.” Luke rolled his eyes and he too started to don his cream chiton, he fastened a Birrus, a heavy cloth for traveling or poor conditions. He shucked off his boots and tightened sandals on his feet. 

“Get dressed Lester, we need to move quick and find a place before nightfall, if you say the mist doesn’t exist that means it worked and we are in the past. Fortunately for the monsters that lurk in the woods, I haven't the strength to cross them right now, I'm weak; I need sleep. And a meal.” Luke tied his sword to his side and Apollo grumbled under his breath. Though he pulled his bag around and dug around for clothes. 

They had been walking for at least two hours before they came across the first road sign, Annabeth had to focus hard to read it. Yes, it was in ancient Greek which her brain was hard wired for, but she also had dyslexia and her Greek wasn’t up to par. Fighting two wars made the chances for language development time hard to find. Who would have thought. Reluctantly, she turned to Apollo for him to translate. He leaned in and glanced at the sign before his face went slack in abject horror. Troy, they were near Troy. How fucked they might be would depend on if they went to Troy to find the Greeks at their front gates. Though by the time they reached what Annabeth assumed was the great city of Troy, she realized they were fucked for a different reason. The city was massive, large imposing walls surrounding a city with a regal villa that looked vaguely like the ones she had seen on Olympus. The walls were surrounded but many small huts and markets. 

“So I'm assuming we are going to find Percy in that?” she wanted to groan and rip her hair out, this was going to take forever! “Ugh, split up? Meet here at night fall?” her suggestion was met with The boys nodding and heading in different directions. 

“Hold on Percy, I’m coming for you,” she said, hiking her bag up, and setting off into the great city of Troy. 

Chapter Text

Annabeth had been walking the stalls of the markets for the last few hours, struggling her way through every conversation. She was almost regretting suggesting splitting up– being confused was better than having to listen to the two of them bicker and fight almost constantly. Somehow though, she had found her way into her own form of trouble on her own.

The soldiers’ grip on her arms tightened as they led her through the palace halls. From what she had gathered from the meager Greek she knew, one too many men from the market had reported her for "suspicious activity.” What was she supposed to do!? It wasn’t like she could become fluent in Greek in five seconds flat! 

 (Percy, where are you! I need a save right about now and I can't deal with your boyfriend and Luke fighting like girls in highschool) Annabeth thought to herself. She was pushed to the ground by a set of rough hands, and her bag was ripped from her grasp. Her knees hit the plush red carpet and her head snapped up, it would appear that the soldiers had taken her to the feet of the last king of Troy. King Priam sat on a gilded throne that showed off the wealth of his kingdom–city? She wasn’t sure what she would classify Troy, but right now wasn’t the time to argue the mental etymology with herself. 

To the king’s right sat a beautiful woman with a full frame and classical face. Fiery auburn hair flowed around her head, much like the golden crown that sat atop her head. Queen Hecuba was draped in lavish silks and adorned in golden jewelry studded with gemstones. If Annabeth were to take a deep breath, she could smell Frankincense, with hints of olive blossom. Her rich dark skin was dusted with ancient rouge and the kohl around her eyes made the already stunning woman striking. Her hand was placed under Priam’s. Rings adorned their fingers, and Annabeth was almost a bit revolted at the sheer opulence. The king was addressing her, but he spoke too fast, and his accent was so different from what Chiron had taught her, she was struggling to comprehend. 

After a what felt like a speech’s worth of whatever the fuck he was saying, (most likely questions of who she was, where she was from and why she was here, the usual stuff she got when put in these situations.) and her not understanding, the rulers realized that she could barely understand them. She was guessing based on the “is this bitch stupid?” looks that passed between the two of them. (mother, please, for the love of everything to save my sanity, what the fuck are they saying!?), though as per usual her prayers to her mother went unanswered. A familiar looking head of blond hair was pushed down next to her, though, his hands were bound with rope. 

“You too huh?” she whispered to  Luke, who shot her a frustrated look. His lip was spit, and shimmery red blood tickled from the cut, onto the carpet. It all but disappeared if not for the flecks of gold.  

“Shut up, you’re here too ain't you?” And admittedly he was correct, but her hands weren’t bound and only her pride had been wounded. 

“Where’s Lestor?” 

“Haven’t the foggiest clue,” Luke replied dryly, he snarled at the guard that held the rope that was connected to his hands. “Don’t count on him to come save us,” he sucked in a breath before sighing and straightening himself to look the people before him in the eyes. “You know how useless gods are.”

They were in the middle of a council meeting, when Athena gasped and clutched her head in pain. Her owl squawked at the sudden movement and fluted to sit on the back of the chair. Headaches for gods weren’t uncommon, especially for Athena, who always had something going on behind those gray eyes. But Hermes knew what those looked like, and they never caused her to physically gasp in pain. The rest of the gods in attendance quieted in concern. 

“Thena, are you ok?” Aphrodite asked, she stood and moved to her sister’s side. Athena opened her mouth and prayer vomited. Sometimes when gods got overwhelmed by the worship of their followers, they could get sick. It was almost comparable to a human overeating and vomiting after. Two thick scrolls clattered to the ground, and Hermes was slapped in the face by power. He recognized the acrid smell of ozone and brimstone that clung to the pit and its inhabitants as well as a vague hint of dusty scrolls. The other smell was also that of ozone but with hints of the sea. Percy. He was quick to snatch up his cousin's prayer before Athena. He was terribly noisy when he wanted to be. (which was always). He wasn’t going to go near the one that smelt like the pit, no way Hector. 

“My head, it felt like it was being cracked open from the inside,” Athena shot a glare at her father when he snorted. “What was Perseus’s prayer?” she turned her attention across the hall to look at her brother. His face was slack in horror and confusion. She had barely been able to glance at the prayer in her head before it was expelled. The wooden carving felt like lead in her robe pockets. Athena would be the last to admit that she cared for her uncle’s spawn- he was just like her-  but he’d bridged the gap first. Offerings, little questions on how to do things. Funny thing was he never prayed, only asked for “the strength to not strangle these idiots” whenever a soldier said something idiotic. 

“How do I get in contact with the fates?” Hermes read aloud. The Fates were never joys to talk to as gods, and even as an ascending one, Perseus shouldn’t want to talk to them. They weren’t malicious, but fate has a way of being cruel to be kind. She needed to speak with him personally if she was going to hand over such information. 

“Show me Perseus of the Greeks” Aphrodite spoke the command and the map that sat in the middle of the room, that was currently showing the mountains of Greece, swirled till it showed the scene of a jet-black mop of curls that was considerably longer than the last time they saw him, and sea blue-green eyes. There were words of protest, because now was not really time to spy on their cousin. These were all met with Aphrodite huffing at them to be quiet as she got comfortable and put her feet up. With a snap of her fingers there was a bowl of dates and a chalice of wine in her hands.

“Aphrodite-” Zeus tried sternly, trying to redirect the meeting that was supposed to be about settling this ‘Troy’ dispute, because as Hermes had bright to his attention, they would need to focus their energy on preparing to welcome a new god very soon. But settling things between Hera, Athena, AND Aphrodite, was proving difficult. Athena and Aphrodite were, surprisingly, able to make a truce. (to no one's shock it was over the fact that they liked Percy). Unsurprisingly though, Hera, queen of the gods and goddess of marriage and other things – ‘being a massive bitch’ Athena thought absently about her stepmother bat that was neither here nor there- was having what some would call stonewalling - she and her sister-in-law would call it throwing a tantrum-. 

“Aphrodite nothing! I haven’t seen my beautiful son,” a chorus of “Not your son's echoed around the massive throne room, but she was unperturbed, dead set on claiming the boy as hers “in so long and I want to see how he is doing!”

“Oh father please!?” Apollo piped up, “This meeting has gone in circles for days, and we aren’t going to get anything out of it, we should at least take a break and enjoy some entertainment!” Hermes and Dionysus were quick to jump in on their brother’s argument, making appeals of their own to the increasingly frustrated king of the gods. 

“Father, maybe it would be a good idea to check in on how Perseus is faring with the Greeks," She spoke diplomatically, trying to play on his logos. And it seemed to be working, because their father let out a long-suffering sigh and waved a hand for them to do as they like. 

“As disrespectfully as I can, Go fuck yourself Agamemnon,” Percy said plainly, the war meeting that Achilles and Patroclus had dragged him to, had been going on for the last two hours. Agamemfuck was going on tangent after stupid, boring tangent, getting no work done. He genuinely was doubting how all the other kings were letting the fool keep leading them. He wanted to storm the walls en masse, no strategy but to overwhelm them. Maybe for a smaller city, but for the great city of Troy, know for its high wall and skilled archers, it would be suicide for many of their men. When he had pointed out this flaw in the King of Mycenae said that their sacrifice would be remembered by the gods! His complete disregard for human life would be so horrifying, if Percy wasn’t already used to it from modern day politicians. 

“You dare–” the king fumed, his round face going red in anger. He stood from his seat and shook a finger at Percy, “Lord of the skies and thunder Zeus! He himself spoke that I would be the one to lead the Greeks to save Helen!”

“Ok, one, Zeus? Historically known for making horrible decisions, I mean look at you,” Percy was so ready to let this fucker have it, on so many levels, “and two your argument if completely invalid because if you really gave a single fuck about Helen, which you don’t, you wouldn’t try to launch a full scale invasion of the city she is in. What are you going to do if King Priam and Queen Hecuba decide that Helen is not worth their city, or their people’s lives and hold her life ransom?” Agamemnon and many other men had their mouths opening and closing like fish, the fool was too stunned to speak, and Percy wasn’t going to let him find the words. “But you didn’t think about that, did you?” Percy’s tone was condescending, as though he were addressing a tantruming child, and for all intense purposes, he was. “Shall I list all the ways you are unfit to lead us? I don’t want to be here all day but I will if I have to.” 

“Lord Zeus chose me! He is infinitely wise!” Agamemnon tried to reiterate to Percy who just didn’t have a fuck to give. The king could see this and started to raise his voice trying to be heard. 

“Lord Zeus” Percy whined mockingly, “Is a whore,” shocked gasps echoed around the small room once more, but Percy was doing one of his favorite things, shit talking the gods. Not even Apollo could stop him once he got started.  “A man baby with anger issues, an unloyal piece of shit as most gods are but that's besides my point. His decision to have more and more kids out of wedlock is a direct slap in that face to Hera. I doubt she is all too happy about a war being started in favor of one of his brats, no offense Menelaus, I'm sure Helen is a lovely woman.”

“You would disrespect the decisions of the gods? Especially the Lord of the Skies?” The voice that spoke was not that of Agamemfuck, but that of Ajax the Lesser. The man had an appearance similar to that of a weasel, sat to Agamemnon's left. He looked pleased at himself, as though Percy was now trapped, because nobody would dare challenge the will of the gods. Achilles and Patroclus tensed next to him, over the voyage, Percy had made a name for himself on their boats that the other kings weren’t privy too. 

“The gods can go fuck themselves too,” the room seemed to go impossibly still, as though the powers at be where listening and they were just as stunned as the mortals in the room. Not because someone had the gall to disrespect them, there were many fools who had done that before. But the vitriol and venom that entered the young man’s voice spoke of personal experience. His eyes were practically pits of darkness. The sudden and violent rocking of the boat jolted Percy from his sudden bout of  darkness. “You think that they genuinely care whether you live or die?” he said now more neutrally, “they will use you till you serve no purpose, this whole war is nothing but a farce, a dick measuring contest. Had Athena, Hera, and my mother Aphrodite simply been able to get along– let alone, had they invited Eris to Peleus and Thetis’s wedding–” Achilles tensed at the names of his parents, “We wouldn’t be in this mess. Helen would still be with Menelaus, and people wouldn’t be sailing to their deaths. But that’s what gods do, they make messes and expect mortals, and their children to clean it up for them.” 

The war room was quiet as Percy stood and walked over to the board that had maps of the Trojan coastline and the city of Troy. He ran a scarred hand through his hair– that was much longer than it had been when he’d gotten here–as he studied the papers. "Here? No, they have that there-" he mused to himself, his brain working out every possible way to get into the city. He just didn't have enough information at this point. If it were just a small team, he’d take a few more risks, Agamemnon’s suggestion of overwhelming them could’ve worked in their favor. But to do that, Percy would have to show his hand, and his secrets were probably the only thing keeping him alive and out of chains. 

“Do we know their change of guard schedule?” He turned his head to look at Odysseus, who was rightfully stunned. “Well?” He asked again, waving to get his friend to come back from whatever trance he was in. This was going to take a while, wasn’t it?

 “As disrespectfully as I can, Go fuck yourself Agamemnon,” Percy said plainly. 

“OHHH drama!” Aphrodite giggled and settled into the plush cushion her throne morphed into. She tossed her golden locks over her shoulder as the ornate braids unravel by themselves. “I wonder what we missed!,” she clapped her hands and a servant served her some wine. 

“Aphrodite, this is not to watch my son for entertainment time, or to spy on him, it's to see how he is doing,” Poseidon scolded, though he had also made a bowl of snacks and treats for himself. 

 "You dare–” the king fumed, his round face going red in anger. He stood from his seat and shook a finger at Perseus, “Lord of the skies and thunder Zeus! He himself spoke that I would be the one to lead the Greeks to save Helen!”

“You chose him, why? He sounds like a total kiss ass,” Apollo asked, turning his gaze to his father as he popped a grape into his mouth, having made a tray of snacks himself. Their father sat relaxed in his chair, but his face was anything but as he looked at the boy through the vision. 

“He is strong, do not question my decision,” Zeus lord of the skies commanded. 

“Ok, one, Zeus? Historically known for making horrible decisions, I mean look at you,”  Perseus’s face was like the calm before the storm, and the gods and goddesses of Olympus could feel the anger brimming under the boy’s skin even through the observation magic. A few snorts of amusement rippled through the children of Zeus, and a full bark of laughter from Poseidon, whose face shone bright with pride at his son’s disrespect of his brother. The king of the gods looked affronted at his nephew’s words. 

  “And two your argument if completely invalid because if you really gave a single fuck about Helen, which you don’t, you wouldn’t try to launch a full-scale invasion of the city she is in. What are you going to do if King Priam and Queen Hecuba decide that Helen is not worth their city, or their people’s lives and hold her life ransom?” Perseus questioned, Ares let out a hum of acknowledgement, as did Athena. It would seem, their cousin was wise in the ways of war, he was apparently a natural in battle strategy at his young age. Athena found that she was itching to nurture that talent into something more. 

“Your boy has a fine head on his shoulders,” Hephaestus commended, he was running fingers through his wife’s hair, as he sat down next to her. 

“Thank you,” Aphrodite responded, and was met again with the “not your son's. ‘Oh hush, let me have my fun.” 

Agamemnon and many other men had their mouths opening and closing like fish, the fool was too stunned to speak, but Perseus didn’t let up. “But you didn’t think about that, did you?” Perseus’s tone was condescending, as though he were addressing a tantrum-ing child, and the gods could see, for all intense purposes, he was. “Shall I list all the ways you are unfit to lead us? I don’t want to be here all day but I will if I have to.” 

“I can’t wait for him to ascend! He will be such a riot to have at parties!” Dionysus clapped his ringed hands excitedly. He too was now sitting on a cushion one would see in a theater. 

“Lord Zeus chose me! He is infinitely wise!” Agamemnon tried to reiterate to Perseus who was clearly unimpressed with the other man. The king could see this and started to raise his voice trying to command respect. 

“Lord Zeus” Percy whined mockingly, “Is a whore,” shocked gasps echoed around the small room once more, but the astonishment of man was nowhere near the level of rage that exploded from their father. He was on his feet in seconds, bellowing and causing the lamps to flicker. Lighting and thunder cracked overhead in a display of dominance. Through the vision they could hear lightning. The other mortals in the war room tensed but their cousin only grinned. He opened his mouth to continue. 

 “A man baby with anger issues, an unloyal piece of shit as most gods are but that's besides my point. His decision to have more and more kids out of wedlock is a direct slap in that face to Hera.” Hera fixed her husband with a glare, unable to decide whether to be mainly upset at the boy for disrespecting her husband, or her, or, at her husband for his many failings.

“I doubt she is all too happy about a war being started in favor of one of his brats, no offense Menelaus, I'm sure Helen is a lovely woman.” 

She was mad at her husband. She pulled him back into his throne by his ear. “Sit.” Her expression promised Tartarus if he fought her right now. Perseus was right, she wasn’t pleased about a war in a bastard’s favor.  

“You would disrespect the decisions of the gods? Especially the Lord of the Skies?” The voice that spoke was not that of the king, but that of Ajax the Lesser. The man had an appearance similar to that of a weasel and sat to Agamemnon's left. He looked all too pleased with himself, as though Perseus was now trapped, because nobody would dare challenge the will of the gods. Achilles and Patroclus tensed next to him for some reason. 

“The gods can go fuck themselves too,” the room seemed to go impossibly still, the powers at were listening and they were just as stunned as the mortals. Not because someone had the gall to disrespect them, there were many fools who had done that before. But the vitriol and venom that entered the young man’s voice spoke of personal experience. The sudden and violent rocking of the boat jolted Perseus from his apparent bout of darkness. The sharp glow of his eyes dimmed. “You think that they genuinely care whether you live or die?” he said now more neutrally, “they will use you until you serve no purpose, this whole war is nothing but a farce, a dick measuring contest. Had Athena, Hera, and my mother Aphrodite simply been able to get along”

“See! He’s, my son!” the goddess of beauty was quickly shushed. The throne room was already tense from Perseus’s flagrant disrespect to the point of it no longer being funny, more leaning towards concern for his wellbeing. This was information no mortal, even if demigod, should’ve known. That and, Perseus was way too young to have remembered that wedding, better yet be there.  

“– let alone, had they invited Eris to Peleus and Thetis’s wedding–” Achilles tensed at the names of his parents. Now the gods were definitely on edge, because no one outside of the people in this room, and the Peleus and Thetis knew that tidbit of information. How he knew, where he heard it from. It wasn’t meant for mortal ears. 

 “We wouldn’t be in this mess. Helen would still be with Menelaus, and people wouldn’t be sailing to their deaths. But that’s what gods do, they make messes and expect mortals, and their children to clean it up for them.” Perseus wouldn’t know it, but his eyes had gone completely lifeless, dull. Lips turned down in an expression of exhaustion and experience to last a lifetime. 

“Perseus–” Poseidon's voice cracked slightly, and he reached his good arm out as if to caress the weary face of his son. 

The war room was quiet as Perseus stood and walked over to the board that had maps of the Trojan coastline and the city of Troy. He ran a scarred hand through his hair that was curlier and longer than the last time the gods had seen their cousin as he studied the papers. “Here? No they have that there-“ Perseus’s brow was furrowed in thought, and they could practically see the gears working in his brain. Before they got the chance to see what Persues was going to say, Ares swiped his hand angrily through the smoke, breaking the vision. 

“That little fucker thinks he can disrespect us!? I don’t care if he is ascending, I'm putting that little twerp in his place,” the god of war snarled and blinked out of the council room without another word before the others could stop him. 

“Fuck” was the thought that ran through most of thief minds. 

Chapter Text

Percy moaned as two sets of lips set his body on fire. He leaned his head back onto Achilles's shoulder, giving Patroclus more access to his neck. Patroclus dragged his teeth over the sensitive flesh, his hands exploring, coveting. The three of them rocked together, seeking as much friction as they could get in the cramped supply closet. Percy let out a gasp as a hand stroked his growing erection. Desperate and needy hands gripped his waist, and Percy arched willingly against the older men. Achilles was murmuring in his ear, praising him, telling him how proud he was, what a good boy he was. Their clothes, freeing as they were, limited skin to skin, Percy wasted no time ripping off the dark green chiton that Patroclus wore. The two men followed in his stead, removing his and Achilles' clothes, slipping off the loins cloth. 

“Percy,” Patroclus groaned as he rocked forward, his cock sliding in between his thighs rubbing the underside of his carriage.  Percy clenched his legs tighter, drawing a moan from the man’s mouth. Fingers skirted over his navel and up to his chest. Achilles’s callused hands sent sparks of lightning though the son of Poseidon's skin. 

“Achilles,” Percy surprised himself with a whine, he’d never made a sound like that before. When he was with  Apollo, he was always the pitcher so to speak. Right now, he felt like putty in their skilled hands; felt like he was wanted, desired.  He felt a flash of guilt, here he was giving into…whatever this was; Apollo was waiting for him. But, could he even go back? The Apollo of today, was so far off from the god of his time. He would always cherish the Sun, but he was torturing himself at this point, yearning for this Apollo to be like his. His thoughts were cut off by a wet, willing warmth on his cock. Fuck he was going to come, he thrusted shallowly. 

“Percy,” Patroclus moaned around him, and fuck the sight alone was so sinful the devil would blush. Lips wrapped around Percy, brown eyes looking up at him lustfully, hands on his thighs to hold the other man right where– Percy let out a garbled whine and bucked hard as he felt his balls being fondled. Shit, shit, shit, it feels soo good. His mind was melting, and he let them take over.

“Percy,” yes, “Percy!” more, yes please more! “PERCY!!,” 

Percy bolted up and right out of the hammock sword drawn, breathing heavily. The slivers of the dream fading away till he couldn’t recall what had been its topic. Achilles was clutching the post as the momentum of the boat thrashed its passengers to and fro. 

“Are you ok?” Achilles asked, “not having a nightmare?” Percy elected to ignore the spark of warmth that stewed in his gut at the other man's concern. He ran a hand through his sleep thrown hair and controlled his breath. Slowly and surely the waves matched him, and the boat was no longer a doll in the hands of an overexcited child.  

“Fine,” Percy nodded. He was fine. Achilles patted him on the shoulder and said goodnight, as it was still early in the morning, the sun hadn’t even started to kiss the horizon. Percy crawled back into his trusty hammock and fell into a deep sleep. Riptide turned back into a ring on his finger. “Nighty night Tide,” he murmured to the blade. It seemed to grow warmer in response. 

“Ares! Be reasonable!” Hermes shouted after his brother as the pantheon chased after the god of war, their chariots tore across the night sky in streaks of colors, no doubt there were mortals that would look at the beautiful sight and be inspired to create masterpieces that would stand the test of time. “He will be one of us!” but his pleas and the begging of his siblings was lost to Ares’s ears. His uncle bellowed threats, but these too were ignored. Ares dipped his ride down as he spotted the Greek boats. War horns trumped at his arrival, the other gods not far behind. Mortals ran up and down their decks raising the alarm, torch lights spreading out in waves. 

Ares jumped from his chariot and landed on the wooden deck, his size and momentum causing the vessel to tip violently, sailors being sent over the side. It was by the rare grace of Poseidon that they were rescued and made right. Recognizing who stood before them, all of the night watch fell to their knees, heads pressed into the old wood of the boat. “Bring me Perseus Jackson!” he roared, but none moved “well!”

A brave soul spoke up, head still bowed, “there is no one of that name Lord Ares, god of Courage and war, Son of Zeus." Ares pulled the boy up by his neck, squeezing slightly. The boy was a servant, curly black hair, dark skin and terrified sky blue eyes. He dared to look the god directly in the eyes, and the god of war clenched harder. “But there is a Percy,” he coughed out. He dropped the peasant unceremoniously onto the floor. 

“Go get him,” he barked, and the boy scampered off after bowing deeply. Hermes landed far more gently than his brother, as did most of their siblings, begging Ares to stop what he was doing. Trying to reason that this would incite a war that Ares couldn’t finish. Their uncle would kill him, or demand that Ares be cast down for his actions. 

“He has made his bed, the boy will lay in it,” Ares said, dismissing his family. Hermes looked to Artemis for help. She shook her head worriedly, also at a loss for what to do. Zeus and Hera were noticeably absent from trying to stop their son from his decision. Whether their parents agreed with what was happening, the messenger god couldn’t say. All Hermes knew was that he had to protect Percy from getting killed by his brother. He never thought his loyalties would shift so much, but Percy had that effect. 

“Percy!” shouted a new voice, Dimitri. He sounded panicked, and Percy could actually hear the racing of his heart. He was on his feet in seconds to meet his friend at the base of his hammock. Dimitri was gasping for air, hyperventilating and pointing at the ladder that led up. It would be a great time to mention the fact that Percy, minus Dimitri because he’d just come down, was the only one in the sleeping quarters. Percy got on the younger boy’s level, and placed a hand on his chest. 

“Breathe,” Percy instructed him, he drew in a slow breath, held it for a few seconds and let it go slowly. “Repeat,” In……hold…let go…… “repeat,” In…hold…..let go…… Dimitri shook his head, panic not receding but he found the words that needed to be said. Or well, word.

“Gods!” he pointed at the ladder more urgently and grasped Percy's scarred hand and dragged him topside. 

It was almost dawn, wind barely there, just enough to cool a brow. The sky was a greyish blue, and clouds could be seen. But that wasn’t the sight Percy was concerned with. The soldiers, on the boats as far as his eyes could see, were on their knees, heads down, in submission. He spotted Achilles and Patroclus near the helm on one knee, heads bowed. Respectful but still showed their status as royalty. 

In the way of his friends, was his family. A shocking amount of them, actually around the boat, either on their chariots, or on the deck. Hermes was pulling on Ares’s arm, as Artims stood off to the side next to her twin, and Dionysus. They all had tense expressions, all looking at Ares and Hermes. It was when Ares noticed him, did he tense. Ares looked as he always did, pissed off and angry, though his eyes were burning with Greek fire. Guess without nuclear power, his eyes would lack their usual mushroom cloud.   

“You,” his cousin growled and pointed a spear at him. Guess not much changed over the years. 

“Me,” Percy snarked back, ever the one to push buttons. Was now a good time to antagonize his cousin, no–he squared his body boldly, not showing even a sliver of respect, eyes meeting in defiance, he couldn’t help the absolute shit eating grin that cracked his face– but was he going to…..? One of the few things he liked about his dear cousin was that war never changed. How people fought evolved, but war was war regardless of when, where or how or why. It was a fact of life, no matter how shitty, humans would never stop fighting with each other. The sheer savagery of his cousin's domain was something Percy had grown up in, had grown to rest in. (what a haunting thought) Percy shook his head slowly, letting out an amused huff. “What do you want,” everyone on the boat seemed to gasp in one way or another. 

“You insolent little–” Ares started, taking a step forward despite the messenger god trying his best to hold him back. But you can’t stop war, so….fuck it he guessed. 

“Cut the shit Dude. What. Do. You. Want.” Percy crossed his arms, grin showing his teeth. As he saw the effect his words had in real time. This was going to be good. 

He was going to kill him, he was GOING to kill him, HE WAS GOING TO KILL HIM! That was the angry thought that ran circles in Ares’s to not only disrespect the gods as a whole–he was furious by his cousin's speech earlier– the little shit had the audacity, the nerve! He stood there and demanded what Ares wanted like he was an inconvenience and not a GOD! The little shit even had a fucking grin on his shit-eating face. Oh how he was going to wipe it off. 

“Hello, Perseus,” He lowered his spear as he came within arms length of the boy. His beautiful face stared back, not even an ounce of respectable fear and adoration. Only annoyance and challenge in his vibrant green eyes. “You have a hard time watching your mouth,”

“Oh yah? You gonna hand me a mirror? Probably shouldn’t though, wouldn’t want to scare you with your reflection, worse enough that I have to suffer through it,” Perseus batted back, taking a step closer. He was about Ares’s height, so the god decided to grow a few inches. Perseus caught the action and rolled his eyes. He looked past Ares, his eyes flickering slightly. 

“You know what…” Ares commanded the other man’s attention again, “I was going to give you a chance to repent for your sins, your impudence, but because you want to act like a little snot. I'm going to fucking destroy you. And every one here will get a front row seat,” he snarled viciously. Ares took a step back and dramatically clapped his hands in front of him. He was so, going to enjoy this. 

Perseus snorted and looked back to the peasant, only to go deathly still. The sea matched his tense stance, like it was holding back a storm. Ozone started to prickle his nose, as did the intoxicating scent of rage. The son of Poseidon wasn’t paying attention to him. In the light of dawn, angry purple bruises bloomed around the boy’s neck from where the god of war had choked him. (Oh… OH..) Ares thought, (you care for the boy) he could work with that. Perseus dropped down and gently touched the servant’s neck, “did he do this to you?” he practically demanded, his voice strained. The boy nodded. 

When Perseus finally raised his head to look at the god of war, Ares knew he’d fucked up. Big time. If his father was terrifying when he was angry, Perseus really took the Portokalopita. Wind started to pick up, and the ropes that held sails in place unfurled by themselves. Perseus kept his startling and frankly, creepy as fuck gaze on him. Pinning him in place. His eyes were open wide enough to just be startling, the sheer intensity, and lack of emotion was what set the god on edge. That, and the fact that he could only smell the demigod’s presence. Strong, and unyielding, breaking against him like waves, dragging him in and pulling down under. Every muscle in the mortal's body was tense, and his heart was a slow, steady, thump……thump….thump….. It was too slow, too slow to be natural or healthy, but from the looks of it Perseus wasn’t natural. 

“I will give you 5 seconds to run,” malice and the promise of retribution tenfold was laced in every word. But the last word was growled, and it wasn’t just Ares’s mind playing a trick on him-gods’ never had that happen to them like that- Perseus’s very teeth seemed to be razor sharp. 

Not to be out done, or intimidated, Ares squared his shoulders, “I, Ares, Son of Zeus, God of War, Challenge you to a duel before the throne of Olympus." he thought Perseus stupid, but surely he wasn’t as foolish as to–

“I, Perseus Achilles Jackson, Son of Sally Jackson, Son of Poseidon, Godkiller, The Destroyer," Perseus grinned as the world seemed to hold its breath, his words ringing with truth “accept.”

Ares was FUCKED.

Chapter Text

“Godkiller, The destroyer,” the words were ringing in his ears. Ares was stunned, actually the better term would have been petrified. Frozen in absolute terror he had only ever faced when being punished by his father. When he’d faced his grandparents and great grandparents. Perseus’s eyes were almost completely blue, the whites being pushed out. His pupils turned almost oval shaped, serpent like. Ares didn’t, no, couldn’t even blink before he felt his neck being squeezed by an invisible force. He didn’t need air to live, but the intent of the pressure wasn’t to cut off air. It was to intimidate. It was to bring the god of war to his knees, and that’s where he went.

Perseus had yet to move, yet to blink, or even breathe. the other gods and goddesses around, both on the boat and in their chariots gasped and backed up. The same terror in the majority of the faces of mortal men on the boat. A wolfish grin split his beautiful face, turning it haunting. His teeth were too sharp, his whole being seemed to brim with power. It was too much. By all classifications he should’ve ascended a long, long time ago. The crisp scent of ozone and sea spray overwhelmed his senses. 

“What, all that talk, for this?” Perseus taunted, his voice sounding discordant and not his own, “tsk tsk tsk,” he shook his head and stalked forward like a pred- no, he was a predator. He sunk his fingers into Ares’s brown hair and looked into vibrant green eyes. He licked his lips and wrenched the god forward until he was at the feet of the peasant. “Apologize,” he honest to Zeus, commanded. Ares could make no snarky or inflammatory remark. He’d tried turning into a bug, a bird, and even a whale in attempts to set himself free from the monster that held onto him. He found all tactics fruitless. All he could do was glare in rage at the man. He found his face slammed into the splintery wooden floor of the deck, it clawed at his perfectly scarred skin. 

The peasant had wet himself in fear, backing away from Perseus, and the demigod instantly got to his knees, making himself less of a threat, he even let Ares’ head go. He eased his hands up and gently took the younger boy’s hand, telling him that he was ok, that he wouldn’t let Ares hurt him. Though the god could tell that the boy was more afraid of Perseus than the god of war in this moment. The pressure on his neck loosened enough to signify he had the permission to speech, given the nonexistent need for regular human functions.

“I apologize for putting my hands on you boy–” he was smacked upside the head and reprimanded for his disrespect. Honestly, where was his father!? Up until this point Ares had been screaming at him mentally for his help. His question was answered a moment later when lightning struck down, hitting Perseus square in the chest. 

Percy sucked in  ragged gasp. He was laying down in sand, coarse sand that would get in his clothes and hair, irritating him for the rest of the day till he was able to take a shower. The last thing he remembered was seeing the bruising in Dimitri's neck, and then everything after taunting Ares was dark. His two most important senses were dull; his eyes were cloudy and he could only hear the ringing. Unfortunately, taste and smell were still in perfect contention and his mouth was filled with the lasting taste of blood and the smell of ozone. Fuck, he’d been hit square in the god damned chest, hadn’t he? He’d pissed off Thalia enough times to be familiar with the after effects of getting your ass handed to you lightning style. He looked down at himself, surprised to find his camp shirt and jeans back to brand new and on his person. He sent a thanks to Hermes, as there were little wings embroidered on the sleeves.

The first sense to come back to him was hearing, and the roar and jeering of a crowd filled his ears. (fuuuuuucckkk) If his chest wasn’t killing him he’d laugh. If he had a nickel for every time he ended up in arenas to the death. He rolled over and pushed to his feet, and every bone and muscle in his body protested. When his sight finally cleared, the stars and blackness ebbing out of his vision, he could see the giant stands of a gladiator ring. One half of the seats were dead quiet, and Percy could pick out faces of the men he knew from the Greek army. Their silence was more than compensated for by the roaring of the other side. Filled to the nosebleed, shades, minor gods and goddesses, dryads, naiads, and all other forms of nymphs. He clouds see satyrs walking through the aisles selling concessions. He would’ve been comforted and out right amused that sporting events had always been the same for humans and gods, even after all this time. His amusement was robbed of him due to the extenuating circumstance of him being in the ring. 

There were boxes scattered around the giant colosseum, in one he spotted Achilles, Patroclus, Odysseus and the other leaders. It brought him some comfort to know that they were okay. He saw a box that held heroes of the past, a banner over their box with the sigil of the gods embroidered in gold. They were closer to the gods talking hurriedly amongst themselves. He refused to meet their watchful eyes, in favor of glaring at the god that had HIT HIM WITH LIGHTNING. He could only call it annoyance and venom right now, hatred was a step too far, but if he were to wake up with shit shoved in his mouth….Percy would not even move to find a culprit.  Zeus was sat in the largest box, long enough to accommodate all the seats of Olympus, he ignored the painful ache that Apollo was causing from him just being in his line of vision. Zeus, sitting above the rest, in the biggest, grandiose– In Percy's tasteful opinion not blue enough– throne. His uncle's appearance wasn’t that which he was used to. 

This Lord of the skies still had the flowing beard, but it lacked the streaks of gray, and his face was barren of wrinkles from eons under the belt. He was even meaner looking somehow, whereas Zeus from his time had this strict but borderline benevolent look most of the time. Though that naturally excluded Percy, due to the little sass pot he was. He spat on the ground in a clear sign of disrespect. He relished in the sheer fury that the god sent his way. Again, was basically flipping off his temperamental uncle a good idea? No, and if Annabeth were here right now she’d slap the fuck out of his head and call him a suicidal maniac. Unfortunately for the kings in the box to his right, Annie wasn’t here right now to be his voice of reason, nor was Jason, or Pollo. He was by himself and he was about to set free every curse and disrespectful gesture he knew at the Lord of the gods. 

What gave him pause was his father. Poseidon, King of the seas, Earthshaker and Father of storms and horses, looked to be about 5 seconds from losing his tuna. His father’s usually tan face was sea green with worry, and his clawed fingers were clenching the armrests of his throne that Percy could swear he was making holes. It gave him half of mind to bow ever so slightly. He didn’t though. 

“Ouch, Zeus, you hit me with lightning,” he called out, placing hands on his hips and resting his weight to one leg, (they didn’t call him Persassy for nothing). Zeus raised to his feet, and placed his hands on the railing. He had deliberately left out all proper titles, He would’ve called him ZuZu if he wasn’t 100% sure that would get him hit with lightning again. “Just so you know, your daughter’s lightning is far worse,” he spat in the dirt to punctuate his sentence.

“Listen here nephew, I may have let your father take revenge on the mortals for daring to lay their hands on you, but your disrespect ends here,” his tone was cruel and warning. He clearly knew Jack about Percy if that’s what he thought was threatening. Percy for once in his life decided to keep his mouth shut. “My son challenged you to a due before the gods, and you .... foolishly accepted. You will learn respect.” His uncle’s face split into a grin that only promised trouble for Percy, though he wasn’t unused to that. 

“Un-fucking- likely,” he snapped back, unsurprised that only served to make Zeus furious. He even had to be held back by his wife. He looked away to take in his surroundings once more, checking for an advantage the arena may give him. So far, goose egg, not even underground aqueducts. He once again ignored the gasp from the godly side of the crowd at his back chat. “If Ares is going to fight me, where is the cunt anyway,” he took delight in Zeus’s confused face at the insult, he’d said it in English for that very reason. “Oh, I’m sorry, forgot you don’t speak that language, where is that–” 

“I am right here!” doors on the opposite side of the demigod were rolling open in a dramatic display that sent the heavenly crowd into a frenzy. Their champion was here! Noticeably the heroes were silent. He risked making eye contact with the Shade of the Original Perseus who held a considering look in his eyes, like he was assessing every detail of the much younger boy. Despite himself, Percy felt himself shrink slightly. “Are you ready to die,” Ares snarled, snapping Percy back to attention. He taunted the younger boy by slamming his long weapon against a shield that bore a boar's head.

“Are you ready to have your ass handed to you?” he remarked back because he couldn’t help it. Ares pulled a sword from his belt, it glowed a violent red and that looked like a human skin handle. Jesus Christ, his family needed help. He pulled Riptide from his neck, where she rested as a ring that could slide on and off at his will. The bronze ring grew magically into a medium length xiphias. She was such a good blade. Never let him down. “Here, to make this a fair fight,” he gave a flashy spin (it was definitely not Anakin's signature spin…..totally not) of his own weapon, letting himself fall into the grove of battle, “I won’t even use a shield.” He could tell the smirk that stretched across his face only served to piss off his cousin more. If the Greek fire in his eyes got any bigger, Ares was going to set his coif ablaze. Oh yeah, this was going to be fun. 

A duel before the throne: that’s the reason they were here. There were a handful of them sitting up in the box of heroes: Theseus, Perseus, Jason, Orpheus, and even Heracles. There were many of them these days in Elysium. The majority of them on the little island in the underworld never left. Only those who were still clinging to their days under the sun, or those who had a taste for live fighting, where actual risk was involved, not just pomegranate seeds. The warriors that were present today were just so bored of watching each other fight, and or fighting one another in the ring, they took the invitation. Orpheus was there simply because he was experiencing writer's block and wanted to have new material. All gussied up in their finest silks and leathers, the Shades, and Heracles lounged in the box, nymphs serving them lavish wines that sparkled.

Duels before the throne were commonplace amongst the minor gods, so invitations came often. Very rarely, if at all, did one who held a seat at the table engage in such fights. So imagine the heroes’ collective surprise to hear that Lord Ares himself was taking part. Thesus had argued that such an event would be boring to go to.  Ares would just kill the other minor god, or beast that had challenged him. He might even throw the poor soul around for fun before finishing the fight, which hardly made for good entertainment. Jason had dragged him along on their rare outing.

It was Jason, who had to catch Theseus when the man saw the other opponent. Hair as dark as the shadow under the waves, eyes a spectacular shade of blue and green. There was no doubt in the question of his heritage, he was a child of the seas. If he wasn’t already dead the notion would have killed him. His father had many kids, and often their deaths were foot notes, less favorable to those of his cousins. (I guess I just got lucky) was an often thought in his head. 

Perseus leaning on the edge of the box, sun shining through his spectral form in rays of color. “Is the boy even alive? He’s been lying there for the last 10 minutes,” he remarked, he popped a handful of pomegranate seeds into his mouth,  

They watched in relief as he stood and brushed himself off, and a hush befell the arena. Theseus was pacing the box, chewing on his thumb nail, as Orpheus tried to help him calm down. 

“Thesus, please, have a seat, you will only make yourself more anxious!” the poet reasoned, placing a gentle hand on the warrior’s bicep. His efforts proved in vain, because the hero was quick to resume his pacing. Theseus was running a hand through his hair, his robes swishing with his jerky movement.

“More anxious?! Why shouldn’t I be anxious? That boy is going to be slaughtered. My baby brother is going to get killed in front of me, and yet, I am helpless here in this cage.” Though the man did take a seat, it was to put his head in his hands. “What would you have me do but this.” 

“You barely know the child!” Heracles stressed, his voice rising in pitch. 

“Ouch, Zeus, you hit me with lightning,” the boy growled. From their position, they could tell that he was making direct eye contact with the lord of the skies. Apparently, not only had this demigod survived a direct bolt from the god but was stupid enough to disrespect him. The three brothers looked to their godly father who was standing against the railing, fuming. Hubris was a deadly trait to have as a demigod. “Just so you know, your daughter’s lightning is far worse.” To their horror, he spat in the dirt. Theseus actually did faint there. Orpheus scrambled to catch the much larger man.

“Listen here, nephew, I may have let your father take revenge on the mortals for daring to lay their hands on you, but your disrespect ends here.” The heroes didn’t know what to be shocked by, the King of the Gods recognizing the boy as family, or that the boy was still standing, his tone was cruel and warning.  “My son challenged you to a due before the gods, and you .... foolishly accepted. You will learn respect.” 

“Un-fucking- likely,” he snapped back, Theseus had just woken back up, only to faint again from what he heard. The boy looked away to take in his surroundings once more, surveying for an advantage the arena may give him. There was gasp from the godly side of the crowd at his disrespect. “If Ares is going to fight me, where is the c̸͍̽͌u̸͚̓͠n̷͇̊t̶̞͖̑̾ anyway.” The men shared a confused look, that wasn’t a language any of them had heard before, but their confusion wasn’t important as the young man went on. “Oh I’m sorry, forgot you don’t speak that language. Where is that–” 

“I am right here!” Doors on the opposite side of the demigod were rolling open in a dramatic display that sent the heavenly crowd into a frenzy. The heroes were silent, Perseus held the young demigod’s gaze, taking in his defiant stance. “Are you ready to die,” Ares snarled, snapping the boy back to attention. He taunted the younger boy by slamming his long weapon against a shield that bore a boar's head.

“Are you ready to have your ass handed to you?” Jason and his brothers had to cover their mouths to hold in chuckles and snorts of amusement. Many of Zeus’s demigod children weren't fond of their godly brother.  Ares pulled a sword from his belt and it glowed a violent red. The boy reached up to his neck and pulled at something. They couldn’t tell what, but all of a sudden, the demigod was holding Anaklusmos. Heracles was on his feet, recognizing the cursed blade. Last he knew the sword was back on his island where he guarded the entrance to Olympus. “How does he-” but the godling was cut off. 

“Here, to make this a fair fight,” he gave a flashy spin of his own weapon, “I won’t even use a shield.” Suddenly they were charging at each other.

Chapter Text

The acrid taste of blood filled his mouth; he had bitten his tongue. Trading blows with Ares was proving to be more of a challenge than Percy had thought it would be. It was actually proving to be quite difficult to anticipate where and when the god of war would strike. It wasn’t like his past skirmishes or duels with his cousin. Perhaps it was because this god was actually trying to kill him. He was feeling the strain in his muscles already, which was concerning at the very least. His orange camp shirt dripped with sweat and blood. Both his and the god’s. His curly black hair was plastered to his brow; he would get a hair cut when this was done. 

Percy and Ares were cursing a storm at each other, though at some point they had run out of creative insults, and were now just being petty. He called Ares a fart smeller, and Ares told him that he wasn’t invited to his birthday festivities. Percy had to stop and get his laughter under control, did his cousin just give him the ancient version of “you aren’t invited to my birthday party?” 

Percy slashed as Ares blocked, trying to win the strength contest. They were snarling like animals, feeding off each other's energies. Greek fires blazed in Ares’ eyes, they were hard to look at. Then, seeing a moment to gain the upper hand, Percy did something that was very stupid, incredibly reckless, but oh so genius. He grabbed the angry god’s blade and yanked. Ares was thrown off balance enough to not pay attention to Percy’s other arm. His green eyes focused on the hand that gripped his weapon, mortal blood seeping onto the metal. Percy held on despite the pain. He tried to pull his sword free, Percy’s strength was unyielding and the sword’s metal crumpled. It was at that very moment, when Percy drove Riptide into the god’s heart. 

The previously roaring godly crowd went silent, and Percy’s side of spectators lost their shit. He could make out Dimitri’s ‘HOLY FUCKING SHIT HE DID IT’ it made him smile as he pushed the god to the ground. Ichor coated his blade, the golden blood dripped off in languid motion. He stood above Ares, triumphant. He made eye contact, and brought the sword to his lips. He dragged his tongue across the bronze, collecting the Ichor in his mouth and swallowing. He took pleasure in the rage full look Ares shot him. He knew it was unsettling, that's why he did what he did. Ichor………tasted good. 

“Looks like you lose-“ he taunted just before he had sand thrown in his face, “Ah shit!” The sand stung his eyes and he couldn’t wipe them fast enough. He backed away several paces. How he’d fallen for the oldest trick in the book was beyond him. That was also one of his favorite tricks. Percy should’ve anticipated it. White hot agony was spreading across his leg in a manner he wasn’t fond of. He barely managed to clear the sand from his eyes, but his vision was still blurred. He did the smartest thing, he ran. 

He could barely make out where Ares was, now having gotten to his feet. He ducked just as a ball of green fire was lobed at his head. He felt his lungs burning, and the muscles in his legs protesting at each stride. If he stopped, his cousin would fry him. He was immune to fire, to a certain extent. Though, that was with mortal fire and regular lava. He wasn’t so eager to test Greek fire right in the middle of fighting for his life. 

“STAY STILL YOU LITTLE RAT!” Ares bellowed from the middle of the arena, the rounded walls amplified the sound to a deafening level. He threw ball of fire, after ball of fire. Pretty soon Greek fire was licking at the stone walls, not going out. Percy could only focus on not getting hit at the moment to respond back to the sling of insults that the god of war shot his way. 

Currently, his shirt was in tatters, the orange fabric singed at the edges, and he was bleeding from a gash in his leg. Ares had gotten a slash in when he’d thrown the sand. His palm was looking like a slasher victim, and his nose had dried blood crusting over from where Ares had socked him. So far, not looking too hot, he would assume. The strategy as it was, was to outmaneuver and overpower the god. He was having a shit run of things. (Think. Think. THINK!)

Percy chanted in his mind; he wasn’t the planner, that was Annabeth. He didn’t get much time to think. In his haste to escape the fire, he’d played right into Ares’s trap, letting the god corral him accidentally. Tunnel vision and all that. Luke would’ve scolded him if he were alive to see it today. “You have to pay attention, Star,” he’d probably say, a condescending smirk to go along with an equally arrogant tone. Percy would’ve told him to fuck off and stop calling him star. He was panicking.

He felt the fist crunch into the side of his face before registering what was happening. He heard cries of outrage from the crowd as pain bloomed across his cheek and jaw bones. He even thought he could make out a ‘My boy!,’ followed by many ‘he’s not YOUR son!’. He was sent flying back, vision swimming and Percy was having trouble forming a thought. He grunted in pain as his body hit the sand and rolled a few feet, landing with a horrid crunch. He felt...broken. Water, he needed water.  He pushed his senses out and came up dry. He pushed as much as the concussion would allow, it caused more pain than it should. He felt something wet and warm seep into his right eye. Hissing in pain as he wiped his eye, the demigod pulled back his fingers to find them coated in crimson blood. Fuck, that was just what he needed right now, a head injury AND a concussion. He let his body slump, exhaustion setting in. 

He could see Ares through the blood, playing to the godly crowd. Minor goddesses threw flowers and laurels. People cheered for the god of war like he was a hero, and not some asshole that was beating him to a pulp. Percy had gotten good hits in, lethal hits, being a god meant Ares healed right away. Rage was simmering deep within him. How much longer was he going to have to take it? Not just this fight in general. His whole life from the ages of 10- to now as a 19 year old, he’d been a punching bag. He was a target for Gabe, He was a target for Zeus, Luke, Kronos, Geia, Polybytes, every monster that wanted to kill him. He let that simmering anger build and build. It felt like the tide, pushing it out, only to pull it back in higher. More and more, he let his fury build. He waited till Ares had stopped showboating and made eye contact with the god. The tide exploded out. 

{now would be that time to cue the boss music}

Perseus was on his back, mortal body heavily wounded. There were cuts to his leg, side and arms, and the right side of his skull was cracked. There was no doubt the majority of the bones in his body were broken. Blood was everywhere in the sand, and Ares was relishing in his win. That little shit had stabbed him, he had the audacity to think he won! His final victory would come swiftly, and it would be satisfying. He let himself gloat to the adoring crowd, pointedly ignoring the Gods in their Box, and the heroes that were watching. He did not care if they would hate him after this, that anger would soon fade as they forgot this impudent mortal. His destiny to ascend would go unfinished, as did many heroes’.  

He turned back around to his prey, and stopped. The icy feeling from the boat was back, his hope that it was a fluke, was crushed. It felt like time slowed when they made eye contact. Perseus’s eyes held him in place, swirling, swirling, swirling. Ares tried to duck out of the way, he was too slow. Perseus unleashed a roar of fury that sent even Zeus to his knees, covering his ears. Blood curdling wasn’t even close to describing it. The god of war’s hair stood on end. The wall of sound slammed into him and Ares was blasted back, his head smashing into the stone of the colosseum. The bellow was accompanied by the deafening sound of earth splitting open. It started in the middle of them, snaking out and gaping wide. One couldn’t see the bottom. Ares and the rest of the audience could only watch in horror and dark black water rushed out like a geyser from the chasm in the ground. The water surged at Perseus, and the boy let out an agonized wail. It was demented, tortured. 

Ares scrambled out of the ring and into the safety of the gods' box, shooting a terrified look at his father. His father and many of the gods and goddesses were on their feet. Poseidon looked scared shitless, though, Ares assumed not for the same reasons he was. The River Styx swirled around Perseus, lifting him off the bloodied ground. The black water was filled with lost dreams, hopes and mortal possessions. He was suspended in the vortex, mid air, in a ball of death water. The sickening sound of bones cracking into place, accompanied by his screams filled the silence. Bum. Bum. Bum. Bum. Bum. Bum. Bum. Bum. The water exploded out in waves as it gently set the boy on his feet. The water slowly receded back into the chasm, the tear in the earth closing up with a rumble and snap. Ares found himself gasping, in and out in rapid succession, trying to calm the fear that gripped his godly heart in a vice. 

Perseus took a step forward, and the earth trembled. With each step, cracks would form and seal as he lifted his foot. “ARES!” the man bellowed, he reached out into the air with what looked like clawed hands, the fingertips blackened, and yanked back. Ares felt a searing tug all over, and was pulled through the stone wall he was ducked behind. He tried to fight it,  but his body wouldn’t cooperate. His arms bent back and unnatural, and painful angles. He cried in pain, as the bones snapped and broke through skin. He was brought to his knees before the bo– monster. Perseus grinned, his teeth too sharp. He raised his blade, the bronze promising a death sentence for the god of war.

This was it. Gods didn’t die easily, they usually died through fading. Something Ares never believed would happen to him. He represented the brutality of man, the innate bloodlust that war bred. He was the God of war. He was going to die at the brutality of man. Perseus was going to kill him. Slice off his head, stab through his neck. Every method flashed in his mind’s eye. No…..no…..the sword was arching down, a battle cry ripping from the man’s throat. No…NO! The sword was stopped by a dragon tooth tipped spear. Every fiber in his godly being refused to die at the hands of Perseus Achilles Jackson, God Killer. He wasn’t sure how many gods were on the list, but to Tartarus if Ares was going to let himself be one. He pushed the bronze blade to the side. He slashed in Perseus's moment of surprise, and caught his side. Dark red blood coated the tooth as he pulled back and spun for another hit. Perseus matched him in every strike, every parry was flawless. The moment of surprise was luck on Ares’ part. The earth was still rumbling violently, making footing hard to find. Perseus danced around him, fancy foot work, and effective sword work. 

They moved around the arena that was still very much on fire, the river water never actually putting out the magical green fire. Flames licked around them, as dark clouds blotted out the sky. Ares’ briefly recognized flashes of lightning, and the calls of thunder, but his sole focus was Perseus right now. Slash, thwap, stab, parry. Again. Slash, thwap, stab, parry. Again. Slash, thwap, stab, parry. AGAIN! Slash, thwap, stab, parry. Perseus caught the spear, his black fingertips tightened around the blessed metal. Ares wasn’t going to fall for the same trick twice; he formed a concealed  dagger in one hand. When Perseus pulled the weapon from his hand’s, the god let the spear go and slammed the small blade into Perseus’s neck.

A small gasp was the only thing to escape his pretty lips. No last words. No final goodbye. Ares watched the mortal’s eyes. Cries of pain and sorrow echoed around the colosseum, human and god alike. Perseus slumped to his knees, eyes wide, pupils open. Ares wasn’t a monster; he caught his cousin and laid him flat on his back in the sand. He closed the eyelids and placed a silver laurel on the godling’s head. 

Perseus Achilles Jackson, Son of Poseidon, God Killer, the destroyer, was dead.